The main council chamber was quieter than usual. Not a whisper, not a movement. Only the rustling of silk cloaks, the scent of incense, and the tapping of nails on wood as Neryss drummed her fingers on the table.
At one end was herself, in a grey robe. Her curls, despite her age, were lush, and her eyes were such that they could still light fires, and in them was read that very "Blacks will live forever and no matter how."
"War is inevitable," she said finally, looking straight ahead. "Werewolves can talk diplomacy as much as they want, but... it's just empty words. The dogs of hell are preparing to attack.
Along the oval table are all the close associates.
Monica Crystal, in a long black dress, clasped her hands and watched with icy calm. The famously sarcastic lady from Crystal and the mother of the witch who was always by Anna's side.
Orvael Darkmoon, silent, with gold chains on his sleeves, cast a frowning glance at his tally book.
Harold Vane, grim, stern, straight as a sword, sat with his arms crossed - he had plans for the battle.
Sirisa Kasorn, protector of the sea waters, in a pearl-silver cloak, smelling of salt, twirled her family ring on her finger like an amulet.
Malevin Valeus, an old wizard in a grey robe, watched everyone at once. A diplomat who was known behind his back as nothing less than a "snake in velvet."
Zane Morvelin, with a grin on his lips, flashed daggers and sharp phrases.
Aisha Airlen, from the Crow Lands, watched the others' reactions with tension.
And finally, Torvin Teravan, the queen's right hand, the keeper of the seal, stood by the wall like a shadow.
"It looks like the werewolves will be attacking soon," Harold Vane said, frowning. "We are ready, but we need more legions in Pan and at the border of the West Passage."
"And I remind you," Sirisa said quietly, "that the ports of Pana and Arialin may be under threat. If they try to attack from the water, I will not let them breathe. But I warn you, we will still need a fleet.
"We have enough money," Orvael responded, "but if this drags on, we'll have to cut the Academies' subsidies."
"It's better for them to read by candlelight than for us to cut each other without weapons," Monica said dryly, to which Wayne chuckled.
"I wonder what the Coldwains are going to do. The werewolves can get to them too."
"What, does that bother you so much?" Aisha turned her head to Darkmoon.
- My lands, my home, are on the border with the Dark Prince's domain. I believe I have the right to know what will happen to it.
"Enough," Nerissa's voice cut off the argument. "You're shouting over each other like gossips at a bazaar."
- As for the Coldwains, everyone knows that we have neutrality with them. They won't attack us, and their heir is now in our capital, but I don't think they're going to unite against the werewolves. Moreover, we don't need Klaus's help, I believe we have enough military force to protect our lands, Lord Wayne. And regarding gold, I still have Tearei on my finger, and the Black inheritance as well.
Yes, Nerissa kept silent about the fact that, in general, her granddaughter is going to kill this very heir and maybe after that Klaus will declare war and they will have to fight on two fronts.
But... in this story everything is too confusing and it is not always clear who is a friend, who is an enemy... and who is an old acquaintance in general. Now in this council hall, only two people really knew what and when it began. Two women who knew so much about the past and possibly the coming future. Someday you will understand, you will definitely understand.
You will learn that what you thought was self-evident is actually just the tip of the iceberg. That the beginning of one story is actually the end of another.
-War is death...are you sure?
"I am sure that if you do not protect your home, there will be many more deaths." Naris exhaled heavily and continued. "I also wanted to discuss one more issue.
-And what is it, Your Majesty?
-My granddaughter, Anna...
- I heard she killed a werewolf right on the street, is that true?
"He wanted to kidnap my granddaughter," Nariss said coldly. "In the capital. At night. A rough beast on the streets - a pretty picture, isn't it?"
"She killed him. Without orders or a sentence." Harold Vane's voice was firm. "She did the right thing, but it was still... lynching."
"I'd burn the street down if he touched me," Monica Crystal chuckled, leaning her elbows on the table. "One werewolf is not a city. We are not under their judgment."
"Anna herself is not on trial," Aisha Airlen intervened. "But the people are watching. Perhaps what the capital needs is not heroes, but stability. Murders in the streets are a shadow that is hard to wash away.
"Murders in taverns, kisses in carriages, witches with blood on their hands - that's Rain, Kona, Doar and Siava," Sirisa said through gritted teeth. "This city isn't made of powdered sugar."
She stood up, her eyes sharp as blades.
- I give Anna complete freedom of action. Absolute. Her will is my will. Anyone against it - let them say it now.
Pause.
Even Orvael Darkmoon, usually the first to count the losses, only adjusted the ring.
Harold Wayne nodded.
Sirisa chuckled.
Monica smiled predatorily.
Zane only said:
- Okay. Let's untie her hands.
And perhaps somewhere deep down, a couple of advisers would like to challenge this decision, but they did not dare to do so in front of the queen.
"We've gotten distracted," Thorvin reminded him calmly. "The werewolves are heading for the edge. We need a plan."
—The plan is simple, respond to violence with violence. We cannot live with monsters who enjoy being monsters.
Through this council, where every vote meant destiny, Anna Black gained more than just permission—she gained almost absolute power.
With a living, strong, sane queen, the heir became a figure whose decisions required no approval, whose orders carried the weight of a seal, and whose enemies disappeared faster than the wine on a shabby tavern table ran out. Neryss did not abdicate the throne - she simply made it clear that Anna was now her blade, her will without limits, her fury unbridled.
From that moment on, the entire capital knew: if you go against the Assassin, you practically go against the queen. And even those who whispered behind her back now bowed before her - not as a princess, but as the future of these lands in one body.
**************
The main hall was immersed in semi-darkness, only the torches on the walls cast an uneven light, causing the shadows to dance as if alive. Anna sat in a chair at the long table, leaning back slightly, her hand resting lazily on the hilt of her sword. Grace stood nearby, twirling a glass of wine in her fingers, her eyes sparkling with interest and quiet mockery - she was anticipating the performance.
The doors swung open with a crash, and a pack of werewolves entered the hall. There were at least ten of them. Broad shoulders, eyes shining with bestial malice, and impudence in every movement. In front walked their leader - massive, with a rough face, and next to him walked she - Tessa.
The girl looked exhausted: dark circles under her eyes, pale, trembling fingers. And even standing next to the leader, she seemed to be trying to quietly move away from him, as if she was being pulled away, but fear held her on a chain.
"Anna Black," the leader began, holding back a growl. "You killed one of my wolves. You broke our laws. You..."
"Your laws are worth nothing if one of your mongrels decided to steal me from the middle of the street, calling me his 'true one,'" Anna interrupted, without even looking at him.
The leader bared his teeth, but Anna was already looking at Tessa.
"Do you want to have a drink with me?" Her voice was soft but firm.
Tessa froze, her lips trembled slightly, but she didn't have time to answer—the leader grabbed her hand roughly.
- She won't go. She's mine. - His voice was full of contempt. - You, witch, don't understand that a woman has her own purpose. She is obliged...
Anna lazily raised her hand, stopping him with the words:
"I didn't ask you." She turned back to Tessa, looking her straight in the eye. "Do you want to have a drink with me?"
Tessa looked up, her despairing eyes meeting Anna's, and after a short pause she said quietly:
- Yes.
With a smile that was almost invisible, Anna stood up, walked around the table and touched her hand, casting a spell of protection on the girl. The magic passed through Tessa's body in a warm wave - now no one from the pack could touch or harm her.
"Go," Anna whispered.
Tessa stepped forward. Grace immediately came up to her, put her arm around her shoulders with a slight flirtatious smile and held out a glass.
"Relax, beautiful. No one here will dare to order you around," Grace whispered in a way that made Tessa's skin crawl.
The leader hissed like a beast, his eyes blazing with hatred.
- You insult our race, witch! A woman is created to...
"Shut up." Anna's voice turned icy. She stood right in front of him, raising her hand with the sword. "One more word, and I will nail your tongue to the door. War with you is inevitable. And believe me, not one of you will leave this hall alive.
The leader stepped forward, but Grace walked up to Anna, leaned toward her ear and whispered barely audibly:
- Give him to me, Anna. I can make him stay alive... but ask for death every day. I will turn him into another form. Let him become someone's "true". Let him know all the dirt he carries.
Anna thought for a second, then her eyes flashed with a cold fire.
- Great, Crystal, you understand torture more than I do.
Grace, smiling slightly, cast a spell. The magic flashed with green light, and the leader, letting out a roar, disappeared... in one dungeon, he was already waiting for the Crystal witch to visit and whisper the cherished spell.
"Well, your 'true' destiny is no longer yours," Anna said venomously.
The rest of the pack hissed, someone rushed forward - and Anna went into battle.
The sword flashed in her hands. The first blow took the head off the nearest werewolf. The second cut the chest of another. The room smelled of blood and iron. Anna moved quickly, leaving them no chance. Each swing of the "Cursed Justice" tore the air, and heads fell to the floor, rolling across the marble slabs.
The screams died down as quickly as they had begun. Soon the hall was empty of their breath. Only fresh blood, a heavy smell, and Anna, standing with a sword from which a scarlet drop was dripping.
Grace quietly clicked her tongue.
- You know, this stern determination suits you. Even I'm a little scared.
Anna wiped the blade on the dead werewolf's cloak.
- Let those who think they can touch us or our people be afraid.
Tessa sat in her chair, clutching her glass. For the first time in a long time, she looked free—and her eyes glittered not with fear, but with gratitude.
*******
Evening had fallen on the Great Keep, its walls soaking up the echoes of the recent carnage. The smell of blood still hung in the air, clinging to the walls, soaking the tapestries as if trying to leave an eternal mark on this place. The hall was quiet, too quiet - only the crackling of the fireplace and the squelching sound of the rag that Charlene wrung out into a wooden bucket filled with murky scarlet water.
"Oh, Mistress…" she muttered, bending over the parquet. "Five minutes of 'guests' in the house, and everything is already red."
Charlene worked methodically, with an almost ritualistic focus. She was one of those maids who had not only seen too much, but had learned not to be surprised by anything. For her, as for the rest of the castle, the blood on the floor had long since become more familiar than dust.
Her thin hands slid over the wood, erasing traces of someone's tragedy. The dark-burgundy stains slowly faded, turning into ordinary water spots that would soon dry and disappear. But the parquet seemed to remember - each board seemed to shudder under the rag, rustling like a living creature.
"I told you, Mrs. Anna...," Charlene whispered, as if the mistress herself could hear her through the walls. "Why chop them down right here? It's easier in the yard - it washes away in the rain..."
She paused, lowering the cloth for a moment and straightening up to stretch her back. Her gaze swept around the room: the knocked-over chairs, the claw marks on the walls.
Charlene knelt down again and went to work.
The water in the bucket was almost black. She changed it and then poured some on the floor and went over the boards again with the brush, as if she wanted to wipe away not only the blood but also the very memory of this evening. But the blood always comes back. It stinks, it sticks, it gets stuck in your fingers.
"They'll also say later: 'Charlene, why aren't our floors polished well?'" she snorted sarcastically.
She heard footsteps. Someone was walking along the corridor - light but confident. The door opened slightly, and Anna herself looked into the opening.
— Are you still here?
"Where should I be?" Charlene asked without turning around, continuing to scrub the floor. "You should have seen what was left after your tricks... as if ten pigs had been slaughtered."
Anna chuckled and leaned against the door frame, watching her devoted servant.
- Just don't start lecturing.
- What else can I do? - Charlene nevertheless raised her head, looking at the hostess. - Did you at least talk to them? Or should I just hit them in the neck with a sword?
Anna smiled, but there was no joy in her eyes.
- Charlene, they were werewolves. You don't talk to them, you kill them.
- I know. But would you ever try not to let their guts out in the hall? After that, I have to clean up until the morning.
Charlene knelt down again and began to scrub away the last of the stains, each movement of her hand laced with a mixture of weariness and humble devotion.
"You hate this job, don't you?" Anna suddenly asked, coming closer.
The maid looked up at her.
- No. I hate that in a week I'll have to clean the floor from the same blood again.
Anna reached out and touched Charlene's shoulder.
- You are the most patient woman I know.
- Me? - the maid gave a short laugh. - No, mistress. I just know how to pretend that everything is under control. Even if everything inside me is screaming from the smell of iron and rot.
They were silent. Only the squelching of the rag and the occasional crackle of the wood in the fireplace filled the space.
Finally, Charlene wrung out the cloth one last time and stood up.
- Done. If someone decides to come in here, they'll think there was nothing here.
Anna looked at the clean parquet floor.
- But you know what happened.
Charlene nodded.
- I know. I always know. And, madam, do you know what? One day this parquet will speak. It has seen too much.
Anna frowned slightly, but did not answer. Charlene took the bucket of dirty water and went into the hallway, leaving behind a whisper of boards, as if they still retained the echo of someone else's pain.
*******
Ashton sat on a massive oak chair that resembled a throne, his huge shadow cast across the stone walls of the chamber where the strongest of his pack gathered. The stench of blood and damp earth mingled with the smoke from the torches—the smell of power and old hatred.
"Harris is back?" The alpha's voice sounded like the croak of an old wolf, brooking no argument.
"He sent word," said one of his confidants, a skinny werewolf named Maurice. "He says the witches won't hear of a truce. Neryss Black and her pack..." He trailed off, realizing that the word "pack" was best reserved for wolves.
Ashton grinned, baring his teeth.
"Women." He said the word with such contempt, as if it were a curse. "An entire kingdom ruled by women. And they dare dictate laws to us?"
He stood up, his figure looming over the assembled group, his shoulders straightened, his gaze wild and heavy.
- How much longer will we play these childish games with their letters and farces? Witches are weak. They can hide behind spells and the poison of words, but in close combat they are meat. I have seen them die. And I want to see it again.
A roar of approval was heard in the hall, and someone banged their fist on the table.
- But... Anna Black, - Maurice carefully interjected. - They say she killed two of ours last week. Tore out their throats... with a sword. And a whole pack that moved to the witch capital.
"That girl?" Ashton chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "I've heard of her. A bitch with the eyes of a predator. Thinks her blood makes her our equal. But what's her sword if she has no instinct? Without it, any blade is just iron."
He walked slowly around the circle, looking everyone in the eye.
- Let him think he can cut my wolves. Let him try. But soon we will enter their homes, their castles, and I will make this witch howl like the bitch she is.
The roar of approval grew louder, and some were already on their feet, ready to hunt.
"Harris said that old Nariss still hopes for negotiations." Ashton grimaced. "Let her think that we are discussing peace. It will be all the sweeter the moment when their walls come crashing down and they themselves are on their knees. Women ruling the kingdom are a mistake of nature."
Maurice raised his head.
- When will we strike, alpha?
"Soon," Ashton hissed, looking into the torchlight. "Very soon. Let their witches dance at balls and hide behind their damned blades for now. We will come tonight. And no one will remember their names."
He raised his hand, and the hall exploded with a howl that echoed through the scaffolding. It was a howl of anticipation.
*******
The Gray Valley was cold and deadly. Fog hung over the ground, thick as milk, absorbing sounds and turning every rustle into something threatening. Elena ran, stumbling, scraping her hands on dry branches and sharp stones. Her lungs burned from breathing hard, her heart pounded in her chest so loudly that she thought Morgan would hear it even if he fell behind.
"Run, just run," she repeated mentally. "If only I could reach the edge of the valley…"
But Morgan didn't lag behind. He didn't run like a normal person. There was a predatory confidence and a strange ease in his movements, as if he knew which way to turn before she decided. Since he showed his true face, his smile no longer seemed warm. There was only coldness in it now, twisted with sadism.
- Elena! - his voice sounded behind him, almost calm, which was more frightening than a scream. - You know you won't run away. Why torture yourself?
Elena clenched her teeth and quickened her pace. The hem of her dress caught on a dry branch and jerked, but she tore the fabric without thinking. Dirt covered her legs, her knees were already bruised. None of this mattered. She wanted to leave, to disappear, to erase from her memory the image of the man who had sworn his love to her only yesterday and who today wanted to turn her into his property.
For a moment, a path leading to an old bridge over a ravine flashed ahead. If I crossed it, he would have less chance of catching up…
She rushed towards the bridge, but the ground beneath her feet treacherously crumbled, and Elena almost fell down, clinging to roots and ledges. At that moment, the crunch of branches was heard behind her - he was close.
"Elena, baby," he drawled mockingly, "you're not one of those who can play hide-and-seek."
She pushed herself forward with force and jumped out onto the bridge. The boards under her feet groaned pitifully, but held. Elena rushed around, but a dark figure emerged from the fog at the other end of the bridge.
Morgan.
He overtook her in some unimaginable way. His eyes glowed in the semi-darkness - not with the eyes of a man, but with the eyes of a predator.
"Are you going far?" he asked, grinning. "Did I give you permission to leave?"
"Get away, Morgan!" Elena grabbed a stone from the bridge and threw it without thinking. The stone hit him in the shoulder, but Morgan only grinned wider, as if he was amused by her resistance.
"Oh, that's sweet," he said, moving toward her. "You think you can still fight."
She backed away, but there was a ravine behind her. The bridge creaked under her weight, threatening to collapse. Morgan took a step forward, his hands clenching like claws.
"You don't understand, Elena," his voice became cold, sharp. "You are mine. From the day I took your hand, you belong to me.
"I'm not your thing!" she screamed, and the same fury that Anna had had flashed in her eyes. "And I never will be!"
Morgan darted forward, too fast. She tried to push him away, but his fingers closed around her wrist like iron bands. He pulled her toward him, so that she could feel his hot breath on her face.
"You must understand one simple truth," he hissed, squeezing her hand so hard that Elena cried out in pain. "Your Anna is not here, your witches are not here. There is only me. And if you do not stop twitching, I will break your fingers one by one.
Elena tried to hit him with her knee, but Morgan intercepted her movement, twisting her arm behind her back. She screamed, but the sound was lost in the fog of the Gray Valley.
"Don't shout," his voice became a whisper, but there was more menace in that whisper than in the roar of a beast. "No one will hear you here."
She jerked, trying to free herself, and then Morgan pushed her back against the wooden support of the bridge. The boards creaked, one cracked, but he held her tight, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.
- You think you'll escape? - His pupils dilated, his gaze became almost insane. - Even if you reached the end of this valley, I would still find you. And you know what? I even like that you resist. It makes the hunt more interesting.
Elena felt her strength fading. But something inside her broke - fear turned into dull rage.
"I would rather die than be yours," she whispered, pressing her lips tightly together.
Morgan just chuckled.
- We'll see, beauty.
He jerked her up as if she weighed no more than a child and dragged her back into the fog.
**********
Twilight enveloped the garden in a soft silver light. A light mist swirled at the foot of the flower beds, mixing with the scent of night flowers. Anna walked slowly, almost silently, touching the cold rose petals with her fingers. Alexey walked next to her - tall, with slightly disheveled hair and a smile that could warm even her tired, petrified soul.
"You're quiet today, princess," he said with that light mockery that had once made her fall for his charm. "I'm beginning to suspect that you're up to something."
Anna smiled at the corner of her lips.
- If I was planning something, you would be the last one to know about it.
- Oh, how harsh, - Alexey dramatically put his hand to his heart. - I can only resign myself and admire you until you decide to finish me off.
She turned to him and couldn't help but smile softly. He was... too bright, too pure against the backdrop of her life, soaked in blood and eternal darkness. Alexey wasn't a special magician, but he knew how to joke, listen, and, surprisingly for a man, he didn't try to change her.
"Why are you always so… impossible?" she asked quietly, stopping at a stone bench covered in moss.
"It's innate," he sat down next to her, resting his elbow on the back of the bench. "Since childhood, I've been someone who's impossible not to love."
Anna snorted, but her heart pricked.
Too good. Too simple and kind for me.
"Tell me, Alexey, what do you see when you look at me?" Her voice suddenly became serious.
He was slightly surprised by the question, but answered without thinking:
— I see a woman who can stop a war with one look and cause a storm with one word. And who does not believe that someone can love her just like that.
Anna looked away. He spoke too correctly. Too sincerely.
You don't understand, Alexei. If you saw the real me - the one standing knee-deep in blood, holding my father's sword - you would turn away.
- You're strange, Alexey.
"I know. But that's part of my charm, right?" He touched her hand lightly.
Her skin responded with a strange warmth that she had not felt for a long time. Anna could stand for hours in the freezing rain and not feel the cold, but one touch of it pierced the armor.
"Tell me… you're not afraid of me, are you?" Her voice became almost a whisper.
- Afraid? - He laughed. - Anna, I've seen you fight werewolves. I've seen you make any coward tremble with just one look. Yes, you're scary, but not for me.
She smiled weakly.
- You are too good for me.
- You're at it again, aren't you? - Alexey sighed and pulled her closer. - If I'm "too good", then why am I here and not somewhere in a cozy house with a quiet life? Why do I choose you, a witch, a murderer and probably the most difficult creature in the world?
Anna didn't know what to say. She just laid her head on his shoulder. The silence of the garden became almost tangible, only the wind rustled the leaves.
I feel good with him... too good. But do people like me deserve this?
Alexey suddenly turned to her, his eyes were laughing, but somewhere deep inside there was a soft seriousness.
- Do you know what I want right now?
- What again?
- Kiss you. And let this whole damn world fall apart.
Anna wanted to joke, but instead he already pressed her to himself. His kiss was not like the others - not demanding, not cold, but warm, calm. As if he was not afraid even of her dark side.
And for a moment it seemed to her that she could forget everything. About the oath. About the blood. About the fate that drives her to hunt for Coldwain.
But somewhere deep in her soul she already knew that this bright man would not be able to walk next to her until the end.
*********
Anna stood at the window of her chambers, watching the evening sun paint the sky in orange-scarlet tones. The garden below was drowning in golden glare, and somewhere there, among the paths, Alexei was probably strolling. Thoughts of him warmed her heart slightly, but today something was bothering her. As if the air around was saturated with foreboding.
"Madam," Charlene's quiet voice broke into her reverie, "this has just been delivered for you."
The maid entered, holding a long, narrow box wrapped in dark blue cloth and tied with a wine-colored ribbon. Anna raised an eyebrow.
— Who is this from?
- They didn't say. But... - Charlene hesitated, clearly feeling the strange energy from the message. - It feels like it's not from "ordinary" fans.
Anna slowly removed the ribbon and opened the box. Inside, on black velvet, lay a dagger, elegant but deadly. The hilt was decorated with silver, engraved with ornate symbols, and the blade shimmered with such a cold light that it seemed to drink in the darkness itself.
There was a small note under the dagger. The handwriting was thin, clear, almost elegant.
"You looked enchanting, Anna Black.
This dagger is a reminder: true beauty always contains danger.
I want to see you spill their blood.
- IN."
Anna clenched her fingers, feeling the cold of the blade penetrate even through her skin.
"Koldvain," she said quietly, almost with a grin. "Playing with presents?"
Charlene frowned.
- Maybe it's a trap. The dagger seems... alive.
Anna took the dagger in her hands. It fit perfectly in her palm, as if it had been made for her.
- Alive or dead, he's handsome. He clearly wants me to remember him.
At that moment the door swung open and Alexey appeared on the threshold, casual, with his usual smile, but seeing the box and the dagger in Anna's hands, his gaze changed.
"What is this?" His voice was calm, but there was a hint of tension in it.
Anna turned, raising her dagger.
— A gift from one... "acquaintance".
- An acquaintance? - Alexey took a step closer, his gaze became serious. - And who gives you such things, princess?
"Someone who knows how to surprise," a barely noticeable mockery touched her lips.
— Surprise? Or intimidate? — Alexey looked at the dagger as if he saw a hidden threat in it. — I don't like that he knows how to influence you.
Anna put the dagger back into the box and slammed it shut.
- Alexey, are you jealous?
"Maybe," he didn't deny. "But when men give you things like that, they're not just paying you compliments. He's... he's playing a dangerous game with you."
"And aren't you curious about who will win this game?" She came closer, her voice almost a whisper.
"I'm only interested in one thing," he took her hand, squeezing it carefully but confidently. "That he doesn't take you away from me."
Anna lingered her gaze on him. Too good… Or maybe it's better for him not to know that I like this game?
- They won't take it, Alexey. No one will take it.
But when she was alone, she opened the box again and ran her fingers along the blade. Coldwein, you are too bold. And yet… you know how to awaken a dangerous desire in me.
*********
The main castle's living room was bathed in warm candlelight. A map was spread out on a massive oak table - rough outlines of mountains and rivers, camp markers, red ink marking the points of expected werewolf attacks. Anna leaned over the table, thoughtfully running her finger along the line of the Gray Valley.
"If Ashton decides to go this way, he'll try to wear us down. They'll start with raids on the villages, as always." Anna looked up at her uncle. "Rizalis, are your men ready?"
"My people are always ready," Risalis said with a slight smile. A tall, strong man with a distinctive moustache, he was the complete opposite of Anna's fragile grace. "Unlike some 'strategists' who think that the plan is simply 'kill everyone.'"
"Hey, that's my patented style!" Anna protested, putting her hands on her hips. "And by the way, it works great."
"Until a certain time," Grace put in, lazily playing with the dagger she was twirling in her hands. "But sometimes the brain is more useful than the sword. Although, looking at you, Anna, I understand that this is not your case."
"The witch is jealous that I can solve problems quickly," Anna chuckled. "Okay, let's get down to business. William has left for a military camp, so the three of us will have to discuss strategy."
"Yes, otherwise our boy is too afraid that the werewolves will come uninvited," Risalis noted, leaning over the map.
Anna thoughtfully tapped her fingernail on the table.
"If their scouts are already in the valley, we can set up an ambush here..." She pointed to a spot near the old bridge. "But then we'll have to block this passage. Grace, can you raise the barrier?"
- The barrier is easy. Just a warning, it will take a lot of energy. So then I will be mean and unhappy with everything.
"That means you will remain as you are," Anna chuckled.
Grace rolled her eyes.
- Very funny, killer.
- What? You know, I'm a master of humor.
- You are a master of chopping off heads. And this is a slightly different art.
Rizalis, while the witches were exchanging remarks, leaned over the map.
"If we strike here," he pointed, "we can cut them off from the main roads. But we'll have to act quickly."
Anna narrowed her eyes.
- Sounds like someone is planning to die heroically. You don't want to become famous in the style of "uncle died saving a village with three chickens"?
"Not really," Rizalis chuckled. "But you know, if I were you, I wouldn't rule out other 'legendary scenarios.'"
Anna crossed her arms over her chest.
- What do you mean?
Rizalis raised an eyebrow and said with the most serious expression:
— In one dynasty, a niece recently married her uncle. They say it strengthens family ties... especially in bloody times.
Grace almost choked with laughter, but pretended to look at the map.
Anna thought for a second, theatrically bowing her head, as if she was seriously considering the proposal.
- Well, you know... maybe this isn't the worst idea.
"What?" Rizalis' eyes widened, but Anna only grinned.
- Yes, maybe not the worst. But, Uncle, you know... that moustache. - She pointed her finger at his beard. - And then, I'm not very fond of red-haired men. I like them better... without such fluffy accessories.
Grace couldn't help but laugh out loud, almost dropping the dagger.
- Anna, you are terrible.
"I know," Anna said proudly. "But if I suddenly want to marry a relative, I'll think about your candidacy, Rizalis."
"I'll be waiting for a letter of offer, niece," he answered calmly, pushing a glass of wine towards her. "In the meantime, let's figure out how we'll survive until next month."
Anna chuckled and returned to the map.
- Yes, perhaps the weddings can wait. We have other priorities now.