...Oh. Hello, everyone!

I have to sincerely apologize for the abysmal wait for this next chapter. Life got in the way, and the start of college and the real world took over for more than a couple years. But now that I am settled and comfortable, it's high time that I pick this story back up and get back into the groove with it!

I certainly haven't given up on it, and I hope you haven't either, everyone!

Once again, I will direct you to my profile, in which my dusty, old, Curse of the Dragon Soundtrack lies in wait in case you'd like to delve deeper into the atmosphere of the story! Thank you all and sorry for the horrific delay!

Happy reading!

Curse of the Dragon Chapter 14
Fate: The development of events outside a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.

Pique walked quickly down the halls of the Grand Chateau. Her eyes were glittering with excitement and there was a slight hop in her step as she made her way to the Prince's bed chambers. To be requested specifically by him was quite the honor.

The Chateau was just incredible to behold. Nothing quite like the Lady Ahiru's manor in Hedeby. It was much larger and expansive with many more floors and acres of property. Pique felt so fortunate to have the opportunity to stroll through the halls like this.

Oh, how the girls would be so jealous back home!

Of course she worried dearly for her Lady. The sudden disappearance was worrisome and startling, but Pique had full faith in the Prince.

That very handsome, dashing prince with a charming smile. Her heart melted just thinking of him!

Well, of course it was terrible of her to think such things of her Lady's betrothed, but she would hardly be a human being if she couldn't see how wonderful of a catch the prince was. To think, he asked for her, personally!

Just to serve him directly would be such an honor. Truly.

She stopped by the grand doors to his bedchambers, adjusting her uniform to look her best. She was to be presented to the prince after all. It was important to make a good impression, for herself, and for the servants of her Lady's land, Hedeby. With a soft knock, she called into the room. "Your Majesty, you requested for my services?"

But the servant was met with a long moment of silence. Running a hand awkwardly through her pink bangs, she reached up to knock again. Perhaps he hadn't heard her the first time.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, the voice came, calm, gentle, and almost musical in essence.

"Please, come in."

She almost melted on the spot. That was certainly the kind voice of the prince.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned her entire weight against the door, letting the wooden barrier slide open into the expansive bedchambers. She was surprised to find that the room was rather dim, shadows bouncing off the lavish furniture from a single flickering candle on the writing desk opposite of the grand canopy bed.

But there, sitting at the sill of the large window, was the Prince, dressed in his nightclothes and white robe. She marveled at the sight for a moment; how could she not when he seemed so simple and so comfortable? So humble and human?

She straightened up and put on a smile. "Your Majesty," she said with a polite curtsy, "How may I be of service to you?"

It was when he finally turned around that she noticed something so strange about him. She'd seen him in passing recently. He seemed weakened and stressed, a mere shadow of his former self, and many of the servants who had known the prince could easily see the differences.

Then there was the situation with the distraught Rachel earlier...

This was even more strange.

As he glanced over his shoulder at Pique, the vaguest flicker of his eyes was startling, as was the gentle smile coupled with a twitching eyebrow. It almost sent a chill up and down the servant's spine.

Gulping down her apprehension, she stepped closer with another curtsy. If she didn't know any better, she would claim that the room just became more chilly. But that had to be just her imagination, she was certain. The window was still closed.

"Perhaps you would like me to bring you more blankets, Your Majesty? Or shall I draw you a warm bath?"

Just as she spoke, she stiffened, seeing the prince stand in her peripheral vision. But she didn't dare look him in the eye. Both out of respect, and sudden dread. What she was dreading, she had no idea, but she wasn't certain she wanted to find out.

Something was terribly wrong here.

The prince stepped gracefully and slowly, his arms lifting up and opening to her as if moving forward to embrace the servant. Unbidden, Pique stepped back, finally lifting her gaze.

He was so handsome though. The candlelight flickered across his fair skin, shadowing his eyes, but illuminating his growing smile. Soon enough, she found herself frozen in the spot, unable to look away. There was something wrong here, but suddenly, she couldn't bring herself to mind.

Even his next words weren't enough to drive her away. Not even the memories of Rachel's panicked departure from the prince's bedchambers. Rachel had known His Majesty since childhood. Pique had not.

And her admiration and small infatuation with the prince had her cemented to the ground and accepting his embrace.

Her eyes dimmed.

"Love only me..."

Malen's hand trembled, the charcoal crumbling in her grip and leaving the residue on her fingertips. It was strange to be under this pressure again. She remembered a time when it was easy - a simple glimpse into another's mind, and a picture would flow from her hand effortlessly onto the parchment paper.

That was before, however. That was when life was innocent and there was little to fear in the world. The ability to visualize and print the images in another person's mind was never a power to take lightly at all, but now, it just seemed more wrong than it ever had been, here in the darkness of the hamlet underground.

With someone like Autor, his mind was openly revolving around Rue frequently. It was never difficult to even guess where his usually occupied mind wandered. Fakir was a completely different story. One didn't just take a glance into his mind and know what he was thinking.

Malen's power and its potency depended greatly on how well the subject was receptive to sharing thoughts. Fakir was more than just a private person. He deliberately locked himself away these past three hundred years.

Just looking into someone's thoughts was enough. To dive deeper and keep digging...

It was too much for her, after all of these years. Too risky and too difficult.

She shook her head and put the charcoal down. "But...why?" she asked, her voice hitching in her throat. She shakily adjusted her spectacles.

It made little sense to her. Maybe she could expect this from Autor, who did everything and anything to get what he wanted. Certainly not from sweet, empathetic Hermia and beautiful, kind Freya.

At least, she supposed, they looked as unsure and regretful as she did. Hermia glanced up with a frown, her brown curls bouncing with the movement. "I know. It's wrong, we won't deny that. But..."

Autor stepped forward, as if sensing that he needed to take control of the conversation. These women were kind. Far too kind. "You heard her before. Hermia felt changes in Fakir's emotions. This is a problem, and we can't have Fakir of all people waver."

Malen shook her head. Fakir wasn't known to waver on anything. He was, in fact, one of the most stubborn people she ever knew. "I do not understand - "

"You don't?" Autor interrupted, almost harshly. Freya and Hermia flinched and Malen's expression fell. "You know very well that this Ahiru is charming, annoyingly enough. Even you can't deny that she's endearing to you as well."

All three women were driven to silence. That was the unbearable truth of all of this. They had come to be acquainted with the young redhead. While she came to them spoiled and confused, now, she was accepting and understanding. Willing to give up her life for them. Undoubtedly, Malen knew that this would make it more difficult to take her life when the time came.

Autor was right. The more distance, the better. Malen could not deny that she liked the girl, after all.

It was Freya who finally broke the thick, quiet tension in the room, her voice soft, melodic, and regretful. "Please. Just this once. Everything depends on it, Malen." They wouldn't have asked this of her had it not been their very fates on the line.

And…they were at the mercy to their fates. They had no choice but to accept it in order to find happiness.

With a heavy heart and a quaking hand, Malen took up the piece of charcoal once more and brought it onto the surface of the parchment.

Ahiru felt no desire to join in on whatever festivities or mischief-making the dragon-people must have been partaking in at that moment.

She had been quite certain that she had never felt so angry in her life. Irritated and insulted, yes, many times. Especially when she had been frequently criticized for being so clumsy or so simple-minded or so…difficult when it came to her studies and tutoring. But during such times as those, she felt less affronted and more ashamed, even if she came across as spoiled and huffy.

Those criticisms stayed with her all her life. She could never bring herself to escape the fact that a young lady of her stature and status couldn't live up to her expectation.

Otherwise, all she knew was that she was angry, and wanted to kick something.

Honestly, that dumb dragon man with those sharp, piercing green eyes infuriated her beyond belief. He was horrible! He was proud and he manhandled her like she was just an object. He screamed in her face and called her names and actually pulled her hair! He was always so cool, and then he just exploded like that.

It confused her how a stupid man like that could've possibly protected her or…could've been the same man who looked so vulnerable the moment he saw his old pieces of writing once more.

Who really was Fakir? And why did she care enough to even consider it? She already resigned herself to her fate, and she was accepted by the Dragon Clan in its entirety, so the only thing she truly needed to do was await the day of - …

Ahiru stopped in her tracks, finding herself right in front of the now-familiar stone staircase.

The darkness beckoned to her, a cold wind brushing through her red hair and urging her to descend into the level of Wyvern below. It frightened her, but…

Perhaps she had purposely sought out the entrance. Perhaps she wanted to find peace with herself in that beautiful sunflower field far underground, sights that she could only appreciate as much as she could before her doom. At least, she thought, she could experience such wonderful things beforehand.

Still…without Rue as a guide, stumbling down those dank, cold, stone steps in that pitch-black tunnel would be quite the endeavor for the clumsy little lady.

Determined, Ahiru gathered her skirts, and slipped into the tunnel, all but pressing herself against the stone wall for guidance.

Despite herself, and despite knowing where the path led, she felt her heart race, and her mind betrayed her, toying with ideas of dark demons below and spirits envying the living and monsters aching to eat her soul…all of them lurking in the shadows…

Her breaths grew shallow, and she picked up the pace, even knowing how clumsy she was while slipping down the stairs.

Imagination. It was silly how she would fear such things when her fate was already sealed. She faced dragons, and yet, grew scared of imaginary shadows and the darkness? Maybe…Fakir was right. She probably was an idiot.

Swallowing, she felt herself lose balance and stopped, trying to quiet her breaths and her beating heart, before continuing on. Honestly, the trek downward had been quite shorter than it had been with Rue.

Then, the ground leveled off before she could anticipate it, her step making her stumble and all but collide with the large, wooden door before her.

"Oof - !"

Regaining her bearings, she took a deep breath. She hadn't seen Rue open the door, but perhaps there was some knob or something…

Fumbling with the sides of the door, she let her fingers curl around cool metal – a long, curling latch that she assumed was the handle – and turned, pushing the barrier open.

She was forced to squint when the light filtered between the cracks of the stone, and she had to inch her way out into the clearing, feeling the soft grasses beneath her feet.

The sooner she could open her eyes and behold such a wonder, the better.

After a few long moments of adjustment, her eyes fluttered open, and she was greeted by that same landscape she had begun to cherish in her heart. Nothing she had ever seen was comparable to this. The glowing petals, with soft, glowing centers, blooming with the whitest, purest light…

Already, she could feel the tension and aggravation and fear rippling off her small frame, replaced by wonder and appreciation. Yes, the lower level of Wyvern was dark, but nothing could seem black with these beautiful, illuminating petals.

As before, she moved forward, slipping past the glowing sunflowers with all the care in the world. In a burst of sudden activity in the peaceful stillness, the giddy, giggling little ladybugs fluttered about her, flurrying around and greeting Ahiru with soft caresses of wings and sweet kisses to her hair. Their giggles were contagious – she could hardly resist smiling and curtsying.

She twirled around, joining in their swift and happy dance, reveling in the music of their buzzing and their laughter. She felt free in this prison. She felt happy in this fate. Once again, she was content with this decision.

Then, she felt something missing.

"Gyah - !" Ahiru stumbled, stepping back when she felt her toes lean off the side of the platform that held the field suspended over the blackness. She was on the very edge of the level, black darkness and nothing but the abyss below her.

As the ladybugs continued dancing, illuminating the very atmosphere with their own little lights, Ahiru curiously stared down over the edge, wondering just how deep it went. Slowly, she lowered down until she settled her rear onto the grass, knees hanging off the edge and feet dangling.

Time for herself now. She wasn't reading Fakir's work, or being entertained by the dragons. Her mind began to wander.

And…it wandered to things that she had disregarded up until then.

Mytho…

He…must've missed her. Ahiru bit her lip and brought her knees to her chest, ignoring the two little ladybugs that hummed in concern and settled on her shoulders. Perhaps she should have considered things better. Maybe she could make a request to have a message delivered to him. She could've written him a letter explaining that she could never see him again…

…It wasn't that she didn't want a future with him. It was just that she couldn't have a future with him. She would never be able to marry, and have a child, and grow old with him happily in his kingdom.

Her heart sank. He at least deserved to know, so that he wouldn't hope and he wouldn't look for her any longer. And she knew that he was. The way he made her heart skip a beat from the very beginning, how his eyes were so wide and happy when they met – it was undeniable. They held a connection to one another, but because of her blood, they could not be.

She would never regret her decision to give up her life for the dragons. And she would never take it back. If she could even escape, she knew that the guilt would be all too much.

All the same, this was the first time she considered that she was losing such a wonderful, beautiful, fairytale future. A future she had always dreamed of for herself.

Now, alone, with no one around but the ladybugs, surrounded by light and darkness and her own loneliness, with the frustration of today and the emotional whirlwind of the past few days, she buried her eyes in her knees and cried. Not weep – just cried.

And then, she vowed not to dwell on it anymore after this. Just this one, last cry, and then she would never regret disappearing for someone else's sake again. The ladybugs surrounded her on all sides, and fluttered in close, leaning their heads on her and kissing her tears, whimpering sweetly for her.

No one noticed the lingering figure standing behind the entrance to the sunflower field, watching her and hesitating in every way. The figure's hand clenched around a yellow feathered quill.

To follow this fate would lead to happiness. But he…wanted to deny it.

What then…?

Prince Siegfried stared out from his window down at the army of knights departing from his kingdom. Women and children wept as they bid goodbye, silly girls threw their handkerchiefs toward the armored men as favors of good luck and safe return, and all watched as the men rode out of the gates.

Good. Perfect. Everything would be in order soon.

He laughed heartily, eyes wild as he reached out to run his fingers through his servant's hair, the purple-haired girl resting her cheek upon his knee, her petite frame kneeling on the ground before him.

"Pique…I thank you. Your love is so fulfilling."

He felt stronger.

And he felt her smile against his knee, and she rose up to curtsy, eyes empty, grin empty, soul empty.

"The war has begun," he whispered, not to her, but to himself – to that other self deep inside. "And as this continues, everyone will love me…"

His eyebrow twitched, gold flashing across his irises with the thought of red hair and blue, expressive eyes, but then it was gone as soon as it came.

"…What is he planning?"

Malen, Autor, Hermia, and Freya stared down at the parchment with wide eyes. The image of a duck's feather. A quill.

He was planning on writing again? But what?

Stay tuned for more, everyone! Thank you for your amazing patience!