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aila soaked in her rose quartz tub for so long she thought she might wither inside it. There was a part of her that wanted to dissolve into suds and salts and seep out into the drains to the ocean. She imagined it would be peaceful there, in that swathe of velvet blue. She felt it would smother her in the sweetest suffocation.

She rinsed her arms in the water, watching as the rose petals stuck to her skin. She was so absorbed in observing the petals that she didn’t hear Léandre enter.

“Her Luminosity has insisted that I see to you.”

She shook a rose petal off of her palm. “I’m fine, Léandre.”

“You are not fine, Laila. And don’t tell me again that you are,” he warned, his brow creased in concern. He sat at the edge of the bath. “You never talk about what happened before we left. I know how much you cared for Dominus—”

“Stop it.”

“I feel it would help if you would discuss it with someone.”

“I said stop.” Her body pulsed dangerously with a current. The lights stuttered. “I don’t want to talk about Dominus with you, Léandre. In fact, if you desire to keep your post as my Lightshield then kindly do not utter his name in my presence ever again.”

He sighed heavily, rising up from the bath. “Her Luminosity has requested that you join her for breakfast once you are ready.”

Laila sank down until the water was to her chin, a wordless dismissal. She waited until he had removed himself from the room before she rose up again and squeezed the water from her hair, letting her hand drift down to her neck as her fingers scraped against the spot where Dominus’ teeth once lay.

She shuddered as she closed her eyes, feeling the indentations as though they were still there. Fresh. But there was nothing but smooth skin once she tested it again. It was always the psychic wounds that were the most stubborn to heal.

She vacated the bath to find it was dawn and decided to dress and take breakfast with her mother. A practice she had been increasingly performing the further she became estranged from the concept of sleep. Not usually prone to early rising, Laila found she’d always been fondest of that liminal space in time between waking and awake. Those enigmatic hours where she could watch the world shake itself of its slumber and pretend for once that she might be the only one alive in the world.

The garden was saturated in a thick, honey-lacquered gold from the lethargic rays of the rising sun. She and her mother seated themselves in a little nook underneath an untamed shrub of wisteria, its heavily perfumed branches offering them shelter from the most penetrating rays. The wrought iron table was neatly laid with offerings of mild goat’s cheese, fig and lavender galettes and warm spiced brioche, and an ornate tea set of decoratively frosted glass and gilded rimming.

Laila helped herself to a honeycomb from one of the plates and took a bite, the sweet nectar practically oozing into her palm the moment she touched it. She finished it messily and sucked her fingers, fully aware of her mother’s disapproving stare as she did so.

“You couldn’t have picked something less messy for breakfast?” Amira critiqued with a cluck of her tongue before wrapping her coral-pink lips around her teacup. “Just look at what you’ve done to your chest.”

Laila glanced down with a slightly vacant look at the trails of slick that had slithered down her neckline. Then she shrugged. “I think my breasts caught the worst of it.”

Amira made a disgruntled sound. She’d noticed her daughter’s turn towards carelessness as of late and had taken it both with understanding and impatience, hoping it wouldn’t be a lasting change. She unfolded one of the rose-shaped napkins with one swift flick of her wrist. “Hold still.”

Laila was used to having her mother puppeteer her like a marionette at the end of her strings. So hold still she did as her mother diligently cleaned her chest of honey before choosing for her daughter the much cleaner option of sliced brioche to slather with lemon jam.

Laila chose not to protest the forcefulness of this gesture and took a small, appeasing bite out of the corner of her brioche. “I’ve been thinking about what our next move ought to be with regards to Mortos.”

“Have you now?” This surprised Amira for she had tried to evade the subject of politics with Laila upon her return. She’d never been suited for sympathy and she feared broaching the topic of Mortos would provoke an emotional outburst.

“Yes,” Laila said, taking a sip from her tea. “But I’m afraid it’s going to involve something you won’t like.”

Amira sighed as she placed the sullied napkin to one side. “Why do I feel as though you are about to bring up the name Darius to me?”

“He is the last hope we have, Maman.” Laila firmly put down her cup in protest. “He is known to us, appropriately connected, and he even claims descendancy from the bloodline they so favour. We are not going to find a more suitable candidate.”

Amira cut herself a portion of galette. “I suppose you are expecting a full pardon from me for his crimes.”

“I think that will be a small price to pay in the grand scheme of victory.” Laila picked back up her cup. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, Maman. But we are out of options. Dominus will remain quiet about our previous conspiracy so as not to endanger his mother but that means I can no longer use her.” She slid closer on her chair to take her mother’s hand. “Allow me to speak with him at least.”

Amira met her daughter’s gaze, tapping her glass with one finger. “Alright. I’ll allow you to move forward with this plan of yours. Let us see if Darius Calantis ends up being the saving grace we need.”

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That same morning Darius was taking his own breakfast, lifting a cup of peppermint tea to be puffed cool. Dark circles lined his eyes and the gauntness of his already sharp northern features had intensified during his stay. He’d been spending nights trying to disentangle the effects of Dr Mielette’s influence during his sessions. He had been slowly building up an unbreachable mind-fort whose doors would be impervious to even the subterfuge of her psychological trickery.

Unfortunately, this only made him a more intense subject of interest for the doctor and she had begun to erect newer and crueller ways to whittle down his barriers until an opportunity occurred for her to slip through his weak spot. For that reason alone he was prepared to stay vigilant, keeping his mind fiercely guarded for anything she might be willing to use against it.

He took another sip from his tea in the hopes it would give him clarity, when the elusive patter of light-footed steps had him twitching to alertness. He caught the scent of her before he saw her—always that warm heady aroma of white florals and vanilla. She appeared as a vision in green floral-patterned silk layered atop a white underdress, remaining cautiously at the observation window.

“Your Radiance.” He bowed his head in greeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It had felt like far too long since he’d last laid eyes on her and he found himself desperately roaming the contours of her face to remember what he could. She’d changed her hair again, he noticed. Today it was half-pinned with the rest let loose in pretty tendrils.

She stepped closer to the window. “Hello, Prefect.”

“It’s been a while since someone has called me that,” Darius chuckled, gesturing to the interior of his cell. “Won’t you join me for a moment? I believe the tea is still warm.”

“I think I’ll stay here, thank you.” Her refusal was spoken with grace though her smile was razor-edged. “I was actually arriving with a proposition for you.”

“Is that so?” Darius took a seat on a nearby chair with one leg crossed over the other. “Please, enlighten me.”

Laila dithered on her words as she observed his steel cool composure, searching for the right thing to say. After so long she’d thought herself grown immune to this but he still managed to disarm. “I can see prison life isn’t treating you well.” She grappled for a weakness, any weakness in which she could gain a foothold. “You look… fatigued.”

“You almost sound concerned.” Darius put a hand on his chest. “But it seems we are diverting from the important subject at hand here.”

“Yes, indeed.” She scrunched her lips to one side. A lock of his hair had fallen loose and snaked around his eye; she wanted to brush it back into place. “I’m sure you’ll be interested to know that Mortos’ circumstances have increasingly worsened since your departure. Your father grows more unstable by the day and there are small growing signs of civil unrest.”

“That is interesting.” Darius tented his fingers in front of him. “Shame I can’t do much about it from here then.”

“Yes, well, I tried asking Dominus if he would be willing to join forces and he all but refused to budge an inch.”

“Steadfast until the end, my foolish brother.” He cocked his head to one side. “Still it does shock me to know that Dominus ignored your plea. I would’ve thought for certain you were the nudge he needed to finally make his move.”

“Well clearly, you miscalculated. What made you think I would even have that measure of influence over him?”

“Well, it’s just… if I was with you I couldn’t imagine not giving you anything you wanted.”

Her chest seized the moment the words were uttered and had she not coached herself to remain cold, she could’ve sworn she might have felt the fever of a blush begin to take hold.

“Perhaps I’m here to take you up on that offer,” she said.

“How do you mean?” His eyes narrowed.

“Since Dominus has proven a liability we will need to turn our attentions to a new candidate to depose Lanius. I see no better suitor for the role than yourself.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“What you just said,” Laila teased, a secretive smile appearing on her rosy mouth. She looked at him with large, rounded eyes that were improbably doe-like, tinged in a cornflower hue, making it easy for anyone to want to invest in her innocence. “For you to give me everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Darius couldn’t help but smile in response. “You want a puppet installed for Soleterea’s whims. I see. You make a tempting offer. One I’d be a fool to refuse considering my current predicament. But you see if we are to work together there are a few demands I desire to make myself.”

“Such as?”

He gestured to his surroundings. “Let’s start with a comfier abode than this. You have given me quite comfortable amenities, I will admit, but I don’t quite like the idea of collaborating with someone keeping me prisoner.”

“I shall take it into consideration,” Laila said, “anything else?”

He took some moments to consider this. “My father’s heart. You can dispose of the rest of him any way you wish but his heart belongs to me.”

A disturbing request to be certain but not one Laila was willing to argue against. “Very well.”

She turned her features up into a smile that set aglow the entirety of her face and he understood once more how Dominus had so easily been made a fool for her—being on the receiving end of a smile like that. “Until we meet at another time, Prefect Calantis.”

She removed herself from the window, smoothing down her skirts of tulle before departing from the room with one last furtive glance directed at him.

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Laila and Lyra circled one another, their bodies synchronised in perfect precision—surrendered over to a subliminal trance that made their limbs malleable as liquid. They moved beneath a sun trained on them like a spotlight, like their bodies were hosting a performance for celestial eyes alone; something purer and perfected than any offering from the earthly realm.

With startling swiftness, Laila lifted her leg up in a kick towards her opponent. Lyra caught it, spinning her around to catch her in a chokehold which Laila smashed through.

“Good, you’re getting better,” Lyra encouraged as Laila ejected her leg in another kick that sent her staggering backwards.

Sprite-dancing was a sacred art form and it certainly shared more in common with dancing than it did with fighting. It demanded fluency in the language of one’s physique where you made a quick study of your opponent’s next movements from an ephemeral flex of a muscle or quick jerk of a limb. The result was something far more delicate than deadly, an elegant collision of bodies that appeared to have shrugged off gravity as though they did not need it.

Soon they were tussling again, arms and legs blurring at a speed imperceptible to sight before Lyra swept forward, curling her leg around Laila’s own and flipped her over onto her back.

“Stay focused,” Lyra chastised and nudged her with a foot. “Don’t let me catch you off-guard.” She reached out to help Laila slowly to her feet.

Laila accepted the offer graciously but once her grip on Lyra’s hand tightened she took her chance, snapping her legs around her neck and twirling them both to the floor.

“Seems that I am not the only one being caught off-guard,” Laila chimed in her songbird lilt, her voice climbing another octave as she stopped to taunt. “Your focus has gotten sloppy recently, Lyra. Appears I may have to go browsing for your replacement.”

She tightened her hold around Lyra’s neck with her thighs until she tapped out. “My focus is sound as a bell, you simply lack scruples.”

They disentangled from one another, their chests heaving and sweat-sheened.

“There is no honour in warfare,” Laila quipped in sardonic mimicry of a previous sprite instructor she’d had. She tucked away a curl that sprung free from her unruly braid.

Lyra rose up with a pant, flushed and rosy with exertion as she picked up her bottle full of mint-infused rosewater and chugged it. “Since when are you so desperately into sparring anyway?”

Since Dominus tore into her innocence with his teeth and swallowed it whole, further leaving a splinter on the margins of her psyche that only sealed upon contact with near-peril.

“I want to be prepared,” Laila said, picking up her own rosewater bottle to drink from it. “There’s no saying that war won’t ever come to Soleterea and after what I’ve experienced in Mortos, felt what an occassi can do, I refuse to ever be caught unaware again.”

“Well, you’re not wrong I suppose,” Lyra said, beginning her cool-down stretches, “after all, we’ve already been infiltrated.”

By this she meant Darius, of course.

“I still don’t know quite what to make of him,” Laila said, her lips scrunching to one side in thought.

“What’s there to make?” Lyra huffed as she stretched. “A hound on a leash is still a hound and capable of biting something fierce if not appropriately muzzled. I don’t think it was your wisest choice to join forces with him.”

“I can’t disagree but—well I suppose I was curious.” She joined alongside the stretches, feeling the tension worked into her muscles ebb away with a feline unfurl.

“About what?”

“About what he will do.” Laila undid her braid and shook out her vibrant mane of curls. “Unlike Dominus, he at least seems willing to cooperate and… well, should we succeed in overthrowing Lanius, we will need to install a leader to replace him.”

“And you think Darius ought to be that leader?” Lyra asked, tearing off the gauze from her hands to unravel it.

“I don’t know,” Laila admitted, “I admit I haven’t really thought beyond the initial goal of removing Lanius but… if he proves himself trustworthy then he’s sure to be a better option than installing one of our own.”

Lyra nodded before wrinkling her nose. She had never been one for discussing politics, it was too cloudy and obscure for someone who had always seen the world in clear monochrome. “You know what I want to have right now?”

“Éclairs?” Laila asked, with a touch of knowing.

“Éclairs.” Lyra confirmed. “Let’s rinse ourselves off in the showers and then we’ll go to my chalet.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want to share again,” Laila sighed, knowing how often she and Lyra ended up in a battle for the same spout.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

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They rode beneath the gossamer rays of late afternoon sun to the apple-green hills in Espriterre: the land of the forest sprites.

Laila rode her unicorn, Polaris, a purebred with a platinum horn and hooves of palladium; an occurrence so infrequent it was the subject of myth. Unicorns were well known for their skill at evading capture and solarites were the only creatures capable of luring them near enough to be tamed. As with most earthbound creatures, unicorns were irrevocably drawn by a solarite’s supernal essence. For even beasts look to the skies for stars and will hunt for them when they disappear behind the wood.

Laila could recall her shrill and whimsical delight when Léandre first presented Polaris at her débutante ball, a giant silk bow around his neck. They’d been practically inseparable ever since. She nudged her heels into his metallic white coat to urge him to travel faster, firmer, his nostrils frothing with exertion.

Lyra rode alongside her on a gold mare, racing her on the leaf-covered trail as they travelled through Bluebell Wood towards the village of Lis. As it was summer the underbrush was carpeted with the bell-shaped blooms, flanked on either side with lithe blondewood boles that were hollow as bird bones. With each slim wisp of breeze that rustled through the trees, the branches made sweet music in silvered chimes.

They stopped outside of Lyra’s chalet and left their mounts to graze on the fields. Her home was a moss-covered protrusion from a natural mass of stone. Such was the nature-loving ways of the forest sprites, they sought to immerse, not invade, themselves among the earth.

Lyra shared the home with Léandre, having lost her late mother to a monster-hunting quest to kill a basilisk. A subject she seldom discussed. She kicked open the front door and stepped beneath a low-hanging wood beam. The inside of a sprite’s house was just as earthy as its exterior. Furniture consisted of carefully contorted structures grown from willow trees, upholstered with large leaves and petals.

“I’m home,” she declared with gusto and paused for an answer. When there was none, she turned back to Laila with a vulpine smile. “Appears we have the place to ourselves.”

Lyra opened a cabinet bearded with ivy and brought forth a box of Soleterea’s finest éclairs garnished with nuts, berries and edible blooms. Every morning, Lyra had a box delivered from the local patisserie for breakfast and saved whatever was left for a late afternoon snack.

She put her clay kettle on the fire to boil and spooned rosebuds into the broth to make tisane. “Take your pick.”

Laila did so, deciding to help herself to a whimsically decorated pastry with raspberries and rose petals. She took a greedy bite, sighing in contentment. “It’s just as good as always.”

“Oh, yes,” Lyra agreed, setting out a tea arrangement on the dining table coated with moss. She poured them both glasses and sat, propping up one leg on the edge of the table.

They ended up going through the whole box and splitting the last pastry among each other after measuring it with a knife. By the end, even the crumbs had been demolished as Laila licked them hungrily from her fingers.

“So, hypothetically.” Laila capped her fingers with the raspberries and ate them off one by one. “Say you were intending to bring a highly dangerous, deviously intelligent, potentially treacherous monster into your castle. Where would you put him?”

“Are we still discussing this?” Lyra groaned, “you’re obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed,” Laila protested, cheeks flushing in affront. “I am merely… thinking ahead.”

Lyra snorted. “Your mother would be proud.”

“Just answer the question.”

Lyra smiled upon seeing her friend’s fixed jaw and petulant pout. “The Moon Tower.” She sucked fresh cream from her fingers. “It’s isolated, it’s secure, it’s perilously short of exits besides the entrance and a long drop out of the window. I’d put him in the Moon Tower.”

“The Moon Tower,” Laila echoed, nibbling on her bottom lip in thought. “Yes, I think that should do nicely.”