At a mansion owned by a major noble in the Royal Sorcerers’ Academy of Claydale, a girl wearing a jet-black dress enjoyed a cup of tea on a wide terrace.
“There’s so little to do,” she lamented, twining her long black hair—so dark it seemed to swallow the light—around a finger. Her skin was a ghastly white, and the shadows under her eyes gave them a sunken appearance.
Karla Leicester, one of the crown prince’s fiancées and the daughter of a count, looked less like a sickly girl than a phantom. Despite her complaints of boredom, a smile played upon her lips—not a cheerful, reassuring one but a pleased smile that made others uneasy.
She was under house arrest at her mansion within the academy grounds, on orders of the royal family and her father. This was because Karla had attacked the Holy Church in the royal capital, massacred its disciplinary corps, killed the so-called holy maiden, and gravely injured Nathanital, grandson of the high priest.
Though the Holy Church had agreed to not press charges, possibly due to having skeletons in its closet, the scandal wasn’t going anywhere. The decision served the interests of Karla’s father, Count Leicester, who wanted the honor of his daughter becoming a queen, and the royal family, who had kept Karla’s punishment mild to guarantee connections with the powerful House Leicester and its supporters. Above all, however, the royal family had secret agreements with the girl.
Count Leicester’s retainers stopped by frequently to monitor Karla. When she was young, her father and his retainers had been cruel to her—but now that it was obvious she far surpassed his skill, despite him being chief court sorcerer, he refused to meet with her, and his retainers watched her with undeniable fear in their eyes.
What face would her father make if she killed his retainers, she wondered? She’d once burned one of them to the bone, but her father hated scandals and had covered it up.
“Hee hee...”
Nathanital, whose face Karla had severely burned, still hadn’t completely healed even after a month. With how thoroughly she’d maimed him, it would take about half a year for his facial nerves to fully regenerate.
About once a month, her financé, crown prince Elvan, would come visit. Though this was likely an order from his father the king, he was also far too earnest for his own good, and his visits were a way for him to fulfill his duties as her betrothed. That same earnestness had gotten him completely wrapped around the finger of a foolish girl, but Karla found the young man’s behavior endearing.
This ridiculous, ridiculous, adorable man whose beloved sister had disappeared and whose heart grew sicker by the day. This symbol of the glory and joy of the kingdom that Karla despised. When he became king, how much chaos would ensue? How many lives would it cost?
Her desire to see it through had impelled her to aid the nobility faction, invite demons into the country, bury his supporters in darkness, and sow seeds of discord. The more sources of anxiety for Elvan, the more devoted he grew to that foolish girl and the more his heart grew distant from Clara—who truly loved him.
Karla found it absolutely delightful to watch this unfold.
Once Elvan had surrendered body and soul to that girl, who should Karla kill first to cause maximum damage to his heart?
Her lips curled into a smile. “There’s so little to do.”
Karla knew the true reason she was bored: She wasn’t here. Alia. The only girl who could kill Karla. The only person she would ever acknowledge. The one she wanted to fight, the one she wanted to slay her while the capital burned to ashes in the background.
She didn’t want to waste away or lose her life to some mediocrity, nor to die with her neck on an executioner’s block. Karla wanted to live for Alia and die by Alia’s hand. She knew Alia would make it back alive, no matter how harsh the environment she’d ended up in. She’d use everything as nourishment for her growth and return stronger to kill Karla.
Still, Karla had begun to tire of how dull life was without Alia.
“Perhaps I should go fetch her soon,” Karla mused. “Would she like that?”
With her eyes closed in rapture, Karla’s smile was chilling yet luminous, like that of a girl in love.
✦ ✦ ✦
A dark room. Damp air. Floor and walls of cold stone.
In the dungeon of an old castle north of the desert, a chained, wounded girl quietly came to, her strong jade eyes glaring at the darkness.