The Witch's Cursed Daughter

72. Duties Of Your Crown

Making his way through Warwick Palace, Wen couldn't help but feel reminiscent. Over the last few years, he had remained even more reclusive than previously, making adjustments to legislations, Guard and Knight Orders, and collecting blueprints and layouts of each building and every worker.

In the sunlight, which roasted the ground on an unusually hot spring day, the bags beneath Wen's eyes were sore. His insomnia was steadily becoming worse with the extra workload this mission had brought him. Passing through the courtyard, past the piazza, and then the grassy, flower-filled garden only maintained because of the deceased queen, his mother, Wen found himself at his own palace.

Hellebore Palace, named for the ocean of black flowers with white centres surrounding and climbing the walls, defying their natural incentive to cling to the earth. The endless swarm of black appeared as though the night sky fell at the feet of the palace; with its pale bricks and dull coloured paint-work, it lived up to its nickname: Hell Palace.

Wen made his way inside; unlike Julian, he was not greeted by a stream of maids and servants, only his butler, who he did not know the name of. There was no need to know; another would fill the position within a few weeks; no one had stayed any longer than two months.

Wen's study was positioned on the second floor, three rooms had been connected, and the walls destroyed for a library to form a maze of information only the first prince himself could navigate. The scent of mould, dust, and unfiltered air greeted Wen warmly as he entered, slamming the double doors shut. Carefully he walked through the tunnel-like pathways between dull standing shelves lined with every shade imaginable until he was spat out in the middle of the room, penned in by his maze.

Waiting for him, sitting eagerly in an odd-legged chair, was Davore. Seeing the brown-haired prince, she shot from her seat, pulling down her hood, "Your Imperial Highness, how was your journey?"

"It was fine, and your task?"

"There have been a few challenges, but for now, she's holding steady," Davore replied, biting her lip as Wen's eyes snapped towards her.

"What challenges?" he asked slowly, his voice sounding dark and strained.

"Every day that girl is hacked to pieces and then healed; her magic is growing as her body absorbs the magical energy she is exposed to. I've been doing my best to keep her consciousness absent so that she doesn't gain or lose control of the power which is building inside, but it's not a long-term solution."

"You're right," Wen agreed. Making his way to a desk partially hidden in the shadows created by the walls of books, Wen dropped into a creaking chair, rubbing his fists into his eyebrows. "Julian will be heading back in a couple of weeks, and then you won't need to do this anymore."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Davore smiled excitedly.

Wen pulled open a drawer and set up his writing station with a smooth, glass ink bottle and crisp paper, a quill that looked like it had never been replaced, and pearly wax to seal a letter.

"What are you doing now?"

"I need to send a message to my brother, alerting him to certain events that he should know before his return," he responded, undisturbed by the Mage's constant interruptions.

"The Chancellor?"

"Yes," thinking hard, Wen was unsure how to send news of the death as he felt mildly responsible. The Chancellor would not have been involved had he not have manipulated Julian's feelings for Evianna, yet now there was nothing that could be done except move forward. Completing his first draft, Wen passed the note to Davore, whose wide eyes and silence told him that he needed to try again.

Continuing until the shadows covered more than the faint glow of the dying day, he dropped his quill, satisfied with the composition. Folding the paper neatly, he did not inscribe any details of the recipient or sender, just a wax seal marker with an upside-down Myrde, the symbol of rebellion.

Passing the note to Davore, Wen nodded for her to begin. Closing her eyes, magic poured from her hands onto the envelope; with an orange tinge, her magic was comforting and clean. Suddenly the letter vanished, arriving in Julian's tent waiting to be read.