The Unwanted

6.

Zachaeus von Hal

6.9.1.14.3.5.

The door creaked open, and as Yvette emerged, I had to swallow the bitter taste of disgust that clawed at the back of my throat. I despised witches—loathed them with a fervor that was almost religious. Yet this one, standing before me, provoked a revulsion so profound that it churned in my gut like a sickness.

Time had not been kind to her; no, it had ravaged her mercilessly. Her eyes had sunken deep into their sockets, skin wrinkled and sagging beyond recognition, the once-vibrant auburn hair now reduced to thin, brittle strands of white and moles had spread like a vile contagion on her skin.

My jaw tightened as I forced myself to stand still, the urge to recoil almost unbearable.

"Zachaeus?" The sound of her voice was like nails on glass. She arched a brow, and what she undoubtedly believed to be a seductive smirk twisted her lips.

Behind me, I caught the faint sound of Dragon gagging, a sentiment I shared more deeply than I cared to admit.

Yvette eyed the two figures flanking me, her smirk widening, revealing teeth that had seen better days."And two friends? Is this my fortunate day?"

The revulsion in my gut churned, but I swallowed it down, forcing my hands into my pockets to keep from acting on the disgust that simmered just beneath the surface. "Don't pander to me with your hollow charm. I'm here because we are in need of someone's aid—someone of genuine power—to help us with whatever is happening in the kingdom right now." I fixed her with a steely gaze. "And do not pretend ignorance; I am aware that you feel it too. With all the respect I can muster, which is none, I must insist that you are of no use to us in this situation."

She regarded me with a look of affronted dignity, as though my words were a grave insult to her sense of self-worth. "And let us entertain the notion that I provide you with the assistance you seek. What, pray tell, do I stand to gain in return?"

"What do you desire? Souls? Potions? Old potion books?" I asked, my tone dry and devoid of warmth. "I can give you anything, just let's settle this quickly before we waste more precious time."

"Oh," there was a glint in her eyes, "you speak of anything, do you? Very well then. My daughter is the one who can aid you. But there is a condition—one that I find quite agreeable." Her sharp, slender nail traced a path over my chest, and I could not suppress a sharp hiss. "You must marry her upon your ascension to the throne, which we both know you are destined to claim." The edge of her nail seemed to burn through my clothing. "Marry her, and you shall have access not only to her but to the vast library and the other witches in my fold."

Behind me, Dragon erupted into a fit of giggles as if the situation was some joke.

The idea was madness, an abomination against everything I had been taught, everything I believed. To wed a witch was to court disaster, to invite damnation into my very bloodline and I knew that to refuse might mean our ruin. My hand clenched into a fist, the nails biting into my palm as I forced a nod. The assent felt like a betrayal of my very soul, but the stakes were too high to allow for pride or morality.

I vowed silently to myself that I will kill her once I ascend the throne.

-

I longed to hurl myself out of the window, anything to escape the suffocating stench of witchcraft that hung like a pall in the room. Witches—ugly, repellent creatures that seemed to crawl from the darkest recesses of the earth. Yet, this one before me was... acceptable.