The Witch Queen had spent close to an hour last night trying to wipe the kiss she'd given Magnus off her lips; spitting, scrubbing, and regretting the display of affection with all the depth of an ocean trench. She hadn't fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning, and was in quite a mood after missing her routine view of daybreak's beautiful mists. Not necessarily a bad mood per se, but Sangue was more out of sorts than she'd been in months.
No man so intelligent as to get the drop on her finest General could possibly be foolish enough to talk back to the Queen herself, so that left that the ambassador was simply fearless enough to do so. He was cagey, astute, winsome and above all else vexing. No matter what occurred, nor what tactics she used to coax or frighten him, Magnus was resolute and unshakable.
Until just last night. After that kiss.
The Queen of Witches—the world's most powerful woman—didn't like it in the slightest, but it seemed charming the ambassador via seduction could well be the secret to making him pliant. Again, she despised the notion, but she'd exhausted all her other options by this point. And while all that sounded like it upset her, the reason she wasn't necessarily in an outright bad mood was that it had given something grand to look forward to.
Sangue applied her makeup with extra care to detail, scrutinizing the angle of lipstick above her mouth before laying down her favorite shade of blue, and making certain her teardrops were symmetrical as possible. It was a special event today, after all: The Witch Queen had finally made preparations to interrogate her hostage. And on cloud nine she was, for the ideal avenue of extracting everything she could fancy to know about the cute spy was right in her grasp— it would be almost too easy. In the privacy of her chambers, she let her lips curl into a sadistic smile, and with that same privacy, she changed into the finest battle gown in her collection.
She adjusted her bodice, picked out a matching bolero, and generally scrutinized the fit in a full-length mirror; appreciating the way her style looked when paired with a murderous grin. She was both alluring and terrifying, and wouldn't have it any other way. Without the help of any servants, Sangue had preened herself down the the finest detail, and departed her chambers the looking same exact way she did every day. It took every iota of willpower within her not to cackle while she stalked through her castle with nary a care in the world; on the hunt for that winsome little man so she could squeeze the confessions she needed out of him.
Though her search within her halls took longer than expected, to the witchy woman it was more like building up her expectations than an annoyance. Then, in the middle of an empty chamber, Sangue caught sight of a white tailcoat, wide shoulders, two-tone hair, and tight breeches.
"Ah, there you are Magnus." She said, settling her long, razor like nails on the lone man's shoulder. "It's time for your interrogation."
—
The only reason Magna didn't scream when those talons ensnared him, is that he was so thoroughly frightened by the Queen's grasp he couldn't breathe. An attempt was made to shriek, but it got caught long before he could vocalize it. In breathless horror, the young man wondered what he could have possibly done wrong today. And why did she have to show up right after he'd stopped working?
He turned around to face his hostess, as quickly as his dread would allow, but didn't find Sangue upset in the slightest when he met her eyes. Terror abated into simple fear when Magna felt her claws slacken and withdraw, and he hoped his heart wasn't loud enough to hear.
"We're going out." The Queen said, the strained beginnings of a smile upon her visage.
Thinking for sure he was about to be chewed out for misfiling a document, or improperly scheduling a guest's luncheon, that sure threw the yankee for a loop. "Huh? We're 'going out' for an interrogation?" Magna asked as his pulse slowed down a little more.
"I just figured that this whole mess could occur on a date." The Witch explained, her face scrunching up in a vague approximation of a grin. "Aren't dates all the rage amongst people who are to become espoused these days? I already said I'd like to know my own fiancé better."
"Yes! They are!" Magna shouted, inexplicably excited for the impending event, "That sounds amazing."
"Excellent to see you're agog about it. I've reserved a table at my dominion's most opulent restaurant, so be ready in forty-five minutes." She tapped Magna's arms awkwardly as some form of goodbye, and egressed to leave the man to his preparations.
Magna smiled, taking out his pocket square as he watched the woman walk away, then bit down hardon the handkerchief the instant she left the room. A couple of teardrops squeezed unbidden out of his lachrymal ducts, for the man found himself helpless against a returning wave of pain in his arm. Sangue had tapped him 'there' on his bicep. Ouch.
Screaming as silently into the embroidered rag as possible, he rode the wretched feeling out. During the tough grit in his teeth, Magna fell to one knee, and the yankee couldn't help but question whether he'd already gone soft by being a diplomat— he was on painkillers, and yet he kept feeling sick from the sheer volume of hurt.
Looking around to make certain nobody saw his little display of anguish, the man stood up and made his way to the tower to prepare for the impending 'interrogation'. At no point on his walk over did the aching in his limbs stop, and he had some choice words in mind for the girl who got him the medicine.
"Holy crap, Deandra, I am in agony — didn't you say you got those pills for cramps?" The mage whined at his chamberlain, every breath heaved as pain coursed through his torn bicep, "I heard periods hurt like a freakin' heart attack, so why is this crap wearing off so fast?!"
The shorter witch looked rather sheepish, and started poking her fingertips together in a fidget as she spoke, "Ooohh… you thought the painkillers were for menstrual cramps? Sorry dude, the thing is… the actual excuse I gave the doctor was that I've been getting Charlie horses from all the extra work taking care of you, which is at least partially true because of how much trouble you've been getting into, bu—"
"—I got shot, and you gave me Charlie horse painkillers!? I need to go on my first date in like, thirty minutes, and! Wait…" his brain stalled for a beat, then Magna asked himself, "Did I just say 'my first date'!? Holy Crap! I'm going on a date!?"
Deandra jumped back slightly, her eyes bugging out, "What? Really!? Who're you going out with!? Wait, duh, your fiancée— Wait, a date?! Do you want your corset?"
"Hells yeah, Dee! And maybe some flowers! But most importantly…" he looked the witch directly in her eyes and drew in a deep, deep breath before saying, "I want the pain to stop goddammit."
With her mouth squiggled into the funniest dang grimace, Deandra said, "Maybe you could take all the rest of the pills at once?"
Magna looked at the littler witch with a blank, almost pleading expression, his mouth agape while he stared and said, "Deandra…"
"You're a genius! I'll just eat every pill at once and become fortunate all together! Ahahaha!"
The woman stared on in impressed horror—searching for an opportunity to reveal the suggestion was a joke—as Magnus ripped open a dresser drawer and took nearly half his medication in one go. Deandra giggled alongside her charge, the spitfire apparently having gone delirious from everything that's gone down thus far. Even once the ambassador asked her where the nearest 'flowers shit' was, she could only laugh while she led him toward a patio garden.
All things considered, the young man was probably just delirious because those painkillers hadn't kicked in yet.
—
In short order, the time had arrived for a young man's first date, and Magna was standing and waiting just as nervously as he'd always imagined this moment would make him. The trouble was that in his lifetime total of three daydreams of going out, he wasn't shaking in fear, and he was holding hands with a very dear friend— not an emotionally distant, all-powerful tyrant that he had to create a fake persona for so he wouldn't be murdered. But that was a rude way for Magna to describe the Witch Queen (regardless of its accuracy) and he was absolutely hyped to go on a date for the first time; doubly so because he wasn't sure what an 'opulent restaurant' was. Maybe they served dishes like poker chips and caulk?
I can't believe I miss Luck's cooking. I could really go for some shredded grass, or maybe a deep fried glove right about now. And where does that little bastard find his ingredients anyway? I swear he—
His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet set of footsteps echoing off the walls, but the mage couldn't turn to meet their source. The sheer, overwhelming force of the Witch Queen's presence hardly helped the anxiety that'd beset him from the idea of dating; Magna tried to unclench his fists, but resigned that action as an impossibility while he waited for Sangue at the room's far end.
She stalked up abreast the nervous man, and eyed the pink flower on his lapel with undue interest. His knees almost knocked together as her eyes drilled through him. "Is that an azalea alongside your jabot?"
"Maybe? I just liked the way this flower looks." Magna responded, not understanding either of the operative words in his date's question. Plucking it from his lapel, he pushed the flower closer to her, "But I picked it for you cause it matches yer' hair."
"That's thoughtful, but it looks like this bloom already has a home." The Queen said, accepting the flower but tucking it behind her date's ear. Magna felt his face heat up more than a little as her hand brushed his face, and had to avert his eyes so she wouldn't see him blush. She definitely heard the adorable "Thank you," squeak he'd let out, though, and the pair fell into a tense silence while Sangue's face fought to retain neutrality in the face of the ambassador's bashfulness.
Clearing her throat of nothing in particular, the Witch Queen motioned Magna toward the observation deck on the south wing of her castle.
Without further prompting, he stepped up to the balcony before her, and gazed down upon an amazing vista. Half of the entire Forest was visible from here, with birds and witches gliding across the sunlit canopy in patternless flocks, leaving him awestruck of so much. Despite having the chance to take in this view myriad times before, Magna hadn't bothered, and boy did he regret it now. His jaw hung open as a gust whipped his hair, threatening to dislodge the flower by his glasses. It was a breathtaking view, and to be perfectly honest, in this moment he felt like a fairy tale princess.
Uhh, he meant prince. Like a fairy tale prince.
The young man gazed outward in a daze until a clawed hand met the small of his back. Quite suddenly, Magna felt rude for ignoring the only person beside him on the deck, but then, as his eyes flitted to his side to greet her, the Queen's hand pushed him clean over the balcony rail.
He might've thought it was an attack if Sangue hadn't stepped off at the same time, joining him in free fall without her composure breaking in the slightest. About sixty feet into their plummet, the couple were swept up in a wave of crows, and carried down through the mists that surrounded the castle walls; winding down to the forest floor within the talons of a squawking murder as blackness consumed his vision.
Once they'd reached the very bottom of their descent, Magna was trapped in complete silence; shivering where he stood long enough for the Queen to ask, "Whatever's the matter, Magnus? Scared?"
"That was the most incrediblest thing ever." He gawped, his eyes open wide, "And it hurt so much less than jumping down!"
If Sangue wore glasses, she'd be looking over them like a dad reading a newspaper for emphasis as she questioned him, "What in the-? You've leapt off my balcony?"
"Yup! Well, um, I guess it was from the tower, but when I hit the ground I totally thought my knees were gonna break! Just like, crack! And say, can you do the awesome crow thing again? Or—" It took until the last moment for the ambassador to ebb his exuberance. "Or, uh, would you like me to fly you myself?"
"I was actually in the mood to promenade my fiancé around town, so we're walking. You don't mind." She replied, commanding instead of asking. It probably ought't've been one of her scarier quirks, but there was something about the Queen stating what she wanted Magna to feel that entertained him. He tried not to laugh out loud though, because his date put her mouth into a hard line as she began walking down a birchwood path into the castletown proper.
Looking to his side, Magna saw the pink-haired woman doing her best not to betray any emotions; her angular features balanced into the most neutral 'I'm enjoying myself' expression Magna had ever seen. Sangue's endless endeavor to shield her emotions was bewildering to the fire mage, but he wasn't exactly open about his own thoughts or feelings around her either— hiding even his own name from the woman he was fated to marry. The notion that he was lying to her every day twinged Magna with guilt, but he couldn't fight the feeling that he was being deceived in turn.
Putting focus back on the present, it was actually kind of pleasant to be with the Witch Queen without any immediate work to attend. She wasn't the bad guy, after all; she was just an intense, frightening, all-powerful monarch who held his very life in her hands. But she was so much kinder than all those stories about her said, and kinda fun whenever her composure slipped.
Being the same height, their strides fell into rhythm alongside each other, and Magna couldn't fight the flutter in his heart as a thought came back to him. Whoa… this is actually a date… Are they usually this quiet? She hasn't said anything in a while… should I like, be holding her hand? Crap, I don't know how this is s'pposed to go at all.
With all those thoughts swirling within him, Magna looked down at her hand and felt compelled to reach out and hold it, just like a boyfriend might. Blushing and nervous, the young knight pushed closer to the Queen's calloused fingers, and just as skin grazed skin, she screamed.
"No!" Blue eyes going wide, Sangue slapped Magna's hand away from her own, "Do not touch my hand!"
"Sorry! I just wanted to hold it." the boy said as he drew both arms as far away from her as possible.
"Don't ever make that mistake again." The Queen said, trying to look severe despite the obvious unease in her features. It was more like she was lashing out than just angry, and Magna could hear her breathing like she'd just run a mile. Looking down from her eyes to the ground, he saw a shallow, shredded chasm she'd rent straight through the branch upon which the pair stood.
The magic was only just fading from the Witch Queen's hands as she retreated back into herself, "I don't like anyone touching my hands. Nobody gets to touch my hands."
Magna stepped right over the gnarled cuts in the wood back to the witch, and made her a promise. "I won't. This's your date too, and you deserve a great time— you can even slap me if it'll make ya feel better!" Pointing straight to his cheek, the man gave her both a sheepish smile and a target.
"I, what?" Sangue looked at him with an expression neither person could recognize, but which resembled shock. The witch seemed to consider the offer, but averted her glare once their eyes met, saying, "Come now, Magnus, let's go. No more tarrying." as she turned away down the road as fast as one could without outright running.
It took a second for him to follow, as she kept a quick pace, and he was honestly impressed she could power walk in heels. More so, Magna was now resolute in showing the Queen a good time; he already screwed up once, so there was no room to do it again. Despite the tension earlier, Sangue was more talkative from that point on in their walk, and even gave her date an arm to hold while they promenaded. Nothing heavy was discussed between them on this 'interrogation' so far, just a collection of old jokes and stories each mage found more endearing than anyone sane should've.
Magna put on the widest smile he could even when the Queen's old-timey words flew over his head; and the man was far too focused on keeping her entertained to notice the people stalking them.
—
The 'opulent' restaurant's interior was nothing that Magna could've imagined; warm candlelight danced across the walls to illuminate intricate paintings and fine furniture, a chandelier hanged on air above the dining room by some kind of subtle magic, and the aroma of flavors Magna couldn't even name wafted out from the background. The final place he looked was his date's face, and Magna was dumbstruck to see her expression stuck in neutral even with all the fancy shit laid out before them— she wasn't even amazed at all.
The maître d' cleared his throat before greeting the duo who'd entered the lobby. Magna watched the guy's eyes burst open wide as eyes could when he looked at the fancy yankee and his date. Sangue stepped up to the lectern to say, "Reservations for one Ambassador Magnus Wing, and the Queen of all Witches."
That poor guy's heart suddenly had a problem beating, but the concierge sat the two most important figures in the nation at a table in the restaurant's center nevertheless. To this beleaguered server, what were they but a collection of scowls, scars, callouses, and money?
Magna and The Witch Queen settled into their seats with sunshine in their hearts at the sight of a truly frightened restaurant worker. If there was one thing they agreed upon, it was the joy of bringing fear into the world.
Shaking like a chihuahua left outside in the snow, the maître d' began by asking the Clover ambassador and the kingdom's freaking sovereign what they'd like for drinks.
"The second oldest Cabernet Sauvignon in your cellar for the table." Sangue replied without so much as a glance at her menu.
Not bothering to check any lists, her date answered, "And I'd like water."
"Water? Tell him what you actually want to drink." The Queen commanded, her eyebrow quirked at the ridiculous potation Magnus requested.
"But… I want to drink water."
"Alright…" she conceded in visible revulsion, "But be certain to check the specialty dishes today, I understand they've acquired a remarkable ingredient recently."
"Huh? Wait, troubadour pepper? Whoa— it's the spiciest thing on the menu! But didn't you ban me from eatin' spicy foods?"
"I remember you like hot foods, I merely didn't want you to catch your death with that trashy market curry."
"Oh yeah, the 'death' curry." He paused for a spell, "Wait, was that a joke?"
"Perhaps." Sangue said, averting her gaze a little too quickly. With her eyes away from him, and in the menu, their orders were placed; leaving the powerful couple to stew in continuous silence.
Nobody ever told this yankee that caviar was real, and yet he watched as a silver tray holding disgusting fish eggs was rolled into the kitchen. Magna let his mouth hang uncouthly open whenever some item of food or furniture he thought was fake entered his field of view; dumbfounded and awed by every new fancy thing he thought were the products of book authors' imaginations. It was every bit as wondrous as the adventures in his favorite books, but when he looked across the table at his date, her face hadn't the faintest race of wonder. It was enough to make the young man frown.
It didn't take the Witch Queen a second to catch the shift in his demeanor. "Don't you like this place? It's the most lavish restaurant in my domain."
"Oh, no, it's amazing! I'm really having a great time! But…" Magna glanced back to her bored eyes, "why did you take us here if you don't like it?"
Her eye twitched at his words. "Don't say that sort of poppycock to me, I'm enjoying myself plenty."
"But you don't look like you're having fun." The ambassador said, twirling silverware in his hand.
"Fun? Why on earth would I be having fun right now?"
"Well, this is our first date."
"A very literal observation, what does that have to do with the interrogation I'm conducting?"
"What? You haven't asked me a question since we left the castle…" Magna observed aloud, "Wait— would you mind if I started asking you questions?"
"That's preposterous, I've never heard of a reciprocal interrogation before."
"Well you have now! Lemme start off with something easy, like…" he tapped a few fingers against his chin, lost in simple thought, "What do you like to do for fun?"
Sangue could only quirk an eyebrow at that question insofar as facial reactions were concerned. Looking directly at the man sitting across the table, she said, "I don't have fun."
"Huh? But everybody has fun doing something— even if they don't wanna admit it! Like, what do you do when you're hangin' out with your friends?"
Narrowing her gaze the slightest bit, she said, "I don't have 'friends'. They're unnecessary and difficult to maintain."
Magna gasped, "Wait, you seriously don't have any friends?"
"No, and I tire of your inane questions, Magnus." The Queen replied, the sound of her gritted teeth audible across the table.
"Then you can ask me something! Go ahead! You wanted to know me better, right? I'll tell ya anything!"
Leant back in her seat, fingers steepled and eyes wrought with thought, Sangue ruminated until she had herself a question she sought answered: "That cute scar on your forehead, tell me how you acquired it."
Again with the refusal to ask, but Magna was hardly focused on her commanding tone, no, the ambassador was too busy shooting the Queen down. "No!" He snapped as he covered the disfigured patch of skin with his hair, "I mean, I already told you this one's private."
"Fine. Then whence were you raised? Divulge all information on your home life."
Uh oh, that's not good. His throat suddenly quite dry, the boy sought not to sell out his folks. "Uhh… I was raised in the Clover Kingdom?"
Magna absolutely hated dating if it was just people taking turns making the other uncomfortable. Sitting in severe discomfort, he awaited the woman's response; five agonizing seconds passed in which she kept her mouth a hard line. Then, that line squiggled into a smirk, accompanied by the words, "Okay, I'll admit it, that was humorous. You forced my hand, you made me smirk."
The woman kept smiling that tiny grin, looking wistfully at nowhere in particular while she mused, "I suppose I am enjoying myself, but this isn't working at all…"
"Huh? What's not working?"
"The interrogation, obviously. You do realize that if you're reticent any longer, I'll have to force you to talk."
"Hahaha, I guess I do." The ambassador laughed, rubbing at the back of his head. "You know what? I'll answer the next one, I swear."
"Indeed? Well then, why don't you admit you're a spy."
"What? I ain't no spy, I'm just here to make peace."
"That's a convincing lie, but at least you answered this time." She said, leaning closer to him, "Next up, where did you get that y'all. You speak like a commoner whenever your focus slips."
"Heheh, do I? I guess nothing gets past you…"
"I asked where you lived."
"The Clover Kingdom?"
"Goodness fiancé, you can just tell me— you're acting as if I'd have your family killed for crossing me. Although that's not the worst assumption one could make.…"
Those words sent a chill down to Magna's bones, and he sweat in his seat as he watched the Queen drag a finger across her throat in jest. The man though he might keel right over when their waiter arrived with the first course; barely hanging on while Sangue eyed him predatorily. Under the table, he could feel a heeled shoe's point dig into his boots, and atop its surface her clawed hands crawled closer to him.
"Please Magnus, I truly desire your safety… it'd be so much easier if you answered like their lives depended on it. Not that they do."
When her hand grazed his face, Magna jumped away with a start, which was the most painful thing that happened to him this entire month; he let out an anguished howl as his left arm collided with the maître d's serving cart in the exact spot where he'd been shot. After hitting the floor, the man clutched at his reopened wound, and wailed.
The Queen bolted up from her seat at the sounds, aghast to hear that man scream— watching him writhe on the ground in horror. But when she saw blood seep through his suit's white sleeve, her concern turned to anger; it had been less than two days, and the ambassador had already disobeyed his only order. And poor Magna, as he tried to ignore just how much pain he was in, chanced a glance up despite knowing his secret was out. He didn't like what he saw.
Sangue's eyes became ferrous, and without a word, she clutched his left bicep within her claws— letting each nail sink deeply into Magnus' skin while he screamed. "I gave you direct orders. A goddamn command, and you disobeyed the first chance you got. Although to be fair, I should never've expected anything else from a man."
She threw Magna back to the ground, standing over the terrified ambassador as he went limp. "It would seem I've given you far too much freedom, Magnus. I need a chess piece like you safe and compliant, and you therefore leave me no choice…"
At the sound of a snap, women in battle regalia teemed from behind every piece of furniture in the restaurant. "Guards, to the dungeon with our 'guest' here."
The next hour passed in a haze, something the Queen did must have put him into a half-trance. He could make out the scrabbling of boots, faint voices, and little else; when his head finally cleared, Magna was locked up and shackled so thoroughly that he couldn't even lift his hands.
The ambassador freaked out as jailers dragged him through a medieval prison; his screams echoing through the dungeon like the walis of martyred saints. Each step deeper they went meant less light pouring in from outside; small candles illuminated the stone walls in lieu of sunshine until there was barely enough light to see at all. The jailers forced Magna's manacled frame along the stone corridor despite his struggles, and literally threw him into the last cell in the hall.
Magna seized in breathless horror as the metal door enclosed him; he could see part of a woman's face past the bars, and then a ring of keys jingled to seal him inside the prison. The shrill, clinking noise of those keys was the absolute worst thing he could've heard in that moment, and the boy clawed at the imposing barrier as he watched the jailers stalk away.
There was no use scratching when he could barely lift his hands, and there was no use begging, but nether fact stopped him from trying. Desperation and dread sent him into a panic, screaming, "No! Mom! Mom! Let me out!" while the only other people in the underground maze vanished into the darkness.
The cell door had become the basement door of his childhood home, and the walls began to close in around him. Suddenly, Magna couldn't breathe. He was all alone in the blackened room, chest tight as he leant against an uncaring metal door. "Mom… no… it wasn't my fault…"