Chapter 4

Still not overly happy, Bray went to find Abigail, easily locating her in her room. He threw open the door, rewarded with her shooting upright from her pillow. "You were invited as a courtesy, Abbie." He said flatly, leaning in the doorway. "You're… offer is appreciated, but not practical. This woman had probably been down in the camps for months, or even years," Providing she was one of the women who birthed more sons than daughters. "We need people who actually know what they are doing, who have actually seen. You need to learn to critically think if you're going to do this." Her outburst had him reassessing this because Bray couldn't afford her getting offended over baubles.

Calm down, cool your jets or you're never going to get out of here, Abigail had to mentally coach herself, swallowing down her anger, her pride, and took a deep, fortifying breath. "You are right. I was out of line and…I apologize, Bray." That left a bitter, sour taste in her mouth to say those words. "I was honestly trying to help, but I overstepped my boundaries and…you were gracious enough to invite me to the meeting." All women were to Bray were babymakers, breeders, nothing more and it sickened Abigail to no end. "I-I will take whatever punishment you deem fit to give me…My Lord." VERY rarely did she call him that, but she had to warm up to Bray again and this was the best way to do it. "Please forgive my insolence, it will not happen again." Just to make sure he believed her, Abigail lowered to her knees in front of him on the bed and bowed her head, clasping her hands together in front of her.

Seeing Abigail in that position, kneeling before him and hearing her calling him 'my Lord', Bray wasn't sure what to make of it. On one hand, this was his Abbie, his best friend, and his most true companion throughout these long years. Then again, she was a woman who had challenged him in front of a trusted adviser. She had put him in a stupid spot. He treated her differently from everyone else, and in the DOV, it was complicated. During the many sermons, many teachings, women were told that the trials and tribulations they were suffering were holy and righteous. Abigail would be their holy Mother, a new Madonna as it were. In the end, she would be their salvation and he had every intention of being hers. But that moment wasn't here just yet, soon… very soon. And until then… He ran a hand down his face.

"You know better, Abbie." He said finally, his gravelly voice serious and stern.

"There's no excuse for my actions, My Lord. Please forgive me."

Abigail felt lower than dirt begging to be forgiven, for merely speaking her mind and trying to help. This was ridiculous! The sooner she was out of this castle, the better, but first, she had to get on Bray's good side again. When he moved forward and raised his hand, she did her best not to flinch and breathed out silently when it merely rested on her head. Looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, Abigail once again apologized for no reason and leaned into Bray's touch, her hand raising to clasp his against her cheek. A single tear trickled down her cheek and it wasn't because she was sorry, it was because she was terrified of this monster.

"Bray, I'm so sorry…"

She had looked like she was terrified that he would strike her, which Bray had never done before, so why would she think he would now? He had been there, seen the abuse Abigail had suffered, just as she had seen the horrors inflicted upon him. He needed air and there were other matters to attend too.

"You're forgiven." It came out brusque than he had intended, but there it was. "I will see you at dinner." Bray pulled his hand away and walked out of the room, his eyes icing over. He wasn't surprised when Erick Rowan, another most loyal, fell into step behind him. "I want a review of the women, those who have birthed males. I want our serum to go on them." He wasn't about to waste it on female babies.

Good heavens, that was close! Abigail swallowed hard, wiping her tears away and knew she had to tread VERY carefully from now on until it was time to infiltrate the Undertaker's domain. Walking over to the window, Abigail leaned against the ledge and looked out at the long stretch of land they lived in, taking another deep breath.

"Undertaker…you better be ready for what I have to offer. You're my last hope to end this once and for all." She whispered, eyebrows furrowing together and hoped she was doing the right thing, hoping this didn't backfire on her.


"Do we have any intel on this Undertaker?"

"He's big, tall… that's about it." Luke answered as they walked the camps, Bray's ice blue eyes not missing anything as he took inventory of the women scurrying around, while men trained. "When he goes out of Wonderful, he's… disguised." None of them really knew what he looked like. "A lot of his men are built the same though. You could have fought him already and you would never know."

"What kind of disguises?"

"You would need to talk to Malcolm. His theory is that the Undertaker has a talisman that allows him to change his appearance."

This had been bothering Luke for a while and it was high time he brought the subject up, clearing his throat. "My liege, there is something that troubles me…about your relationship with Sister Abigail." Nobody called her anything except that, due to the religious nature. Or M'lady…some even called her Queen Abigail, though Luke never had. When Bray's icy blues met his, Luke hesitated, but decided to speak his mind. "Sire, I know Abigail is…special to you and whatnot, but don't you think it's time to have her start breeding? You need heirs to the DOV, to carry on your legacy when you eventually perish. She's 26-years-old and…not getting any younger, My Lord. And I am not the only one who fears this happening. A lot of us believe it's time you breed with her and have her do what a woman does best…" Open her legs and allow the seeds of DOV to flow through her.

"I've been thinking of that as well." Bray confessed, running his fingers through his long brown hair, ruffling it, his brow creasing in a frown. He knew it was hypocritical, other women breeding and he kept one for his own 'pleasure' as it were, without touching her, without producing an heir. "I want to ensure she'll produce sons first." It would look quite bad if his Queen bore him a daughter as his first child. "After this mission is complete, after we have the Mythril, then I will bed her."

That made sense and Luke felt marginally better about the situation, thankful his Lord hadn't cut him down for asking about Sister Abigail. "Do you believe the Mythril will ensure she bores you a son?"

At Bray's nod, Luke smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, already knowing his Lord hadn't bedded any woman in his lifetime, which was a damn shame. Bray was a handsome, strong man and any woman would've been lucky to breed with him. However, he had remained steadfast in his belief that Abigail was his one and only, no other man would touch her. As much as Luke longed to have Abigail, even for a night, or long enough to breed with her, he knew it would never happen and instead took the other women they brought into the DOV to bed…even if they weren't willing. He wondered what it would be like to hear Abigail scream while penetrating her, a sick smile crossing his face at the thought.

"Will you go talk to Malcolm then about this talisman theory?"

"Yes, a lead is a lead and we need all the intel we can before sending her."

He was glad Luke hadn't pressed any more issues; it would pain him to beat the life out of a man he considered his friend. Bray would not, however, be taking Abigail with him. She had already cost him a little pride today and he didn't need any more questions concerning her status.

"Go speak with the seamstress, tell her what you want and have her get to work." He watched as Luke got a sick smirk on his face, his own lips spreading upwards in amusement. "And Luke? She will need her fingers for this task…"

"Oh, I know that…" Luke got an even sicker smirk, his eyes gleaming with pure wicked intentions. "She'll be able to use her fingers…doesn't mean I can't bend her over the table while she's performing the task though, does it?" At Bray's head shake, he laughed and walked off to find Valerie, a woman he had bedded and bred with on more than several occasions. She was used to his volatile nature and ways, always doing whatever asked of her like a good little, obedient breeder.

Malcolm was not surprised when Bray came back to visit him, not surprised by Abigail's absence. She had overstepped her boundaries this morning; she was lucky she was in her position; any other woman would have been strangled to death. He had seen Bray, in a fit of rage, choke the life out a woman who had given birth to nothing except daughters.

"I want to know about the Undertaker, and how you think he disguises himself. Luke said you had theories."

Heaving a sigh, Malcolm did not want to upset his liege with false data, trying to think of the right way to say what he wanted. "There's…a rumor, a theory, mind you, so I don't know how accurate it is, about the Undertaker. He…goes around disguising himself…and he has a special talisman that was passed down through his family. I don't know how true this is, it seems pretty far-fetched since I am the only magical entity in existence. But there ARE relics out in Vesperia that do hold magical abilities, but they are very rare and hard to find." If Undertaker had one of those relics, a talisman…it would explain why his domain was impenetrable.

Bray stared at Malcolm, drumming his fingers on the table beside him. "What exactly do you think this talisman does? Allows him to change his appearance?"

"Well, I think it does more than that. I think it is also what keeps us from being able to invade. A protective bubble, if you will."

Interesting, but odd. "So… you are the only sorcerer in Vesperia, but there is a magical talisman out there that defies all natural and magical laws and properties?" One eyebrow was raising. His sorcerer was approaching the endangered species list.

"My liege…as I said, it's a theory and I don't know if it's true or not. I DO know one thing for certain: Many have tried to face the Undertaker, to invade Wonderful and NONE have succeeded. They've either been killed or shown mercy and let into his ranks. He's…strong, My Lord…and the only explanation is he has magic on his side somehow, someway." For all they knew, the bastard could be inside their domain now and they would never know it because of his disguises. "Instead of focusing on the Mythril, why not have Sister Abigail put her focus into finding out what exactly makes the Undertaker as powerful as he is? If we could somehow get the talisman from him, or whatever magical relic he possesses, you would surely be able to invade and take Wonderful as your own as you've done the rest of the towns."

Casually, Bray picked up a nearby candle and crooked a finger at Malcolm.

"My Lord?"

His eyes were on the flame, swallowing hard. Malcolm had probably crossed a few too many lines today, on top of Abigail's own transgressions. When those eyes just narrowed into slits, he reluctantly walked to his liege. He took Malcolm's hand and moved it over the flame, watching his sorcerer intently.

"The Mythril is my priority, Malcolm." Bray said in a friendly manner, feeling Malcolm's hand trembling violently as he held it over that flame, knowing the damage it would cause. "She is going in as a servant. Getting anywhere near the Undertaker isn't going to happen right away, not if he's as clever as you all seem to think. It's a secondary priority, do you understand?"

When Bray had his mind set on a particular task, there was no swaying him from it. Malcolm had learned that the hard way. "Y-Yes, my liege, understood!" He shouted out, the fire burning his hand and knew better than to pull away.

This was his punishment for speaking his mind without permission. Malcolm was a fool and it hadn't been the first time since he'd been punished. What was he thinking advising Bray to do anything? He should've just told him what he knew and kept his mouth shut about the rest!

"I-I will help however you see fit, my liege, I swear it! PLEASE!"

"Damn right you will." Bray pushed the flame up until it smothered against Malcolm's palm, aggravating the burn he had made by the hot, melting wax now adhering to Malcolm's skin. He refused to let go, even as his sorcerer trembled from fear and pain. "There is a reason tactical thinking is left to others, Malcolm. You have no sense for it."

"Y-yes my Lord, of course, Sire, you're r-right."

Smiling, Bray let go of the other man and watched as Malcolm cradled his hand to his chest, snorting. Pathetic. He had taken horrific beatings as a child, suffered near starvation, countless horrors and he bore his scars proudly. He had survived, and he had a purpose.

"Good. Now, about this talisman, what exactly should she keep an eye out for, if she's lucky enough to even get that close? Same for the Mythril." Abigail had never seen Mythril, it was that rare. He hadn't either, not in its raw form.

The first chance presented to him, Malcolm was leaving the Dominion, or escaping rather, and taking his granddaughter with him. Her mother had been killed, after having three daughters in a row – HIS own daughter – had been taken and ripped from him because of this fiend. Malcolm couldn't handle the punishments and disgrace anymore. He'd been taken from his loving home, his wife killed before his eyes and forced to serve Bray Wyatt and the DOV.

"I-I don't know, m-my l-liege…" Of course, Malcolm had information, but he wasn't about to give it up now that his hand was severely burnt, blisters already forming. "I-I've never s-seen M-Mythril up-close b-before or this t-talisman…I-I have no other i-information, I-I'm sorry…" He was in so much pain, tears stinging his eyes.

Bray stared down into Malcolm's eyes, finally nodding. "Of course, of course, Malcolm, I believe you." He lied very openly, his tone dripping with venom. "I do think, however, that I'll have Luke Harper ask your granddaughter, Susan, a few things, just to be on the safe side, hmm?" When Malcolm began sputtering and stammering, he grabbed the smaller man by the throat. "Lie to me again and I will cut out your filthy tongue and make your precious Susan EAT IT!" If Malcolm was smart, he'd start telling the truth immediately.

"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ELSE!" Malcolm screamed bloody murder, tears pouring down his face as he clutched his hand against his chest, knowing it was infected already.

Upstairs – hell, she was pretty sure the entire castle heard the screaming – Abigail went about her business as usual, which was…walking around and being bored out of her mind. She couldn't wait to get out of this castle. Torturing was a form of punishment in the DOV, when one wasn't being truthful, and Bray could somehow sense when someone was lying to him…except Abigail. She was the only one who could snow him and make him believe what she wanted. When she heard another scream, she couldn't handle it anymore and stood up from the table to go outside for some much-needed fresh air. Bray would steer clear of her after what happened that morning and she was grateful for it, not wanting to be near him.