Alchimia Rex

"We know their champions are, at the very least, a Warlock and the Archangel," Eva stated. “There may be powerful ferals, or not. We know they might have taken ferals from the deepest parts of the forest, but we can’t be sure.”

"How are you certain there's a Warlock?" Whitneye asked. "The last recorded one was nearly a century ago."

Eva straightened herself; this was familiar territory, she remembered the days when she’d participated in the strategy meetings her father would drag Evans to. There were times when other nobles and people of import would use such gatherings to impress whoever happened to be in charge.

If whoever was in charge happened to be smart, they would value sound reasoning above status or feelings.

“Right before the assassination attempt, a powerful scrying spell was detected. Alongside this, both the Archangel as well as the surviving Dark Elves were pulled out of the fortress. Seeing how Warlocks are one of two possible forms a Dark Elf can ascend to, the likelihood is high.” She pointed at the map before them. "Warlocks are powerful ritual casters. Their threat cannot be understated, their curses and hexes are second to none, and their range and power can be compared to an Elementalist.”

Protocol would’ve required Whitneye to acknowledge whether he agreed with this assessment.

Rick interrupted, uncaring for such things. “How dangerous are we talking about?” His gaze was fixed on the map.

“It is hard to say. A maiden who has reached the peak of their genus will possess such a wealth of experience that each individual is their own case.” Whitneye shot a small glare at Eva, twirling his mustache. “But if there is one thing to be sure, Warlocks in particular are infamous for their skill with hexes specifically. One could target a few Orcs and render them little more than oversized Mousegirls, while another may cast over a large area and deny the tribe their vaunted regeneration.”

"Everything a Dark Elf can do in terms of curses and hexes, a Warlock can do better, larger, more powerful, and from further away," Eva added, straightening herself to keep her tone controlled and neutral. "They are, however, extremely frail. If anyone were to reach the Warlock, they would be an easy target."

“No one gets that powerful without accounting for the weakness everyone knows of,” Urtha stated with a scowl. “The attack will likely be here in two, three days maximum. We received confirmation of one of our scouts not having returned as scheduled.”

Eva nodded. "Our expectations are that the Dark Elves will be working as support to the ferals, hexing individual targets from safer locations."

"And Mat… I mean, the Archangel?" Whitneye inquired, coughing a little to cover for his slip-up.

No one wished to acknowledge it, but the monster had once had a name, a life, she’d been a part of this city for years. In such a small place, there was no doubt even someone like Whitneye would’ve had plenty of opportunities to at least know of the maiden tangentially.

In a sense, it made sure the man brought up the Archangel as a question rather than by admitting how much contact he’d had with the now-traitor.

Eva hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted. "Archangels, by the book, are maidens that prefer to strike from afar. Anything they see, they can hit with their radiant lightning. Swarming them is the suggested approach, but…"

"But she's a tentacle monster that can slaughter anything that gets too close," Rick's face twisted into a grimace. "If she still has those ranged powers, there is no reason for her to come down." His expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "No reason but me."

There was no uproar, no arguing, no complaints, or rebuttals. Eva glanced at Urtha, then at Dia. They shared the same look with one another, the same thoughts: No matter what he planned, no matter what he ordered, they would not let the monster get to him.

Not a second time.

Not ever.

“Surely healing your Sabertooth…” Whitneye muttered, his voice trailing off.

Dia hesitated, glancing at Rick for permission, as was protocol. He nodded a little. “Monica’s situation is not that simple. The parasite is well rooted, and forceful removal could not only threaten her life, but potentially permanently cripple her.”

“Surely you can understand the danger of the situation we are in.” The man pressed. “The risk would be worth-.”

“Sir Whitneye,” Rick’s voice held a cold edge to it, his eyes fixing on the constable with the severity of a barely contained storm. “The current approach is the optimal one; it cannot be hurried.”

There was finality in his words.

Eva knew the hours he’d spent poring over the different options. Their biggest problem was that Kiara was the one whose powers they needed the most. If they could just guarantee the parasite was drained of power, then they could strongarm it without fear of permanently harming the Sabertooth.

A Succubus that had not woken, no matter what they tried.

If they at least had a greater number of skilled healers and not just Dia, then they might have the combined capacity to handle more severe consequences.

“Keeping the walls as they are right now will prove impossible against a flying enemy that can just shoot at us from the horizon,” Rick broke the silence, stirring the conversation to proceed.

“Our best bet would be to build protections. Orcwood is durable, and though it wouldn’t be able to survive sustained attacks, it could prove invaluable against her.” Eva nodded in agreement.

“And the farms?” Dia asked, concern in her eyes. “Our food supply is barely stable; another rationing…”

“They can’t turn this into a siege, not if they're coming at us with some crazed feral horde,” Rick replied. “We’ll empty them and leave them be. If they want to destroy them, they will, if not, then better for us once this is over.”

“And they know they can’t just stall. Now that the rush is over, the kingdom will not stand idle.”

The nobility would move to eradicate the Dark Elves; they would not tolerate such a force having grown right under their noses in such a way. If there would be one thing to unify them, it would be the shadow of a second rebellion.

And that same shadow would spur them to turn their blades at Rick immediately after.

Placating the kingdom would be a dangerous game.

"Going back to the issue at hand," Eva tapped the table. "Our own forces constitute the tribe and the militia. Hobgoblins and Orcs make for our most consistent strength, they would make for the most effective force against the ferals themselves, with the militia serving to give them support.”

“My knights’ enchanted armor is still in good condition,” Whitneye declared. “They should be well protected against the kind of hexes Dark Elves might use.”

“Not to boast, but I would count as a champion.” Urtha stated, sensing the boasting and maneuvering being carried out.

“We already consider you worth ten Orcs.” Rick stated without missing a beat. “What about Rollo?" His shift in subject earned a slight petulant look from the taller maiden.

Eva couldn’t help but feel a little larger.

"It is illegal to possess a maiden skilled enough in combat that they would be considered equivalent or superior to a standard knight in full regalia. Not without a noble title,” Whitneye declared. “If Rollo were foolish enough to possess such a maiden, Lord Thorley would have taken them away.”

"And things like that are why human nobles make no sense.” Urtha rolled her eyes, but did not add further commentary.

Rick’s gaze sharpened. "The Earl of Balet didn't comment about any such law."

"Earl Vitchatt was likely seeking to groom you into a position of minor nobility," Eva replied without missing a beat. "The safest way would've been for Monica to earn her way into proper knighthood. Between that, your status as an otherworlder, as well as being a pureblood, the court would have begged him to throw the title of knight-protector at you."

"That's... nevermind. Contact Rollo anyway; I don't expect him to fight, but we might need his help with the preparations." His shoulders slumped. "Though I dread the bill we'll get out of it."

"We still do not have a way to stop either the Archangel or the Warlock," Dia pointed out.

Eva's fangs dug into her lower lip. "My powers should allow me to slip through and seek her out."

Just how she'd done with the Vampire, attack them while they were half-way through the ritual; if it was just that, then maybe...

“Denied." Rick didn't even hesitate, eyes focused on the map. "If they have any sort of protection, which they will, you’d be toast." He frowned. "Maybe if we put together the Hounds and... actually, wait." He reached out to pick up the map and turn it around, his frown deepening. "Doesn't this seem odd?"

Urtha leaned closer to look at the drawing, the others following suit. "What is?"

"Let's say they win." His finger poked at the drawing of the wall. "Their horde of ferals launch an attack and overcome the walls, killing everyone that might be able to stand up to them. The city is left in their hands, defenseless. What do they do then?"

"Kill us all," Whitneye declared.

"They could've done that way before the tribe showed up," Rick poked at the map again. "They want this city as intact as they can get away with, they seek to rule it, not turn it to one giant pile of rubble." His finger tapped the paper. "So, they win... what do they do with their 'soldiers'?"

Eva blinked, leaning forward. "Oh."

The Lord of Sinco straightened up. "We're going to be on a very tight schedule."

/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/

With Urtha and Dia preoccupied with their respective parts of the preparation, Eva had been left to keep an eye on Rick. She was the bodyguard, but as the Rapha had pointed out, the real muscle were the Orcs that kept a tight watch over the Father of the tribe.

Her real work was to keep an eye on him. They’d all sensed that simmering anger that had poured out in response to Whitneye’s comment. The last thing anyone needed was for him to plan or do something that might put him at risk, thus, she quietly trailed after him.

Once Rick had gone about the place explaining the parts of the plan to every relevant party, he should’ve had little more to do other than wait and supervise it all.

But the man had refused, taking to the streets. House by house, door by door, he knocked, finding the occupants to nervously greet him, stumbling over themselves with apologies over the sorry state of their abode or some other inane attempt at placating him.

They weren’t greeted with anger or force, but with kind words. "Sinco needs your help. May I come inside?"

Each time, it commenced the same way—those same eight words. Entry was never denied; after all, he was the Lord, accompanied by five intimidating Orcs who stood menacingly around their tribal leader.

"The ones who caused the feral rush are coming to attack the city," he would explain, and they would listen. Who could doubt the Lord that had visited their homes personally? "The ones who assassinated Miss Donohuei and placed a curse on my wife seek to impose their will on Sinco." His expression would contort with grief and anger, and there was truth to those feelings. "The city needs every bit of help. It doesn't matter if you cannot fight; every bit of help counts. You do not need to decide right now, but know that time is of the essence."

Some would stammer through apologies, others offering insincere platitudes, a few quietly glowering, fewer still would question him, while a handful went so far as to ask him to leave then and there. Regardless of the response, Rick would answer, thank them, and move on to the next house.

Yet many of them would come outside, watch, ask around, and join in the effort.

In just a few hours, word had spread. When he knocked on doors he wouldn’t be greeted by a singular family but an entire neighborhood of faces, more ready to ask questions, more attentive to his words, and quicker to spring into action once he left.

Eva could understand why that was. It was an astonishing thing to consider, the Lord of a city stooping low just to converse with commoners. To ask for their aid, in fact, rather than merely take it.

To these people who’d lived under Lord Thorley’s heel, the act itself was impossible.

But it was just as impossible to deny it was exactly that.

House by house, hour by hour, the number of hands that joined the efforts swelled. Ropes were made and raised, planks set down, rooftops connected, streets hidden under cloth and wood. The very plaza where the Lightning-vault had been in was nothing but flat cobblestone, the debris completely removed.

"I feel slimy," Rick confided in Eva during one of their breaks. "I've turned into a politician." He spoke the words bitterly as he sipped his water. "If I keep this up, I'll end up talking about how we need to invade some tiny country or another."

She wasn't sure what he meant exactly, but she could understand the sentiment. "The city is rallying to your call, my Lord."

"I’m just doing the shitty things I complained about others doing back in my world.” He shook his head, taking another gulp of water from a tin cup and getting back to his feet. "But it needs to be done, I guess. Let's keep going."

The Fledgling quietly bowed, returning to the comfort of his shadow. Watching him take to the job with such unwavering determination, Eva felt Dia’s words tease her. It made her keenly aware of just how much time she really spent looking at their surroundings rather than focused on the form of the man who’d become the ruler of a city.

A man who ruled not because he had been born with land or servants or titles, but because he’d built his power out of nothing. He’d conquered his way to this very position. Many nobles liked to claim they’d earned their way to the top, but after having lost it all, Eva was aware of how few of those nobles could truly back up the claim. They had been born into an advantageous position of considerable power from the very beginning.

Some part of her insisted that the reason why she watched him so closely was out of a desire to learn. The other part kept thinking back to those times he’d ensnared her with that strange and inexplicable… something.

The hours oozed their way through, and with the setting of the sun, the human reached his limitations. His voice was hoarse and his focus wavered as he returned to the humble house that’d not been meant for a Lord to live in.

It was only there, in the privacy of the house, having forgotten the maiden currently in his shadow, that the mask slid off and Rick showed his true thoughts, his true self.

The part of him that only she got to see in these rare moments where he’d forgotten of her presence.

When Dia returned, he would recover and show a different side of himself. But right now, in the quiet darkness of the common room, his breath trembled and the cool composure and self-control broke away.

Rick stood as a statue, gaze peering directly into one of the walls, as if able to see through it. Eva knew he was staring in the direction of Monica and the Succubus. The two maidens had been sequestered and hidden away from both the citizenship and Rick. They would make for too tempting a target for anyone seeking to hurt him.

His lips curled, fists clenched.

Eva choked on air as a fiery heat exploded through the bond and into her. A crushing fury that burned everything else away, cutting her air and wrenched her gut as if she’d been struck.

Her body was wracked with the overwhelming desire to explode, to lash out and break everything in the room and to scurry deeper into the shadows and curl into a ball, all at the same time.

And with it came a delicious scent of blood that trickled from his fists.

The heat wrapped with hunger, and more instincts warred for control. Hunger, and the witnessing of a fury that was both not hers, yet she felt as vividly as if it were her own heart being rent to pieces.

She whimpered, the sound drawing Rick’s attention in a snap.

For a moment, their gazes met, emotions swirling naked in his gaze. In the blackness of his eyes she saw a world reduced to ash, a flicker of sapphire betraying the influence from the Sabertooth.

And a moment after, it was all gone.

Concern, naked and honest, reached out to her. “Sorry,” he said in a whisper, pulling out a chair to sit. “You must be hungry.” The inflexion of his voice was as casual as if he’d just been roused from reading a boring book. “Come.”

He reached out to her with his bloodied hand, palm held in the air.

There was neither hesitation nor room for thought, Evangeline emerged from the shadow she’d been hiding in, taking half a footstep before falling to her knees. Her heart raced faster as she leaned closer.

The instinct to consume was drowned under simmering sweet powerlessness. Despite the growing thirst, Evangeline found herself not able to consider attacking Rick, the lingering anger she’d felt from him having cowed the predatory hunger.

“My Lord,” she whispered, taking his bloodied hand into her grip and leaning forward, lapping at his fingers and palm. A gesture that would be nakedly reverential to any onlooker, but that she could not register.

The taste was as pure as freshly melted snow after traversing a desert. It made her heart flutter into a hum, sending shivers through every part of her body. She moaned openly, there was nothing but bliss, nothing but Evangeline the Fledgling.

Every part of her body became alive, her senses sharpening and leaving her acutely aware of everything.

Her own heavy, shaking breaths mingling with the slavishly wet lapping of her own tongue, with the Lord’s grunts of discomfort punctuating delicious shudders. Her skin was alive and constrained against the rough cotton, every inch of her sending little jolts of pleasure, from the pressure of being on her knees to the lightning that came from her chest.

Finding no more blood from the wound, she pressed her fangs against his wrist, piercing through with ease. The scent of his sweat mingled with the exquisite nectar, practically branding into her a new facet to this ritual.

His fingers gently stroked her silky black hair, coarse caresses she nuzzled against as if she’d been waiting exactly for this.

“Evangeline.”

The voice rumbled through her, ruby eyes rising to meet his own. There was no longer rage or comfort, she found his eyes filled with something else, something sickeningly sweet and hot. A part of her warned her of the danger hidden right there in plain sight.

But with a gentle tug of his fingers, he removed his wrist from her lips and she whimpered, following it like a lost puppy.

It led directly to his lips, and that damnable scar he could’ve healed but hadn’t, a constant reminder of… of…

“Evangeline.” He spoke again, and she took to the kiss.

She was high on sensation, she didn’t think, couldn’t; her eyes fluttered closed as her hands teased at her own thighs, wishing to reach out to him. Evangeline didn’t even register she was not drinking from him, furiously making out and unable to do anything but be led.

But Rick pierced his own lip against her fangs and she was rewarded with ambrosia, the Fledgling drank, shuddering deeply, melting into his embrace. He became a part of her in a more intimate way than anything she could’ve experienced.

It was as if she were becoming an extension of him, a limb that would follow without thought, too drunk on the overwhelming sensation.

“Breathe.”

Too soon did he break away, leaving the maiden kneeling, breathing ragged, fluttering eyelashes peering up and silently begging for more.

“Breathe, Evangeline.”

His command was cruel when every inch of her wished to drown in him. But Eva inhaled, filling her lungs for the first time for what felt like hours. The extreme relaxation seeped out of her, awareness of their relative positions, with her kneeling and him seated jostled her.

Eva pulled her hands away from his thighs as if scalded, more thoughts meant deeper awareness of what they’d been doing and what she’d felt, what she’d wanted to do. It burned through her mind and sobered her up instantly.

“M-My Lord,” she said, jumping to her feet, unwilling to meet his gaze or the amusement she knew she’d find there. The maiden bowed, avoiding eye contact entirely rather than risk becoming entranced a second time. “You need to rest.”

“You as well.”

His words pulled at a very recent memory. “Just a bed-warmer,” Dia had said. In that very moment she knew what it was that Rick was implying, what he was offering, and it made her bolt into the shadows and out of the house.

Exactly like that time on the beach, running away.

But the fear was just a little bit duller, just a bit slower to come, her mind just a little more willing to indulge that deliciously dangerous question of “What if?”

It was a honeyed poison. She knew the next kiss would follow the trend, she’d be a little less hesitant. Little by little, drop by delicious drop.

She ran through the shadows, avoiding everyone she could avoid, eyes darting through the crowds, searching for the only person she could think that could help her put the coherent mess in her head into order.

The massive green Orc was carrying an equally impressive slab of stone up to the wall.

“Urtha,” Eva called out, finding herself without breath as she shot out of the shadows, staring at the maiden with wild eyes. “I want to fight.”