"I don't like this, Eric."

Eric gave the strap holding his traveling pack to his horse's saddle a yank, tightening it. He glanced at Captain Candy, who was watching him nervously.

"None of us do," said Eric. "But what other option do we have?"

"Going back to the castle. Bringing back real reinforcements."

"And risk Amaranth killing another in that week lost to travel?"

Candy grimaced. He shifted his crossed arms against his chest, huffing out a frustrated sigh. "I should be going with you."

Eric rested his hand on Candy's shoulder. "I'll have Rodolph with me. Don't worry, my friend, we'll be alright." His gaze traveled past Candy, his expression sobering at the sight of Clara. She was by the inn's entrance, speaking with the innkeeper, who was trying to refuse Clara's rather generous payment for their stay. Eric watched her for a few seconds, then refocused his attention on Candy. "Take care of her."

Candy nodded, sincere determination in his eyes. "I will."

Eric patted Candy's shoulder. "I know." He lowered his hand. "I should say goodbye to her."

Candy gave Eric a sympathetic look. He moved aside, allowing Eric to walk past him.

Clara pressed a bundle into the innkeeper's hands. She said something, but Eric was too far away to make it out. The flustered innkeeper, smiling broadly, bobbed an awkward curtsy. Noticing Eric approach, the innkeeper gave him a curtsy as well. Eric hastily waved his hand at her, motioning for her to straighten.

"I'm sure my wife has already expressed our gratitude for your hospitality," said Eric warmly. "But I wanted to thank you myself."

The innkeeper's face flushed. "Oh, it was my pleasure, Your Majesty." She clutched the bundle to her chest, beaming at Clara. "You are both most generous. Most wonderful. May fortune smile upon the both of you."

"Thank you," said Clara.

The innkeeper curtsied once more, then hurried inside.

Eric turned to Clara. "What in the world did you give her?" he asked, amused.

"Oh, just a little extra money for the inn." She gestured to the building. "I noticed yesterday that the roof needed some patching. And the fireplace in the dining room needs replacement bricks for the ones that are cracked." Clara shrugged. "I wanted to be sure she had enough for the repairs."

Eric smiled at her, but Clara did not return the expression. Her gaze drifted to Eric's horse, which stood near Rodolph's. Rodolph was already seated his saddle, but he had politely turned his attention elsewhere while he waited for Eric.

"Clara." Eric reached out, gently tilting Clara's chin up so that she looked into his eyes. "It's alright."

Despair settled over Clara's face. But she set her jaw and gave a firm nod. Reaching up, she grasped his hand.

Eric's gaze fell to her throat, around which hung a familiar necklace. "You brought the locket?"

Clara lowered their hands to glance down at the golden heart. "Oh. Yes." She looked back up at him. "I just...I felt this strange urge to pack it before we had left the castle. I'm not sure why. I had almost forgotten that I had it with until this morning." She bit her lip. "I've promised myself that I won't take it off until you come back."

Eric laid his free hand alongside her cheek. He bent, kissing her.

"Watch for me from the south tower," he whispered as he pulled away.

Clara smiled sadly at the repeated words he had spoken to their daughter. "Be careful."

Eric nodded. He studied her for a moment longer, then strode to his horse. Mounting it, he cast Clara a final glance before turning to Rodolph. They nudged their horses into a canter and, with Rodolph's men close behind them, rode away from the inn.

/

The next three days passed tortuously for Clara. For each mile that took her closer to the safety of the castle, her mind was ravaged by thoughts of how much nearer Eric was to Amaranth. Anger at herself burned within her at consenting to let Eric go, and the emotion tangled sickeningly with mind-numbing worry.

When Clara and Candy had retrieved Vogt from the prison, Vogt had asked as to king's whereabouts. Understanding clicked in his eyes when Clara did not answer him, and a rather smug expression passed over his face. But before he could say anything further, Clara had used her magic to silence him. No gag was tied over his mouth, so he could eat and drink on their journey, but he could make no vocal sounds. Clara was vastly grateful she knew how to perform such a spell, as she had no desire to listen to anything Vogt might have said. She had reassured Candy that the spell was harmless, but Candy did not seem to care whether it was or not.

Candy made sure to constantly keep himself between Vogt and Clara, not wanting the man to have even the slightest chance of touching her. Vogt was handcuffed and chained to his horse's saddle, his wrists encased in special iron links that suffocated magic. Even so, Candy did not wish to risk anything. With Eric gone, he felt it his highest priority to keep Clara safe.

Candy conversed with Clara as much as he could, trying to reassure her that Eric and Rodolph would be back at the castle soon enough. But his attempts at comforting her were weakened by his own worry for Eric, and he eventually settled for simply staying close to Clara, hoping to provide solace through companionship. He did not miss the grateful looks Clara cast his way, shadowed as they were by conflicted misery.

He had noticed the locket she wore immediately, and he sobered at the sight of the familiar object. His thoughts flickered back to when he had first seen Clara wearing the necklace. She had had such hope in her eyes then, of returning to a home so very far from here. Hope did not encompass her expression now, but every once in a while Candy would see Clara reach up to touch the locket, then clutch it tightly, desperately. He sighed. How he wished there was a simple solution to all of this.

When they arrived at the castle gates on the third day, Clara could make out two distant figures standing on the top of the south tower. The shorter one was waving wildly, and Clara could not help a small smile.

By the time they entered the castle's courtyard, Marie had descended from the tower and was bursting through the castle entrance doors, Elizabeth following closely behind.

"Mama!" cried Marie happily.

"Hello, my darling!" exclaimed Clara. Dismounting her horse, she opened her arms to catch Marie as she rushed to her. Embracing her daughter tightly, Clara pressed a kiss to the top of Marie's head. "I've missed you, love."

"One of Aunt Elizabeth's owls told us you were coming up the hill, so we went to watch for you from the south tower, just like Papa said." Marie grinned up at her mother, then looked past her expectantly. "Where's Papa?"

Clara's gut clenched at the question. She looked at Elizabeth, who was staring at Vogt in surprise. Elizabeth studied the rest of the traveling party; seeing that Eric was not with them, she snapped her gaze back to Clara, alarm in her eyes.

Clara gave Marie what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Your father went to Mapletown," she said, keeping her tone light. "There is some business there that he and Rodolph needed to attend to. They'll be back in a few days."

Disappointment settled over Marie's expression. "Oh." She scrunched up her face in confusion, staring at the unfamiliar prison guards – and Vogt. "Who are they?"

Clara glanced at the still-mute Vogt. He was watching Marie with great interest, a strange smile lingering at the edge of his lips. Clara frowned and placed her hand on Marie's shoulder to turn her away. "They are helping the captain and I transport a prisoner to the dungeons." She walked towards the castle entrance doors, keeping her hand on Marie to move her along. "You are not to talk to him, Marie."

"But who is he?" pressed Marie. She tried to twist around, but Clara caught her and ushered her into the castle's entrance hall.

"He is a man who will do you great harm if given the chance," said Clara. "You are not to interact with him. Is that understood?"

"But –"

"Do you understand, Marie?" said Clara sharply.

Marie stared at Clara, surprised by the harsh tone that was so rare to hear from her mother. Marie nodded meekly, her shoulder sagging in disappointment as the entrance doors closed behind them.

Clara sighed. "I'm sorry, Marie. It's been a long few days." She stroked her daughter's hair and smiled. "How about we go to the music room? Listening to you play the piano would be wonderful right now."

Marie immediately brightened. "Alright! We can –"

The entrance doors opened once again, and Elizabeth walked into the hall. Seeing the grim expression on her aunt's face, Clara glanced at Marie. "Marie, why don't you go on ahead? I need to speak with Aunt Elizabeth. I won't be more than a few minutes."

Marie hesitated, suspicion in her eyes as she glanced between her mother and great-aunt. She pursued her lips, but a firm look from Clara silenced any protestations she may have conjured. She sighed and turned back around, making her way towards a doorway that opened up to a staircase.

Elizabeth waited until Marie was gone before speaking. "Candy explained the situation," she said uneasily. She grimaced, but the expression was fleeting, blanketed by a calmness Clara knew was put on for her sake.

Clara sighed. "I tried to go with him."

"I know you did, my dear," said Elizabeth. She shook her head. "Only five of them in total?" She made a sound of frustration. "That is annoyingly predictable of Eric."

Clara spurted out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Isn't it though?" Her hand fumbled for the locket once more. "He's the most ridiculous, stubborn, utterly selfless..." The words broke off with a shaky exhale.

It had taken them three days to return to the castle. It would have taken Eric two to arrive in Mapletown, and only one (or less) to find Amaranth's refuge. He could be there right now, this instant, facing who knows what. While she was here, perfectly safe within the castle walls.

Elizabeth rested her hand on Clara's arm. "You must have faith in him. Worrying yourself out of your wits will do you no good. Marie needs you."

Clara nodded. "Yes, I know." She released the locket and raised her chin, composing herself. Her gaze flickered towards the entrance doors. "Oh. I had forgotten to lift the silencing spell on Vogt."

Elizabeth snorted. "He'll survive a few more hours under it. Go on and be with Marie. I'll go to the dungeons and see to Vogt...when I feel fit to do so."

"Very well," chuckled Clara. She patted her aunt's arm. "Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth."

/

The candle flame flickered feebly, providing barely enough light for Marie to see by as she made her way down the steps into the castle dungeons. It was night now, and eerily quiet, making the padding of her slippers against the stones seem oddly loud. She held the candle holder out further, squinting into the dimness as she wandered down the corridor lined with cell doors. Most of the cells were empty, but that did little to ease the fear within Marie. She bit her lip, glancing about nervously as she searched for the prisoner her mother had escorted onto the castle grounds earlier that day.

Guilt twisted in her stomach at this blatant disobedience to her mother. But something was terribly wrong. Her mother refused to give her details on what her father was doing, and where exactly he had gone. Her mother's claim about him going to Mapletown seemed only partially true, though Marie wasn't exactly sure how she knew that. She just...did, somehow. Whatever the truth was, Marie knew she would never learn it from her mother or great-aunt.

So she would speak with the one person who may give her the answers she so desperately needed.

His cell was at the very end of the corridor. It was rather small, with only a cot and a chair for furnishing. The man sat on the thin mattress, his hands folded in his lap as he stared ahead in deep contemplation. Upon hearing Marie's approach, he turned his head towards the barred door.

"Well now, what do we have here?" the man said.

He smiled at Marie, but the expression was not a warm one. It reminded her of the cats that wandered the castle grounds – right after they had caught a mouse. She grimaced, careful to keep her distance from the cell door.

The man stood and dipped into a smooth bow. "Your Highness, what a thrill it is to properly meet you."

Marie swallowed, forcing down the fear in her throat. "Who are you?"

"My name is Johan Vogt," the man answered. "Though I am assuming you have never heard of me."

Marie shook her head.

"I'm not surprised," chuckled Vogt. He took a step closer to the cell door, studying Marie. "You have much of your mother in you, in terms of appearance." He squinted, his gaze almost intrusive in its intensity. "Though your eyes are not as light as hers. I can see that the shade and shape mirror your father's."

The sickening feeling in Marie's stomach churned even more beneath the man's unnerving gaze. She took a step further back. "Why are you here?"

"You must be more specific, my dear. Why am I here, now, in this prison? Or why am I in prison at all?"

Marie shrugged. "Both, I suppose."

Vogt nodded. "I am here now because I gave your parents some rather important information, and as such, I was moved here for my own safety. As for why I am a prisoner in the first place..." He paused. Then he shook his head. "Perhaps I should let your mother tell you that."

Marie pursed her lips, considering him. "You must have done something very wicked."

"Must I have?" asked Vogt. He gave a thoughtful hum. "I suppose there are many acts could be considered wicked, depending on who passes judgment. Yet what one sees as wicked, another may see as being of the most noble intentions."

Marie frowned, confused by the strange answer. "Do you know where my papa is? He should have come back with all of you."

"Yes, I suppose he should have." He tapped his chin. "Did your mother not tell you?"

"She said he went to Mapletown," answered Marie. "But I know she's keeping something from me."

"Do you know that for sure?" smirked Vogt. "Or are you simply wishing for what she said to be untrue, so that you may have an excuse to disobey your mother by being down here?"

Marie scowled. "I know it's not true," she said haughtily. Doubt flickered across her face, but she raised her chin, glaring at him. "Somehow...I just do."

The intrigue in Vogt's eyes deepened. "How very interesting," he muttered. He shrugged. "Unfortunately, I don't believe it's my place to tell you about the foolhardy mission your father has gone on."

"What do you mean?" demanded Marie, both scared and excited at the prospect of new information. "What mission?"

Vogt chuckled. "So very eager. Unfortunately, it's that same lack of patience your father has that will probably get him killed."

Marie paled. "What?"

"Your Highness!"

Startled, Marie spun around.

One of the dungeon guards was hurrying towards her. He was a large man – easily a head taller than Vogt, and twice as broad. A thick beard covered his chin, its auburn shade matching his hair. But there was a warm kindness to his face, which always elevated whenever Marie was around. Now though, his expression only held alarm as he approached Marie.

"Princess, what are you doing here?" he asked. He glared at Vogt. "You should not be talking to this man."

"Oh Pyotr, please, don't tell Mama," begged Marie. "But I had to speak with Mr. Vogt."

"Why?"

"I..." Marie shuffled nervously. "I wanted to know where Papa had gone."

"Your father?" Pyotr glanced at Vogt, who was watching the two of them with a calm smugness. "He's gone to Mapletown."

Marie shook her head. "No, he hasn't. And this man –" She gestured to Vogt. "He knows! He knows where Papa is."

Disturbed, Pyotr eyed Vogt closely. "What lies are you filling the princess' head with?"

Vogt laughed. "Lies? The only lies here are the ones the queen has been telling."

Pyotr stepped forward menacingly. "Take care in how you speak of Her Majesty. There are far less comfortable cells we could put you in."

But Vogt's smile only broadened.

Pyotr looked back at Marie. "Come along, Your Highness," he said. "Let us get you back to your room."

"But –"

"Go on, little princess," said Vogt, his voice eerily pleasant. "I'm very glad to have met you, though. Perhaps we shall speak again in the future."

Marie seemed unsure how to react to that.

Pyotr shot Vogt a warning look. He turned Marie away from Vogt, and gently ushered her down the corridor. They ascended to the level above the prison, and Marie could not help the relief flowing through her as they entered the familiar, warmly lit corridor.

"You should not have gone down there, princess," Pyotr said. "Your mother –"

Marie snapped her head up, her eyes widening. "You won't tell her, will you, Pyotr? Oh please, don't tell her."

Pyotr frowned. "I should." He studied Marie for a moment, then sighed. "But I won't. For now, at least." He firmly matched Marie's gaze. "As long as you promise to not go down there again."

Marie gave a weak smile of relief. "I won't. Thank you, Pyotr."

Pyotr returned the smile, unable to hide his affection. Then he motioned for her to continue walking. "Come along, now. Let's get you to your room."

/

Clara woke early the following morning. She had had a restless night, and though the sun had yet to fully rise, she knew that attempting to sleep any longer would be futile. Slipping on a simple day dress, she wandered down to the kitchens.

Masha and her staff were already preparing breakfast. They scuttled around each other in a strange organized chaos, ducking under trays the maids were carrying and twisting around cooks as they prepared various dishes. The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread filled the air, filling Clara with a comforting warmth as she weaved her way to the tea cupboard.

"I've already prepared a kettle."

Clara turned. Masha was standing there, her apron powdered in flour. In her hands was a mound of white dough, which she was kneading against a table surface.

Masha nodded towards the stove nearest them, from which hung a tea kettle. "It's raspberry."

"Sounds wonderful," said Clara. "Thank you, Masha." She walked over the stove. On the shelf above the stove was a set of teacups. Taking one, Clara filled the cup with the streaming drink, then wandered back to Masha's side.

Masha slapped the dough against the table. "I hope you got a decent amount of sleep last night."

Clara glanced at Masha innocently. "Why wouldn't I have?"

Masha gave Clara an exasperated look.

Holding back an uncomfortable grimace, Clara lifted the teacup to her lips.

Masha's gaze drifted past Clara, and she sighed in amusement. "Well it's about time you've come down to get some real food, Hoffmann."

Clara twisted around to watch the castle's royal enchanter, Hoffman, make his way towards Masha and Clara. He was a thin man, with an intellectual look to him that reminded Clara of the professors her father had been friends with. His hair was more gray now than its original rust color, and though he had wrinkles lining his mouth and eyes, he somehow still looked younger than he actually was (Clara suspected there was some magical involvement to blame for that).

Fumbling around a table piled with various mixing bowls, Hoffman came to a stop in front of Masha and Clara. He looked rather tired, but there was a brightness in his eyes as he greeted them.

"Good morning, Masha, Your Majesty." Hoffmann gave Masha a vaguely offended look. "And what do you mean, 'real food'? I am perfectly capable of conjuring up adequate meals while working."

Masha snorted. "Calling that mush you conjure up 'food' is an insult to cooks all across Parthenia." She gestured to a tray of muffins behind Hoffmann. "Help yourself, before you faint."

Hoffmann looked slightly disgruntled by that, but he reached for the muffins regardless.

"How long was it this time?" Clara asked, grinning.

"Four days," said Masha, shaking her head. "It's a wonder he came out at all."

Hoffmann threw Masha an annoyed glare.

Clara chuckled, taking another sip of her tea.

Hoffman had a tendency to...lose himself in his work. If struck by sudden inspiration, he would often barricade himself in his workroom, spending hours – or days – there as he perfected whatever magical project it was. According to Eric, Hoffmann's record had been ten days. Eric's father finally had had to go in and drag Hoffmann out, lest the enchanter waste away from lack of proper food.

"And what is it that you are working on, Hoffmann?" prompted Clara.

Hoffmann smiled and wagged his finger. "Can't say, not until I'm done. It would ruin the surprise."

Masha rolled her eyes.

"Of course," said Clara humorously.

"Where is the king?" asked Hoffmann. "I'm curious to hear from both of you what Vogt had to say about the bodies. Do you know who is responsible for the killings?"

Clara grimaced. She shifted the teacup in her hands. "Her name is Amaranth. She's a maceri witch."

Surprise sparked in Hoffmann's eyes. "A maceri witch!" he exclaimed. "Of course it is." He shook his head. "The thought hadn't crossed my mind much, as I thought they were all but extinct from Parthenia. I suppose the state of the bodies should have been obvious enough, but I had wanted to rule out all other possibilities before suggesting such an unlikely idea. Besides –"

"So where is this one?" interrupted Masha.

"She's not in Parthenia," said Clara. "She's just beyond the southern border."

"Ah." Hoffmann nodded. He tapped his finger against the muffin he was holding. "Do you and the king have a plan for how to take care of her yet? You'll have to send in non-magical soldiers, to be safe, though I'm sure you already know that –"

"Why should that matter?" Masha said sharply.

"Maceri witches feed off of the magic of living beings," explained Hoffmann. "That's why the bodies were in such a state; they had been drained of all of their magic. It's very dangerous for any magical being to be near a maceri witch."

"Yes, well, Eric's already gone after her," said Clara dejectedly. "With Rodolph and some of his men." She pressed her lips together in irritation. "He refused to let me come along."

"Eric went with them?" Hoffmann stared at Clara, appalled.

Clara frowned. "Yes..." She set the teacup down. "Why, what's wrong? Eric doesn't have magic."

Hoffmann glanced between Clara and Masha nervously. "He doesn't have inherited magic," he said. "But he was under Mauscher's curse for months. It was a dark, heavy kind of magic that had been cast upon him – and by a very powerful object." He shook his head at Clara. "You may have broken the curse, Your Majesty, but even you cannot fully erase its trace."

Horror seeped into Clara as she processed Hoffmann's words. "Eric still has the curse's magic inside of him?"

"Not...exactly," said Hoffmann. "But there is a sort of shadow from Mauscher's curse that will always be there. He's been touched by dark magic. You cannot simply wipe that away."

Clara's eyes widened. "But, Amaranth...she won't want it," she insisted. "It's not usable magic."

"It's not usable," he agreed. "But maceri witches are dark magic users. Amaranth will find the king's curse vastly interesting." He hesitated, watching Clara's face. "She'll want it regardless."

Clara exchanged an alarmed look with Masha.

"Eric doesn't know," whispered Clara. "Masha, he doesn't know." Panic rose up within her, making it suddenly very hard to breathe.

"Clara, it's a four-day journey to Mapletown," said Masha.

"And an extra day to Amaranth," Clara said. Her voice trembled. "That's too much time – he'll be dead by then." Terror seized her, and she spun around, racing towards the kitchen doors.

"Clara!" called Masha.

"Your Majesty!" cried Hoffmann.

Clara ignored them both. She had to get to the southern border – today. But how? She ran into the corridor, hiking up her skirts as she raced to find the one person that could help.