The Witch's Cursed Daughter

68. Father Daughter Tea-time

Blood poured like wine from a broken casket across the white sheets on the bed, jewels appearing like tiny islands as they dropped indiscriminately into the puddles. Illea watched with endearing fascination as Faris hacked professionally at Evianna's arms and legs, work she had done on many occasions. Yet, the position of bystander held a special joy compared to the one creating the art.

After an hour or so, Illea's attention shifted to the pathway leading to their location; a quick shuffling alerted her to the presence of someone approaching at speed. Lifting her hand to her bust, the princess could feel her heart racing in anticipation; gripping a small metal end, she drew a flexible needle-like blade just as a hooded figure emerged. With the speed of a well-trained soldier, Illea threw her blade at the newcomer, who took the blow to their shoulder. They kneeled at the pain of the metal piercing the shoulder, which halted before exiting the skin on the far side.

"Oh, Davore!" Illea exclaimed at closer inspection, "I hadn't realised that it was you. Why are you here?"

"My apologies, Princess, His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Yaalon has arrived," the cloaked figure gritted their teeth as they spoke.

"My father has come?"

"Yes, Princess."

"I suppose it must be important. Shame, I can't finish watching the fun," Illea glanced over to the carving scene of split flesh and ruby-red stains, and sighed gently. Taking a step forward, she leaned down and met the hooded person's eyes, "Davore, I suggest you go get that treated." Reaching out her hand, Illea tapped the blade, watching the grimace on the wounded figure contort with each touch. Suddenly, the princess grabbed hold of the blade and used the flexibility to bend the metal over the shoulder, pulling the muscles and skin away from the bone. "Do not sneak up on me again. My father is not letting me change my ability, so perhaps I should steal something else you hold dear. Don't you have a younger brother?"

The cloaked Mage trembled in terror as Illea's growling voice rung in their ears. Giggling as she stood up, Illea turned and left, strutting through the narrow path towards her father.

"Father, what a lovely surprise," she exclaimed as the Emperor came into view.

"It has been too long, dear daughter. I have come for your wisdom," he responded as they embraced in a tight hug.

Pulling away, Illea motioned to the small marble table she had been sitting at, "How may I serve you?"

Taking a seat, the Emperor helped himself to an untouched plate of preserved fruits. "As you know, Wen is surveying the troops and the upkeep of our new territories on my orders; he shall be returning within the next few days. Through correspondence, he has admitted that Julian is commanding them well, despite his mixed blood."

"I am not sure why he suddenly became obedient. It has been years since Julian left, yet he has not made a fuss about his return," Illea added as she poured new tea, which Davore had replaced before going to find her. "The girl's pseudo-death must have broken his spirit."

"I wonder how he has survived this long?" the Emperor pondered as he stroked his beard, which had grown longer over the last few years. "As a father, I am not surprised that my bloodline is so strong; however, your brothers refuse to die no matter the situation."

Illea paused as she contemplated her father's words, waiting for the call of a nearby bird to settle. She lifted her cup and took a silent, bitter sip to build her courage, "Father, Wen is now twenty-one years old."

"Yes?"

"Should you not consider naming him crown prince?"

"Are you trying to dethrone me, daughter?" the Emperor's green eyes flashed with something dangerous, delusional, and rabid, which caused Illea to panic, an emotion she had not felt since her return from battle eight years ago. A drop of liquid escaped the heavy atmosphere, racing down the edge of the porcelain teacup before staining the pale frilly fabric atop Illea's knees.

"Of course not, I only wish to strengthen your rule," Illea's mind thundered as excuses fought for supremacy, "the presence of a crown prince would tell the surrounding kingdoms that we have a strong monarchy which would deter..."

"That is enough!" He roared, bringing his fist to meet the tabletop, the marble cracking in fear. "I am still in my prime. The first prince may be capable, but I will not hand over my crown until it is pried from my corpse."

"Father, please don't talk about dying; you are too young. Let's forget I mentioned it. I didn't wish to upset you," Illea reached out to lay her soft hands on top of her father's, gripping him lightly to convey her apology and support. Emerald eyes gleaming between them, the Emperor sighed and relaxed his fist.

"Alright. What do you make of the situation of Julian's survival and return?"

"His birthday is not too far away. When a royal turns sixteen, they are granted more authority; perhaps he is receiving help from nobles who wish to support his claim to the throne."

"There must be a traitor helping him from the palace," the Emperor concluded as he weighed Illea's words. Settling back into his chair, a burst of deep heckling laughter burst from him, "Who would be so bold?"

Illea cocked her head, a sweet smile decorating her angelic face, "Was it not the Chancellor's idea to send Julian to the frontline?"