Chapter 54: A little regal, Nah?
Stefan’s POV
I knew there was no surviving fire. Not like water, not something I could kick and thrash and swim my way out of. Fire didn’t negotiate.
My brain was already scrambling toward begging, dignity be damned, forget every scrap of Incubus authority the System supposedly wanted from me right now -
Then she stopped.
Right at the edge of the flames, close enough that the heat licked hungrily against my soaked skin, drying droplets to steam in seconds. She let go without warning, and I dropped straight to the floor in a graceless, dripping heap, water pooling fast beneath me on the gold-veined stone.
"Summon the General," the Queen said to the soldiers standing at attention behind her in a very calm, unbothered voice like she hadn’t just been one careless flick of her wrist away from tossing a grown man into open flame.
I heaved out a breath so full of relief it actually hurt on the way out, my chest shuddering with it, water still dripping steadily off my hair and down the bridge of my nose.
Belladonna appeared within minutes, striding into the hall with that same coiled, controlled fury she always carried like a second skin, her boots striking stone with sharp, even steps.
Her eyes flicked toward me briefly - just once, just long enough to catalogue exactly how pathetic I looked sprawled soaking wet on the floor - before settling fully on her Queen.
The two of them fell into conversation immediately, their voices low and fast, that clipped growling language passing back and forth between them like a blade changing hands.
I strained my ears hard, leaning in without meaning to, actually praying some miracle might let me suddenly understand a single syllable of it.
No such luck. Just sound, utterly meaningless to me, no matter how hard I concentrated.
My stomach twisted the entire time they spoke. If the Queen repeated back exactly what I had actually said to her, about a reward Belladonna said the Queen promised - this whole gamble collapsed in an instant, and I’d be right back here at the edge of this fire with nobody left to summon.
I watched Belladonna’s face for any tell. But I found nothing. Just that same flat, unreadable stone she always wore.
The exchange stretched on, one full minute bleeding into two, and I sat there soaked and shivering slightly despite the fire’s heat, my hands pressed flat against the cold floor, waiting for a verdict I had zero control over.
Then it stopped.
The Queen turned back toward me, studying my face for a long, silent moment, calculation moving behind those sharp eyes like she was still weighing several different outcomes at once.
"You may be our guest for a while. The won-over Flowers will be revived." She said finally.
Relief crashed through me so hard I nearly laughed out loud right there on the wet floor, some strangled, half-hysterical sound catching in my throat before I managed to swallow it back down.
This was it. My opening. I hadn’t lost everything after all.
I pushed myself up off the ground slowly, water sluicing off my slave cloth in small droplets, and forced my spine straight, chin up, putting up an absolute best impression of a composed, dignified man despite dripping onto her palace floor like a half-drowned cat.
"I’m honored," I said, letting my voice settle into something warm and gracious, "to perform my rare, sacred magic for this queendom. Free of charge." I let a beat hang there, watching her face carefully for any crack before I continued;
"But I do have one urgent request."
The Queen wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled at me once since this entire disaster began, not even the warm, gracious smile she’d worn for her own courtyard minutes earlier.
"What?" she asked sharply like her patience was clearly running thin.
"A decent outfit," I said.
"Something that doesn’t scream Bound the second anyone looks at me twice. Misidentification could genuinely weaken the quality of my magic." I paused, letting that particular lie settle in the air like it was gospel truth, then pushed my luck a step further.
"And I’d love to be brought to the celebration outside. Let me re-energize properly before I begin the real work."
She stared at me, clearly skeptical, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly like she was hunting for the trap hidden somewhere inside my request and coming up empty. The silence stretched long enough that I started genuinely wondering if I’d overplayed my hand.
Then, without another word directed at me, she turned her head slightly toward the soldiers still flanking her.
"Find him appropriate clothing. Bring him to the celebration." She said and immediately the words left her mouth, the system dinged.
[MISSION COMPLETE: Make the Queen get you out of the water and have you join the party.]
[REWARD ISSUED: +5 Authority, +5 MA, +100 EXP]
The Queen turned to face me one final time, the silk shifting around her ankles with the motion. "We will continue this discussion after the party," she said, her voice dropping low.
"Very well," I replied, unable to help the cockiness creeping back into my tone despite every survival instinct screaming at me to just say *yes ma’am* and disappear quietly.
Her brows drew together sharply at that, clearly unused to anyone - Bound, guest, or otherwise - answering her with that particular tone in her own palace.
She said nothing else. She just turned and swept away, the silk trailing behind her across the gold-veined floor like water finding its own path once again.
Belladonna followed a step behind her Queen, but not before pausing just long enough to throw one hard, unreadable glance back over her shoulder directly at me. I couldn’t tell if it was warning or something else entirely.
Then one of the remaining soldiers closed a hand around my arm, rough, no ceremony to it at all, and pulled me forward.
"Careful," I muttered, wincing at her grip. "Didn’t anyone give you the memo? I’m a guest now. Officially. The Queen said so herself."
She didn’t respond. She didn’t even glance at me. She just pulled me through a side archway into a smaller room without a single word.
The room, at least, kept up the palace’s relentless theme - thin gold trim tracing every wall, a low table inlaid with the same shining metal sitting at its center, a standing mirror framed in gold tall enough to reflect my entire soaked, bedraggled self back at me. My excitement climbed right back up almost instantly despite everything.
Finally. I’d be getting real clothes. Something that didn’t hang off my frame like unclaimed laundry from a charity bin.
The soldier crossed to a carved chest against the far wall, lifted the lid, and pulled out a folded bundle of fabric. She crossed back and shoved it into my hands without ceremony, already turning to leave before I’d even properly gripped it.
I unfolded the bundle eagerly, my mind already picturing something sharp, tailored, maybe even a little regal given where I currently stood.
Then I looked at what I was holding and my excitement died on the spot, draining out of me as fast as it had risen.