A chartered carriage ride wasn't nearly as exciting as a trip by broomstick, but Magna found himself breathing comfortably in rhythm with the rocking of the wooden wheels over dirt paths. Adjusting the hem of his tailcoat, the man leaned back to just… relax.
Actually calming down was troublesome, however, for despite the verdant scenery passing by so peaceably, Magna's heart was thumping like a dynamo with anxiety over his mission. Even if his training were both thorough and Hellish, who could say whether the Witch Queen would buy his act? And if she did, who's to say she wouldn't just ignore him and attack the kingdom regardless?
It also hadn't hit the young mage until he stepped into the carriage that he'd have to do it all alone. His entire family left behind, with no clue whether he'd get to see them again. He'd promised everyone a safe return, but that wasn't a promise he knew he could keep— his life was at the mercy of the world's most powerful woman, and Magna had never heard a story about the queen that painted her in a positive light. Banishments, beheadings, and torture for infractions that other monarchs would call minor were all things he'd heard. The woman kept Vanessa, her own daughterin a freaking cage, and he was just some chump sent to 'make peace'.
How the Hell am I going to survive this? Magna wondered in a cold sweat, barely managing to keep himself quiet. The cart hit a huge bump in the path, and suddenly the boy was fighting for air like he'd just been punched in the chest. Nothing besides his mounting fears would occupy his mind as he tried to calm himself, so he cracked open the luggage on the seat beside him— desperate to get his thoughts elsewhere.
Magna's heart stopped when he saw what lay at the very top of his belongings. It was a simple book, by the name of Akiko, and the same book he'd been trying to finish for the last two weeks. When he picked the tome up, a scrap of paper fell from between its pages; inspecting the sheet on his lap, Magna's mouth soon found itself in the shape of a smile.
A replacement for the book I destroyed! Buy me a whole bunch of knives please! — Luck Voltia
When he dug through the rest of his belongings, the manly man found that, in addition to Luck's thoughtful present, there was an assortment of other gifts and cards inside the suitcase from his other teammates.
Magna let out a goodnatured groan when he realized most of the cards just asked for souvenirs, and that most of the gifts were just toothbrushes, but a second specific present sent a blush across his features when he uncovered it.
A titillating pair of boxers, fabricated from translucent mesh and lace hung like contraband between his hands. The attached note read:
We never told a soul, but don't pretend you didn't want these~P.S. Buy us perfumes please.— Finral Vanessa.
He stowed them in the bottom of his luggage faster than his own eyes could track, and slammed the lid shut so hard there was a quiet 'crack'. When his flush finally abated, all he could do was laugh.
It was a lonely journey ahead, but Magna knew that even if the Black Bulls weren't here, his family was always with him. Besides, it was out of his character to worry and angst— a manly moron like himself should deal with emotions as they come to him. He'll worry about the Queen when he's at the guillotine.
With the stupidest grin on his face, the ambassador kicked back, and relaxed with a good book for the rest of his trip.
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A gargantuan pair of doors stretched into the forest canopy, breaking through even clouds as they towered above the surrounding woodlands. The carriage came to a lurching stop and all four of the pumpkin's wheels cut into the earth, as if they knew to fear the land that lay beyond their destination.
The Witch's Forest.
Awaiting the dignitary beside the foreboding wooden gates was a short woman dressed in severe grays and blacks, with a pointed hat resting upon blonde locks. She carried herself with grim poise, and Magna could tell this witch was dead serious even from his seat, as she didn't move a muscle except to acknowledge the carriage's arrival.
Adjusting his ascot and collar, the bespectacled man stepped down to the ground. Clearing his throat out of anyone's earshot, he grabbed his luggage, gave the driver a generous tip, and realized something very important as he walked towards the waiting witch: Wait, Crap crap crap. If I use my real name they could trace me back to my folks in Rayaka! You come up with a pseudonym this instant Magna!
Despite the internal screaming, the ambassador's face didn't betray his thoughts in the slightest. With a slight bow, and an expression of serene composure, he introduced himself. "Greetings, my name is Magnus Wing. I'm the ambassador I trust you've been expecting."
The blonde woman curtsied shallowly, seeming as though the gesture of formality was made for her. "Hello, Mister Wing, I am her majesty's chamberlain: Deandra Aviary. It's good to see you in fair health. I'll be taking your effects and ferrying you to her majesty momentarily, but first…"
The witch broke character, conspiratorially smirking now, "Do you want to hear a joke?"
"What?" He was taken aback, adjusting his glasses while he replied, "Er, not really."
"Excellent!" The smaller woman said, clearly not listening as she grabbed the lone suitcase from Magna's hands. "Okay, so this one's hilarious: What do get when you play tug of war with a pig?"
The ambassador gave her a look of perfect confusion, silently questioning life itself until Deandra said, "Pulled pork!" Which was just awful.
Magna waited exactly three seconds before telling her that, "I will never forgive you for saying that." He hid his smile behind an ungloved hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry for being inappropriate. Now please, follow me." The witch said, returning to her more serious disposition as she walked toward the gates with his luggage stowed safely under her arm; hoping she hadn't just ruined her first impression.
She traced a rune on a smaller portion of the massive, imposing doors, and it created an aperture just large enough for the woman to pass through. As the larger mage contorted himself to squeeze in after her, she blushed and held her palm out to block his path, saying, "Sorry Magnus! It's usually just me passing through! Let me adjust this for you…"
Deandra scrambled her free hand across the opening while muttering some quiet incantation, looking like she'd accidentally stepped on a puppy's tail; to her, this was strike two. The hole grew wide enough around them for Magna to stand up straight again, and he followed the flustered lady onward, awed into silence by her strange magic.
Resting inside a metal rack, an elongated broomstick awaited them at the beginning of witch territory, and the ambassador's guide rushed ahead to grab it. She stowed his belongings onto a small hook on the underside, and levitated her ride before signaling that he hop onto the spot behind her. "Please, ambassador." Magna sat sidesaddle on the broomstick at her invitation, riding behind Deandra as she fell into uncomfortable silence. The pair flew low into the deeper forest, closer to the ground than anyone tended to.
Left with nothing to do while the odd woman in front of him played silent chaperone, Magna just kept his eyes on the swirling mists that seemed to only thicken as they ventured on.
In the lower neighborhood of witch country, every shutter was sealed shut, betraying no hints as to whether people lived inside the endless houses that lined the forest floor. A zephyr lacking any hint of life breezed across the street; it was like they were moving through a graveyard.
Deandra could feel her passenger white-knuckling the broom handle, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the clearly sheltered man as the pair rode past this deserted, deathly neighborhood. All things considered, he must've already hated her. Thinking she should lighten the atmosphere, the blonde mage spoke to her passenger, "Listen, Magnus, it's not just that you're a man, but most of the women living here work elsewhere in the forest." She rode the broom above the desolate borough, breaking through the treetops to take the envoy away from such a frightening vista.
When she could still feel the young man behind her trembling, Deandra was at the end of her rope. "I could maybe take us higher…"
"Am I seriously gonna sleep in a tree?! That's totally manl— erm, it's something I've always wanted to try." Magna shouted before quickly reeling his enthusiasm in— a nobleman shan't let his emotions overrun his composure, after all. No matter how gorgeous misty city's built into coniferous were.
Leaning a little closer to his flabbergasted chaperone, he said, "Gosh. Awful jokes, beautiful scenery— you are good at your job."
With a tiny smirk instead of a punk-faced beam belying his overwhelming excitement to see this beautiful forest he'd only heard fables about, Magna flew closer to the Queen's castle. Ahead of him, Deandra was relieved she hadn't made a terrible first impression.
Casting her gaze down to the forest floor, she bit back all the warnings she wanted to give this poor man.
It was too late for that anyway.
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Sitting on her throne, the Queen of the forest awaited the Clover ambassador; the primary thing on her mind being what sort of spy he'd be. It wasn't like she was a fool, the kingdom wouldn't send a peace broker without ulterior motive, and especially not with her 'particular instructions' regarding the envoy's mission.
It likely wasn't excitement she was feeling about his imminent arrival, the despotic woman was more so pondering which snobby aristocrat would try and double-talk his way into the Forest's political situation. A malevolent grin crept along her face as she envisioned some witless, simpleminded fool of an ambassador— a man all too easy to bend to her whim.
No matter what, the Witch Queen was going to have fun.
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In a stuffy antechamber before the throne room, two young mages gathered themselves for what could be the most important meeting of Magna's entire life. They'd gone through a few select corridors to give the man time to prepare for this moment; the woman making dead certain his clothing was perfectly tidy.
As Deandra prepared to lead him past the threshold and into the Queen's throne room, Magna felt his heart catch in his throat. The very real danger of the woman on the other side of this curtain was sinking in, and the young mage didn't need to see her to feel her presence— her overwhelming magic power flooded into the antechamber like a smog, and it was just as able to stutter his breathing.
This is the most powerful woman in the world. If I screw up even the slightest thing, I could wind up dead.
Magna swallowed hard, and tried not to clutch at his heart while Deandra stepped out before the throne.
"Your Majesty, Her divine grace. The Clover Kingdom ambassador has arrived." Deandra's voice rang out like a singing bird, and the Witch Queen cast her gaze towards the curtains with vested interest.
The man following her chamberlain into the cavernous room was young—like he'd only had his grimoire for a few years—bright-eyed, and handsome. He also had a large scar on his face. Effectively, the man walking into the throne room was as unlike her expectations as possible. This was by far an interesting enough revelation for the Queen to stand from her throne, eyeing the charming nobleman before her with a glare that could cut diamonds.
Magna was almost knocked over by the sheer force of her presence as the Queen wordlessly regarded him. Against all odds, the lone man kept his composure enough to make introductions. "Your Majesty, I am Sir Magnus Wing, the Clover Kingdom's ambassador."
The Witch Queen stalked down the stairs to face the man directly, and when in arms reach, gripped his shoulder in her talons. Shifting her hand up to the nape of this young dignitary, her claw-like nails easily drew a bead of Magnus' blood. Though her expression didn't betray her, the Queen was genuinely taken aback by the noble's lack of reaction; his skin was just pierced, but he barely twitched his face, as if the bleeding didn't bother him.
Is the Clover Kingdom's envoy this immunized to torture? She wondered in amazement. He'll be fun.
Licking the sanguine droplet off her nail, the Witch Queen finally spake, "It's lovely to meet you, Magnus Wing. I'd never have imagined an envoy like you coming to officiate."
"The pleasure is all mine, your Majesty." The man replied, trying desperately not to give away the thumping of his heart. He was too shaken to have noticed the bleeding on his own neck.
"There's scarcely a need to call me 'Majesty'— my last name, Sangue, will do fine." The pink haired lady said, tiring of official speech. "Now, Sir Magnus, would you accompany me to the dining hall? I do intend to meet my new consort in earnest."
He took her hand gingerly, the exact way the street punk had been drilled. "Miss Sangue, it would be my pleasure." As they walked down regal halls towards their fine culinary destination, Magna turned to face the woman he was entertaining and said, "Just one question before dinner. Could you please elucidate to me what a 'consort' is?"
The Witch Queen could never've prepared for such a question, and after metaphorically picking her jaw off her clavicle, replied, "During dinner. I'll tell you everything over roast pheasant."
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Fine merlot wine decorated the tablecloth before Magna, the result of a world class spit-take he'd brought into existence upon discovering what a 'consort' was.
The Witch Queen cupped his chin in a taloned hand from across the opulent tableware, smirking derisively as she said, "Aww, weren't you told? The ambassador was to be my groom." The queen took another sip from her goblet and amended, "Or at least my hostage. Perhaps just a plaything."
Recoiling from her clawed hand as politely as he could manage, the younger man cleared his throat. "Ahem. I ain't no toy, and I never heard anything about becoming your hubby."
Sangue gripped his shoulder in her talons as she stalked around the table, chalice in hand. Slowly, in just as deliberate a fashion as one could imagine, she poured her red wine over Magna's suit; drenching him in the crimson liquid while a malevolent smile decorated her lips.
"So it seems you've chosen to become my hostage."
At her words, a hand leapt out of the wine staining Magna's coat and clamped itself over his mouth; digging its fingers into his skin with the force of a vise. Muffled screams echoed off the dining hall's cavernous ceiling, reaching only ears that had no concern for the ambassador.
Magna fought at the fingers crushing his face, but couldn't get any purchase as the hand suffocated him. His lungs burned like Hell, his vision faded in splotches, and the last thing he saw before hitting the pavement was the Queen scowling down at him.
"Couldn't you have been a little gentler, General?" Sangue asked to the giant figure lurking in the shadows of the dining hall. When all the response she got was a curt grunt, the Queen stepped on Magna's unconscious form and said, "Either way, throw this one in his cage."