The balcony floor scorched like a branding iron when I landed hard on my back. My head, mere inches from whipping into the cold stone. Something that would have rendered me unconscious, or, dead. But for the first time in as long as I could remember, there was a moment in which I didn't care if my head had hit the floor. Damn the repercussions; however fatal. Imogen had made it clear that if I wasn't willing to share even the most flawed, dangerous parts of my being, she couldn't stay like this. That she couldn't stay with me. Perhaps it was dramatic of me, to even consider giving up entirely. But my willpower was running thin lately. Except, there were people in my castle - people I cared about. Imogen, most of all. And I wasn't about to let the Prozarians terrorise her or any other Carthyan.

The fall did no favours to my body of course. As usual, a lighting shock tore through my leg even though I should have been used to the pain. I let out a wheezing cough as I struggled for air, my lungs twisting inside my chest. Coiling around them; a heavy chain that pressed on my stomach, bile rising in my throat. I gripped my shirt - as if that would help, and pushed to my feet.

Getting down to the Great Hall to warn the others would be a trial of dizzied determination, but I had to make it. With every step my knees buckled beneath me. The only reason I remained upright was because I would quickly step again before my body careered to the floor.

But my door was within my grasp now and I stumbled out before my mind could swarm with any more questions. Why couldn't I hear the alarm bells tolling? Was I already too late? Were the people who mattered to me most safe? I blinked away the fog in my head as I vaulted myself down sets of stairs. I heard the clang of swords. I heard the surprised shouts of men cut off, literally, into pained howls. And next, silence. It was really happening, I thought. An attack on my castle - within, my castle. And the Prozarians already had the upper hand. But I had a bargaining tool. I had the Devil's Scope.

Then, as I hurled myself through the doors of the Grand Hall, my mistake was indisputable. Two men grabbed my arms and pressed me back as I absorbed the horror before me. Fighting was futile here. They had Imogen on the tip of a blade. Fink, Tobias and Amarinda were by her side. Even Roden was at their mercy, his weapons seized long before I made it here. The Prozarians had seemingly swept through my grounds like smoke. Like a venomous vapour. And, at the head of their unexpected attack, their Monarch.

Strick stood at Wilta's side; head held smugly. Her mistake, given how much neck was exposed and the sort of murderous rage that was coursing through my veins at the present moment.

"Jaron, how nice of you to finally join us," Wilta exclaimed, her toothy grin like a dog's. No, her snarl was that of a wolf. "Although I must say that fall looked terribly painful, I almost thought we'd have to carry your dead body here. Now, that would have been rather unfortunate."

An air of concern arose from my beloved friends at the mention of my near-death. Probably because the false pity seemed almost prophetic coming from Wilta.

I growled, "I thought we agreed that you'd never set foot in Carthya."

Her bitter laugh sent a shiver down my spine. Clearly, she had no care for any threat I uttered as she tried one of her own. "Where's the Scope?"

My silence was rewarded with a hard hit on the back of my head. A gift from Lump, whom I hadn't realised was even here until now.

"I ran out of patience long ago," she hissed.

A nod of her head had me dragged back out the door. I struggled in sheer terror of not knowing what fate bestowed my loved ones. A flood of relief was something I would have never otherwise associated from seeing Wilta in my throne room with me, but it meant that my friends were safe from her.

"Don't worry, there'd be no reason to kill them aside from hurting you, but I have other ways of doing that," she answered my silent question. Although, I didn't like the sound of any 'other ways' either.

Wilta continued, "I simply wanted to talk in private."

"Stop hurting my people and I'll talk."

"But you already are talking to me," she ridiculed, "If you weren't, the pain inflicted on your people would have come in the form of falling boulders from your castle walls, not the mere pebbles thrown at them now."

Metaphor aside, the warning was clear. Although cooperation with the enemy was never a prominent trait of mine, they already had an iron grip on everyone dear to me and my cooperation may have become their only hope for survival.

Strick stepped forward now, signalling Lump and the other man to send me roughly to my knees. In all honestly, it had been easier to kneel before Vargan. And he was the human equivalent of a swine. Although sometimes, I wondered if pigs were more human than he ever was.

"Give us the Scope or you'll hear your peasant girl's screams," Strick warned.

"She's more of a lady than you'll ever be-"

Lump's fat fist cracked against my jaw and I lurched into the cruel grasp of the other man. It occurred to me that Lump had been wanting to do that since our last parting.

I glared up at him, moulding my aching mouth into the most sardonic grin I could muster, one I wasn't sure I'd live to regret. "Did you know," my grin widened, "A synonym for Rosewater is sloppy?"

He reared back for a second, and undoubtedly less-sloppy hit when Wilta said, "Enough."

In the time I was busy insulting Lump I hadn't noticed Wilta had placed herself in my throne. I snarled at her eagerness to irritate me as she curled her fingers over the handles, "Jaron, you're a smart man, surely you understand how little use I have for Imogen's life. If you don't direct me to the Devil's Scope, I will have her killed without hesitation."

I feigned innocence, "I don't have the Scope, you must have dropped it into the ocean or something."

That was another mistake. Her hand was beginning to raise. At its signal I would hear the centre of my world be torn apart.

I near screamed when the panic clawed at my neck, "Above you!" Her hand stopped and the Monarch smiled coldly. My heart, that was racing as though I sprinted across the whole of Mendenwal, slowed just slightly too. More calmly, I exhaled, "Above you." There was no point lying about the Scope's whereabouts. Not when Imogen was in danger.

The whole group raised their heads in unison, one by one spotting the precariously balanced Scope. I had placed it on a thin structural ledge that decorated the frame of the room. The thin vein of wood was the only assurance that it was safe. However, it was quite a simple matter to retrieve it. I couldn't risk placing it elsewhere – my leg was still weak. And breaking my other leg from a fall would have required a lot of explaining.

Strick barked out a laugh that was passed around the room like game of hot-potato. And I, at the centre of their amusement. I hated that. But at least Imogen was safe for now.

Mercy creeped into the room like a ghost. When I thought about it, he technically was dead until proven otherwise by his miraculous presence in my castle; shooting at my vigils. His soulless eyes briefly brushed over me before he received his orders to recover the Scope. I watched as he dragged a stool, placed it and reached the Scope with the aid of his tall figure.

"Well that was simpler than I expected," Wilta chuckled as the Scope was handed to her. She seemed to relax when the metal was resting in her palm. I didn't like seeing her relax. It was the sort of calm that was more wicked than peaceable. "There's one more thing I had planned for this evening."

At Wilta's words Strick twisted around and picked a chalice off of a table. She walked over. Its contents invisible to me.

"Drink."

I cocked my head at the brutish Captain, "I'm surprisingly hydrated, I think I'll have to decline your offer. But you are all welcome to the feast I'll be hosting in celebration your defeat later. Though, I'm yet to master the psychic art of seeing the dead so I can only guess you'll be rather invisible in the whole social scene."

Nobody so much as smiled at my joke. Understandably, since the joke was at their expense.

The Monarch interrupted my monologue and stood up, "Drink it, or one of your friends will."

I stilled as the cup was lowered into my hands. I wondered what would happen if I just threw the contents all over Wilta, but erased that thought in an instant. Nothing good would come of that.

I gazed into the clear liquid sloshing inside the golden cup. There would be no use in asking them what it was, they'd only sneer at me. Slowly, I raised the chalice to my lips and swallowed the cool liquid. Water. I frowned, "I believed you'd at least have the decency to fill this with water from my kitchens. This tasted like the river that flows beneath my castle."

Wilta chuckled yet again and plucked the cup from my hands. Her silence making me uneasy.

Finally, she said, "I predict about 6 or 7 days. Maybe less, maybe more."

I frowned again, unnerved by the irrelevance of her statement.

Then, for her benefit more than my own, Wilta explained, "Dervanis oil will do that to an individual."

I froze. Feeling or maybe imagining the liquid trickling into my stomach, seeping into my blood. Burning my nerves and numbing my limbs. I was glad that I was already on my knees because falling to the floor would have seemed pathetic. The room became colder than a winter night. My vision, darkened with every uncomprehending thought, every next word the Monarch uttered.

"It was quite merciful of me, you must admit. You'll go to the devils just like your family had."

At the reminder of my family I felt the liquid boil within me. The time had come when I would join them, when I would be forced below the ground to where I should have been all this time. But I didn't want to go. Not yet.

I let out a stuttering breath as Wilta talked to fill the blank void in my mind, "In fact, you should thank me twice!" Her laugh proving that I should be doing just the opposite of thanking her. "I haven't told any of your pets. Left it for you to decide if you'll run or you'll tell your darling Imogen and all the others that your ignorance has finally, cataclysmically brought about your demise. Though I have to admit, that row I saw you and Imogen having earlier" she paused, giving an exaggerated phew, "I'm almost sure she'll be relieved to hear that your date with death is scheduled in no more than a week."

I glanced in the direction of the Great Hall. Hoping, and failing to see Imogen through the stone wall.

"But the best part is," Wilta leaned towards me until her breath burned my icy skin, pronouncing each next syllable like a stab deep into my gut. "You'll die, knowing that I will kill every single one of them over your dead body." Her laugh lacked humour as she pat my cheek. At a whispered command I heard the movement of her soldiers leaving the room. But before she went with them, she spoke louder than before, "Carthya will burn but you'll be too far below grounds to share in the pain and agony of your people. Everyone will blame you for what you brought upon your country. I'll go after Belland next and that traitor's son you call your brother. The people you care for most will try to stop me and for that they will suffer the most. For your own stupidity, they will be buried alive, and you… you will be too rotted to hear their cries for help."

The arms securing me dropped and my heavy heart pulled me to the ground like a weight. I was vaguely aware of the hall clearing on the other side of the wall. I hadn't even the strength to stop Wilta before she set out looking for the Devil's Scope's treasure.

Mindlessly, I rose to my feet and walked towards the secret door between the two rooms. If anything, I needed to see my friends safe. They won't be pleased with me. I had withheld the Devil's Scope from them all. Even Imogen, the one person who seemed to always understand me, would be more angry than relieved to see me alive and well. Alive and well. That was a luxury I no longer possessed.

I opened the door slowly, trying to remember how to apologise when the words were stuck in my throat. As I crossed the threshold I was wrapped into Imogen's arms. They were tight and angry around my waist. But relief was also present in her embrace and I greedily basked in its warmth while I still could. I gazed around at the disappointment reeking off of every person in the room. By now they had obviously figured out what transpired, and who was responsible for tonight's wicked entertainment. Me.

I cast my eyes downward and mumbled, "I'm so sorry."

But nobody heard except for myself.