W.I.T.C.H. 1. Broken

** Hi :) I published this last night, but then I rudely realised this morning that part of it had been deleted weirdly...Awkward... :)**

** This is the first W.I.T.C.H fic that I've written, and I love the WillxPhobos pairing, even though it's not popular. I've kind of accepted that I probably won't get many reviews for this, seeing as this pairing doesn't have many readers...but I hope that some people like this. I had this idea in my head and just really wanted to get it out...I hate that- especially when I have other fics to update...**

** Please excuse any mistakes you might find- I don't have any sort of computer editing, so it's all just been written on wordpad- which has no spellcheck or anything...I've been using the dictionary for things I'm not sure of haha :)**

** That'll do, I think :) **

** DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN W.I.T.C.H!**

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><p><em>"This wasn't how I wanted things to turn out, Mu`rin," his voice comes to me, forcing me to shiver as it enters my carefully constructed barrier of solitude. <em>

_Indignation flares up inside of me, and I wish I had the power to quench it; to show no reaction to the man that could be interpreted as a weakness, but I have never been one for self-control. _

_"Not how you wanted things to turn out?" I repeat; incredulity raising my voice to the range of hysteria. My pale hands grip the edges of my blanket as I whip around to glare at the man who looms omnipresently behind me. "You made this happen! Don't you dare come in here and speak to me as if this is my fault!"_

_My tirade is short, but it threatens to rekindle when I see that it has been ineffectual on the man who calmly waits for me to regain control of my emotions. _

_Begrudgingly, I know that I ought to not speak to him in such a way, so I reduce my inner rage to mere flames. My breathing is no longer similar to panting, and my heart rate decreases to that which is deemed medically safe. _

_I view it as slightly ironic that the man who I hate the most, is also the man who knows me better than anyone. He has an uncanny ability to ignite my anger or calm me down with just a single gesture. _

_I turn my gaze to the side; my hair obscuring my vision for a quick moment before I shake it away. I fall onto the bed behind me; landing down with a muffled sound of impact. The golden, finely-woven sheets crinkle from their state of neat perfection with my disruption. I eye the entire bed spread with disgust, knowing that I am recieving treatment that is far better than what my comrades are being subjected to._

_"Are you calm?" The man asks, and I hear the sound of him sighing slightly in exasperation with my actions. I bite my lip; as I eagerly want to defy him, but I force myself to nod in reply to his question._

_Now is not the time for childish antics. Sticking my tongue out at him and telling him to go shove his head up a colourful place is not going to help anyone- self included. _

_The man steps forward, his long robes rustling against the marble tiles. I don't know why people here like marble floors- I much prefer warm carpets. He stops a few feet away from me, and I can see the hem of his clothing from the corner of my eyes. _

_"You know you shouldn't speak to me like that, Mu'rin," he crosses his arms and I can feel the weight of his gaze pushing against me. I suppress a shiver and raise my face to meet his eyes, which I already know to be stern. _

_"You have no right to decide what is correct for my behaviour," I hiss in reply, my fists clenching to the point of whiteness. "I am in a land under your control, but I am free of will, and you hold no power over my actions." _

_He smiles, though I am satisfied to see the anger behind his eyes; anger at the knowledge that, whilst he may be able to influence my decisions through threats to his captives, he cannot control me. I am the only one who has no strings for him to puppeteer. _

_"Mu'rin, my dear," he speaks through clenched teeth, and I know that, if he didn't exceed me in the terms of self-control, I would be experiencing painful punishment. "I cannot control you mentally; but you are far too easy to manipulate physically."_

_I bristle almost visibly, and my gaze turns into a glare that burns with my hatred. He is right on that account, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that such a fact irks me._

_"I know you better than anyone," I reply to him, tilting my head so that I give the impression of mild curiosity. "You hate how you hold no sway over my mind because you're so used to that: control is your familiar territory. Without it, you feel vulnerable."_

_He chuckles, but I know that I am unnerving him slightly with my words. If I were more carefree, I would've saluted the sky cheerfully and noted that it was point one to me. _

_"You have grown much, Mu'rin."_

_"When you will you stop calling me that?" I roll my eyes and turn away so that my gaze is directed to the window that rests beside me. I have already attempted to escape through it, but I think it's spelled to alert my enemies of contact. "You know my name."_

_I hear him laugh under his breath before he decreases the distance between us by stepping forward. I start to flinch, but manage to cut it short; I can't let him know that he gets to me in such a way. _

_"I do know you're name, Mu'rin," he replies amiably, but I know that he is watching my every move like a hawk. I've been under close watch ever since I've arrived here, but they should realise that I will bide my time until the rebels manage to free my friends before I seriously attempt my own escape. "I just choose to use your proper name."  
>My lips curl into a cross between a scowl and a sneer, as I linguidly roll my head around to face the man, who is now waiting for my reaction. <em>

_"You're fully aware of my _proper_ name," I remind him needlessly. "It's considered polite to address someone by it."  
>He tilts his head back and smiles almost benevolently. Mixed with the flowing white-blonde hair, he almost makes me believe his intentions are good. But, like I said to him before; I know him better than anyone. <em>

_"I am addressing you by your name, Mu'rin," he replies sincerely, and he leans down slightly to gently caress my cheek. Such an action is usually used to express affection, but I know that this is just a gesture to taunt me; to show me that I am under his control. "In Meridian, a name is not a label; as such, but an insight to the person themselves."_

_"Not many people need an insight into your person," I retort, knowing that his name conveniently meant 'fear.' I turn away from him once more, just so that I don't have to meet his gaze. I know that his patience is probably wearing thin with me, but I would rather waste away in this paradisial prison than give him what he desires. _

_He sighs in exasperation, and almost gently takes my hands in his. The skin is smooth, and unworn. Well, he is a prince, after all. I doubt he has to do any dirty work around here. Unless if it involves magic. _

_"It would be so much easier if you just surrendered," he whispers, his lips brushing my earlobe and dragging a shiver out of me involuntarily. "Everything would be better again."_

_Better again...Would it go back to the way things were when I didn't know anything about the Veil; where I wasn't a Guardian? My eyes haze over as I imagine living back in Chicago with Mother and Father. I can almost smell the wafting aroma of Mother's cooking from the kitchen; I can almost feel Father's arms around me as he scoops me up in a giant bear hug before he leaves for work. _

_I wish I could live that again. _

_"That would be such a lovely thing; for everything to be better again," I reply to my enemy; who has sat patiently in front of me, anticipating my next words. I shift my head so that I can meet his eyes; and light brown now meet ice blue. "But it can never happen."_

_The kind facade falls, and he snarls in anger as he jerks to his feet; his movements disjointed due to his ire._

_I flinch slightly as he raises a hand- undoubtedly planning to whip it across my face- and I instinctively throw my forearms over my head to protect me in a small ball of my own being. I imagine my cells turning to diamond; so strong that pain does not reach my body. _

_The blow never comes._

_I tentatively curl out of my ball, and see that the man has now calmed himself down; showing extreme cases of self control that I could never exhibit. _

_He kneels down in front of me so that his hands are now rested on my knees. I do not meet his eyes, as I'm scared of what emotion I will see burning in them. _

_"I hate seeing you like this, Mu'rin," he quietly tells me, his words soft and tender, though their meaning almost makes me yell at him again. _

_I feel his long blonde hair gently dance around my lower legs; moving to the rhythm of a wind that blows through the open windows of the room. _

_"I hate seeing you like this," he repeats; wanting a reaction out of me. I latch onto his gaze, my hateful eyes telling him much more than any words could. Smiling patiently, he raises one of his hands and caresses my cheek once more; as if I was an object of love to him. _

_"So broken..."_

* * *

><p>"Will, could you actually just focus for one minute?" Cornelia's harsh tone drags me out of my daydream; the sound of rustling hair accompanying my exit from imagination.<p>

A hand swipes itself across my face; back and forth twice, before the brightness of Hay Lin and Irma enter my vision from both sides; both of them using the Chinese styled table's edge for support as they lean forward.

"Are you okay, Will?" Hay Lin asks, her eyes crinkling slightly in concern for my wellbeing, and her two long ponytails swinging gently with the wind of her movement.

"Yeah, you've been pretty out of it recently," Irma adds on, scooting over so that she can place her hand over my forehead; acting as though she could have any qualifications to be a physician.

I open my mouth to speak, but cut myself off as I see the two girls exchange knowing glances. This causes me to groan inwardly, as I know that anything that results from the interference of these two either involves mischief or trouble...Or both.

Usually both.

"I smell boy trouble!" Irma declares suddenly, her finger rising into the air like a war general who has cracked through the enemy's defenses.

"Is everything okay with Matt?" Hay Lin asks in reference to Irma's words; both girls having mistaken my present weariness for some social-life crisis.

I shake my my head; the movement sending strange vibrations into my hand that is supporting the side of my face. I'm cut off from the conversation as I recall the touch of another's fingers on my palm; gentle fingers...the type that are associated with the familiar warmth of a mother's caress.

_"I hate seeing you like this, Mu'rin..."_

"Will?"

Yet again, I flash back into the present meeting at the Sliver Dragon, and I realise that the group of W.I.T.C.H are now staring at me with concern. Even Cornelia- which gives me a shock. What with this emergency meeting, she's in her 'Bitchy Bossy, I'm the Best' mood, so I thought that she would have just scoffed at me and told the world that I was going epileptic on her.

I remember the question that was directed at me, and I decide that it is probably best if I answer it; it might divert some of the attention being placed on me.

"Everything's fine with Matt," I finally reply, lifting my head off of my palm so that I might look a bit more energized and into the meeting. I would be interested usually, and I feel a bit guilty about the fact that I'm not, but it's seven at night and I'm tired. It's dark and my body is just reacting naturally; telling me that it is time to sleep, not talk.

I observe the reactions of my peers. Irma and Hay Lin both appear to be confused; as they obviously believed their declaration to ring true. Cornelia frowns and her glossed-pink lips purse as she scrutinised my words. Taranee is peering at me, and I instantly curse how she knows me so well.

She is fully aware of my lie.

"She says she's fine," Cornelia finally breaks the silence, and she shrugs in co-ordinance with her words. "Just believe her. There are bigger matters on the agenda that we have to deal with than our leader's love life."  
>Irma jerks and her eyes widen to the size of saucers as her whole body takes on the air of mockery.<p>

"Really?" She gasps in surprise and I see Hay Lin smiling and probably preparing her own joke to add to what Irma will undoubtedly say. "More important than Will's love life! That's impossible! What could possibly be more important than that?"

Cornelia directs a venomous glare towards the water Guardian and immediately quenches any words that might have exited Hay Lin's now clamped shut mouth.

"Irma," she begins through clenched teeth, "Shut up."

The brown-haired girl curls her lips back in her trademark grin as she cocks her head towards the Earth Guardian. I twist my arm- which is resting against the table- so that my palm rests in position where it can support me and knead my eyes at the same time. Sometimes I really wish that these two could just stop having a go at each other.

"As you wish, Cornelia," she replies, giving a fake bow. "I shall follow your command, seeing as you are our almighty leader-Wait! Hang on...no, no you're not; Will is."

I groan silently as soon as the patronising words have exited the girl's mouth. Cornelia, I think, has always been a bit bitter over the fact that I was chosen to be the leader of W.I.T.C.H over her; so the Water Guardian has obviously hit her weak spot.

The blonde's left eye twitches and she jerks as she struggles to contain herself from bursting out into a rage that would send the other girl off into the corner, quivering in fear. Well, that's what Cornelia would what...I doubt it would actually work.

"Our 'leader' has been fighting off sleep for the whole of this meeting!" She retorts and swipes her long, elegant arm around to point accusingly at my face. Hold on, when did this become personal? "I'm not sure that's what you'd call leadership material!"

My brow furrows as I struggle to come up with an insult to the tall girl who is now holding a triumphant air. Oh, maybe Cornelia didn't get leader because she's too much of a bitch to be able to deal with anyone else being better then her?

...Huh?

I frown, and give myself a harsh, mental slap. That was awfully mean of me...where on Earth did that come from?

_Don't get involved, Will," _I sit upright as I hear the voice of Taranee in my mind. I cast a glance over towards her and she is staring at me warningly. I sigh acceptingly, knowing that the Fire Guardian is the conscious of our group, and when she says something...it's usually right. _You're tired at the moment; you might say something that you might come to regret. _

I nod; glad that I controlled myself before I snapped back out at Cornelia. I would definitely have regretted that later. Besides, Irma isn't going to let the Earth Guardian win that easily.

"Oh, because you're just the perfect example of a leader!" She replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the blonde. "And, really; if Will wants to sleep; I am more than happy to follow!"

"Then I guess it's a good thing that you're not leader!" Cornelia snaps back like the crack of a whip. She casts a glare over the rest of our group, and sees that we're all rather weary- and not just because of her little fights with Irma. We're all tired, but I know that the blonde girl is probably going to blame me for it. 'Sleepiness is infectious,' my mother always used to say with a yawn, when I wouldn't go to bed.

Cornelia sniffs snobbishly, before turning around and starts to pack away her maps of Meridian's main street. This surprises me; she's giving up? Just like that?  
>"Well, it's great to see how much enthusiasm you all have in the rescue mission we'll be attempting in a few days time," she scathingly addresses us all. As she slams the cover of her backpack down, her hair dances as she slings the strap over her shoulder. "There's not much point even continuing with this, so I think I'll go talk to Caleb: He will, at least, be interested."<p>

And with that final remark, Cornelia storms out of the Silver Dragon; golden feathers cascading to the ground in her wake.

* * *

><p>"It must be someone's time of the month," I hear Irma snicker as we all depart from Hay Lin's place.<p>

I frown; feeling guilty that I wasn't more involved in the meeting. That was probably what had sparked Cornelia's ire; I'm not sure how I'd take it if one of my peers was looking far less than interested in something I considered important.

"We all know the plan, though!" Irma declares, as if she could read my mind. She sighs frustratingly, her change of mood probably due to the lack of food she's had in the last hour. She tosses us a grin as she crosses the street that will take her to her house. "I'll catcha tomorrow! Don't be late, or Corny will have a hissy fit!"  
>I wave to the brown-haired girl before Taranee and I start walking faster; eager to arrive home due to the dark clouds circling above us. I frown, thinking perhaps Irma was going a bit far.<p>

"I know what's bugging you; but it's just Irma and Cornelia going at each other again," Taranee reminds me peacefully. Wise, wise child. "Don't let it get to you. What I do want to know, however, is what is really happening with you and Matt."

I sigh, not really prepared to have this conversation just yet.

"Perhaps tomorrow, Taranee," I reply wearily, shrugging my jacket over my shoulder more snugly. "I promise I'll tell you then."

Taranee smiles acceptingly before waving me off as I cross into my building's path.

* * *

><p>I unlock the door to my apartment, fumbling with my various keys as I struggle with all the old ones from my old home.<p>

"Good evening, Will," the british voice greets me as I arrive. "I have a lovely pizza inside here waiting to be heated up. Your mother's just gone to shop to restock me, and will be back soon."

"Thank you, James," I reply with a grateful smile, silently loving how I don't have to open the door of my fridge to have to know what lies within. I retrieve the pizza and set the microwave timer to three minutes before pressing start.

"You look tired, Will," he replies, "Trouble sleeping?"  
>I collapse down onto my couch; the remote control flying off the edge of the comfy cushion as I do so. I laugh bitterly, remembering how my last previous nights have been plagued with nightmares of what will occur tomorrow and realistic dreams that I can't seem to shake.<p>

"You could say that, James."

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><p><strong>If you have the time; a review would be greatly appreciated :) If not, I hope you liked the first chapter. Please tell me if anyone was too OOC...I hate getting that in fanfiction :(<strong>


	2. Another Flaw

_The windows are thrown wide open, and from where I stand, I can feel the rushing wind brush up and caress my face as my eyes scan the surroundings._

_I overlook the town below the palace, and I tilt my head and allow myself to imagine what it must have looked like under the benevolent hand of a former ruler. Surely, it would have been prosperous, and the small cottages with the windows currently nailed firmly shut would have been thriving with life, the smell of fresh cooking and the sounds of joy and mirth filling the air._

_Now, everything is bleak. _

_Lifeless. _

_A simple husk of what it must have once been. _

_His hands tainted, I know; his long, pianist fingers would entrench anything in their grasp and constrict it until it was moulded into what he would want it to be. To him, we are simply clay to be shaped to his will. _

_This will be my fate._

_For now, I stay his gentle captive; a bird that remains inside her cage despite having the doors held wide open before her, but I consented to this state to ensure the safety of my friends. For he holds them within his prison as bait; as an assurance that I will cooperate. He may be lying about their imprisonment, but it does not matter; I would not risk the harm of anyone innocent by defying him outright. _

_I did think I would be dead by now; slaughtered and perhaps sent to Kandrakar as a message, but I still remain in this glorious cage. For it soon became very apparent to me that he does not only want the Heart of Kandrakar, but also me. _

_Not my love, my affection or tenderness. But me. My soul, my emotions, my everything. For it is incapable for a man like he to understand the concept of affection, and so translates it into the closest emotion he does know: Possession. _

_He believes that he has a claim to me, as though I am nothing more than an item to be bartered over. He already has me within his grasp and therefore understands that there is no longer a limited battlefield, and that all the manipulative, subliminal messaged interactions we have will be played on his home-ground. _

_I have always been selfish to some extent. I have been labelled a leader and yet I know that I possess this major flaw that will undermine my 'leadership.' And so now, when I understand that I am barely fighting an already-determined battle against him, my selfishness bears it's ugly head. _

_I will not lose. I have always been competitive- another flaw- and when you constantly want to win, you develop a sense of finding loop-holes. And so I decide that to win, I shall have to muster every inch of selfishness that I possess and forsake the fate of my fellow guardians rotting in their less-luxurious cells and seize the loop-hole opportunity so obviously presented to me. _

_This is my way of deciding my fate, I think as I breathe deeply and shut my eyes. My foot hovers over the edge of the windowsill, and the medieval-styled dress of Meridian flares up at the skirts with the force of the rushing wind beneath me. As I am about to step forward, I allow myself a moment to imagine that I am once more as innocent as I was before becoming a Guardian._

_I can almost feel the wings sprouting from my back once more, the lovely sensation of the power flickering at my fingertips, and the comfortable sleeves and skirt billowing in the wind. Behind me, I sense my friends; I can hear their laughter, light-heartedness and optimism spurring me forward. _

_Then I step off into the air._

_I fall. _

_Down._

_Down._

_Ever downwards. _

_Then I am floating; resting on the air and my arms spread out wide as my hair flies up wildly above me and my eyes are forced to remain shut due to the pressure of the fall. _

_There is a certain sort of freedom to be gained from committing suicide when you have been trapped and controlled for a long duration of the recent past. You embrace the sudden feeling of control; of regaining the sense of life that you once held; the grip you have over your direction. _

_The ground must be near, I allow myself a second to think, and I smile slightly. I can imagine his face when he hears of what I have done; of how I have overstepped the boundaries he assumed would keep me pleasantly contained. _

_My eyes flicker gingerly open and then I see the tiled, paved ground below me fast approaching. They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you see your death near, but I don't. I only feel. I remember the times I cried, I laughed and I felt power; the power that had been torn from me by him and his tightly closed fist of imprisonment. _

_This was my way of taking it back._

_This was my way of becoming free. _

_The ground is near. It approaches...and I see my escape within my reach. _

_And then, all at once, I open my eyes once more and return from my thoughts of what could be. My feet remain on the windowsill and I begin to tremble as I am forced to realise that I will never be able to step off into the air...that I have not the courage required to commit the suicide that would set me free from all that I fear. _

_I have not the strength. It will mean my death, and the possible death of my friends. _

_A whimper escapes my throat and I push a sleeved forearm against my lips and attempt to stifle the sounds of weakness, but it is to little avail. My sobs fill the air of the room and with monumental effort and the sick taste of failure entering my mouth, I turn back around to face the prison room._

_My leg shakes and I wallow in self-hatred as I return my feet back onto the more solid ground of the marble. I am barely able to stand due to the jelly-substance that has filled the inside of my legs, and I quickly collapse. _

_My back falls against the wall underneath the windowsill and I fall slowly to the ground. This is my fault; I can never escape because of my own weakness. I did not halt my suicide attempt out of concern for my friends; I stopped because it meant that I would _die_. _

_A leader should be fearless. A leader should be prepared to die instead of remaining a prisoner or giving into a captor. _

_I am scared. I am so scared. The way he looks at me, the way I struggle to comprehend the fate he offers me…the way I realise that his words may be horribly right. I am scared; far from what would be considered leadership material. I am not fearless._

_Yet another flaw._

* * *

><p>I gasp as I leap up from the bed, and nearly fall off of the side. I grip onto my bedside table to steady myself and then take a few breaths to calm me down.<p>

"What was that?" I mutter quietly, and relive the moment in my mind once more. The sensation of falling, the fear. It was so vivid, so intense that I am left feeling quite drained.

But today is not a day to be drained. Today is the day of the rescue mission.

My eyes wander over to the digital clock on my bedside table. His name is Xander, and he likes to remind all of the other furniture that he was NOT made in China, rather, he was imported from Singapore.

"The time is 5:30 AM, Wilma," Xander helpfully tells me, and I flinch at the usage of my full name. He knows that I hate it, but he is old-fashioned and prefers to call people by their entire birth names. "And you are already three minutes late for your meeting, according to the alarm you set last night."

My eyes widen, and I promptly leap out of my bed and rush to my closet.

Nightmares will have to wait; I have Guardian business, today.

* * *

><p>"Everyone knows the plan?" I ask the group before me.<p>

Cornelia has recovered from her tiff with Irma a few days earlier, and is all serious now- I have a suspicion that Caleb may have assisted in that matter. The rebel leader is standing beside his girlfriend with an equally serious expression on his face; though it is clear that he is very keen to get started on the mission that will see the freedom of his captured allies.

Hay Lin had handed us breakfast, but barely any of us has touched it from the nerves that are riling in our stomachs- this is excluding Irma and Blunk, of course, who are scoffing down the Captain Crunchy cereal with vigor. Taranee stands with tightly closed fists beside me, and her mood is obviously effecting the fire of the candle in the cellar that is currently flickering due to her nerves.

"We do," Cornelia replies, casting a meaningful glance at Irma, but the Water Guardian nods her assent and shows that she was indeed listening during the times when the plan was explained to us all. Then, the Earth Guardian turns her eyes to me and the disapproval is ripe within her gaze. "It doesn't mean we agree with every part of it, though."

I sigh and ruefully smile at her; knowing that despite my position of leader, there is nothing I can do to make her understand the decision that I have made regarding the mission.

"We can't change it now, Cornelia," I tell her, and Caleb reluctantly nods and places a hand on his girlfriend's shoulder. His eyes flicker up to mine, and his expression is a merely downplayed version of Cornelia's, but as a fellow leader himself, I know that he will not object or try to change anything. To mirror my thoughts he turns to his girlfriend with a soothing voice.

"She's right."

The group lapses into a grim silence, but I break it by gesturing that we get ready. Everyone stands and we face the wall where I am about to open the portal. With the anxiety broiling in my veins, I raise the Heart of Kandrakar and the burning pink light it exhumes lights up the cellar brighter than weak candle seated on the tabletop behind us.

I do not cast another glance to my team of fighters until the portal is open. Their expressions show that they are prepared, and with an almost silent sigh, I decide that I am also prepared as well.

"Guardians unite!"

* * *

><p>My wings beat against the wind as I fly through the air. The smoke of the burning city beneath me invades my nostrils and my eyes water at the harsh environment.<p>

It has been like this for some time. If I had been in human form, I would have succumbed to the arid landscape quite a while ago. Being a Guardian tends to have more than elemental power advantages, however, and so I am able to withstand my current surroundings.

My eyes flicker over to where Taranee is attempting to control the blaze on one of the innocent civilian's houses. Her forehead is glimmering with the sweat of the effort, as the inferno has been raging for a long time- that was obvious to anyone- and it is rather apparent to me that the building isn't able to be saved.

"Taranee, leave it!" I yell out to her, and she flinches at the sound of my hoarse voice. She looks up at me and I have no need to order her to move telepathically, as she understands immediately by my gaze. She is too kind, but kindness is not what we need right now; there is too much at stake with this mission to waste time on kindness. There would be time for that later.

The Fire Guardian grimly smiles at me before launching herself into the air with a push of her powerful legs and she sets off towards the palace, where the other Guardians undoubtedly await her presence. The abandoned house barely stands for another second before it collapses in a cloud of dust and debris.

I conceal myself near the trees of the forest and wait as a back-up plan. My adrenaline surges within my body and screams out at me to join the fray but I deny it's wishes in favour of following my sensible conscious. To charge in with the rest of the group would be the most stupid thing that I could ever do.

Inside the palace, they currently fight to regain high members of the resistance who were captured during the battle where Phobos regained his throne, and I would only be a burden to them.

For the power of Metamoor is not all that Phobos currently seeks. He now desires the power of Kandakar, and I am a direct link to it. This, he surely knows, and so it would be smart for me to stay out of his way. For now. He would undoubtedly confront me at some point, regardless of which world I stood in. I am here in case I am desperately needed.

I hover above a building and gently land on the straw-thatched roof so as not to attract any unwanted attention. I crouch low and watch the various followers of Phobos run through the street and attack anyone they see. To them, this is currently a resistance fight, and anyone seen will be treated as a rebel.

The torn apart bodies and remains littered across the ground are testament to the brutality of the creatures and the way they treat the innocent. More importantly, it's a testament to the power of Phobos.

Suddenly, I am broken out of thoughts as I see a flash of a fireball be launched off into the sky like a rocket; I watch it soar higher and higher before it extinguishes due to the cold of the air. This is my sign; the moment that I have been waiting for.

I stand, and am lucky, for Phobos' followers have noticed some poor sod running through the street and are distracted. I would run to his rescue, but there is another more important matter at hand that will save him regardless.

"This is your time!" I shriek off into the distance, knowing that I will be heard by the right people. And indeed, from the cover of the forest, I see the light of the burning fires reflected in dozens of awaiting eyes. My body faces them, and a smile crosses my face; a smile to reassure them, to show them that I am confident when I am, in reality, far from it. "Aid the Guardians and restore your freedom!"

Cries of battle erupt into the night air, as from the end of the trees, planted troop members of the resistance run out from their hiding places and begin to sprint down to the city. I immediately drop low against the roof of the house and watch them go; their spirits high and fueled with their anger directed at Phobos.

I spot Caleb leading the troops and he casts a knowing grin up at my direction, and I contain my chuckle. He takes them further and further away from me until they are a small line in the distance as they charge up into the palace.

I settle down and ready my mind in case Taranee tells me telepathically that I need to teleport us all back to earth and safety at a moment's notice. In doing so, I fail to spot the followers of Phobos approaching me from behind.

They shout suddenly, and then I become aware of the fact that I have been seen. I gasp and whirl around to see that I have a small group of the creatures beneath me readying their weapons. In making my movement, I cry out as my foot slips and I slide down the weak roof.

My wings beat like crazy and just manage to stop me from falling off of the building entirely. Instead, I am caught on the edge of the roof staring down at the foes on the ground.

I frown and quickly make a decision. Chances are that I may already have been detected by Phobos and therefore am already extremely comprised in my position. It probably won't matter whether I use magic or not.

I raise my hand and yell out as I feel the lightening course through my veins and exit from my fingertips. In a split second, the creatures before me are lying on the ground; some broken from the force of the lightening, and some simply deprived of the life they had been given due to the exposure of such raw power and have ceased to be.

Regardless, the situation has been dealt with, and I breathe a sigh of momentary relief.

In my mind, I scowl and mentally try to push my Guardians along with my encouragement. I am fiddling with a piece of loose straw beneath my fingers and twirl it around in an attempt to distract me from the fact that I am not in on the action, and am, in all aspects, quite useless in this moment.

As I sit motionless and hear the sounds of the fighting from the palace echoing in the night air, I fail to notice the figure standing calmly down on the ground.

My mind wanders off towards wondering how my friends are faring, when the voice of the man below me shocks me out of my thoughts.

"How foolish the Guardians are," the voice, drawling and malicious, snaps me out of my astray mind, and I jump slightly. Yet again, I nearly lose my footing and am forced to beat my wings rapidly to remain on the roof.

My eyes flash down to the ground and I immediately frown in confusion. For there, beneath me, stands none other than Phobos, the man my friends are supposed to be currently fighting. He notices my expression, and a smirk spreads itself across his lips.

"You actually think that I didn't know what the Guardians were planning?" He asks with narrowed eyes as he surveys me. "Of course I knew that you wouldn't join the main battle. I assume your withdrawal from the main event was your idea."

I frown in caution, and understand fully well that he is toying with me. With the power that Nerissa once possessed now fully stored in his arsenal, I am currently no match for him. It's only out of what I assume to be boredom that I am still conscious.

"I knew that if I faced you, then you'd just focus all your attacks on me," I reply slowly, careful with my words. The moment I anger him, I'm lost. "It took convincing, but I had the final say in my fate."

He nods; a malicious smile still on his face, but it fades slightly with my words into a more musing expression. This doesn't bode too well for me.

"You always were the smartest of those pathetic excuses of Guardians," he eventually says, and I narrow my eyes in anger.

"Don't call them that!" I hiss at him, forgetting all of my thoughts of caution and focus on defending my friends, as though I were dealing with nothing more than a simpleton bully instead of a powerful arch-enemy. "They're more than you'll ever be!"

This amuses him, and he begins to laugh at the expense of my friends. I feel lightening beginning to tingle at my fingertips, but even in my ire I understand that to attack him now would be folly.

"If they are as powerful as you speak, little Guardian," the Prince drawls quietly, a smirk tilting his lips upwards as he spoke, "Then how was it so easy to overcome them?"

I freeze and immediately send out a telepathic message to Taranee. In the seconds that follow, I receive nothing in return, which worries me immensely, as even in the midst of battle, Taranee would always be able to reply to me.

With an anguished cry, I whip my glare onto the Prince below me and my wings outstretch behind me in my fury.

"What have you done to them?!" I shriek at him, and the smirk on his lips and the aura of amusement slips from his entire self almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

"Stop being dramatic," he replies with a roll of his eyes, "What do you think I did to them?"

"If you have hurt them in any way," I snarl lowly at him, bearing my teeth like my dormouse does when I forget to feed it. "Then I swear that I will"-

"What?" Phobos interrupts me suddenly, "What will you do, little Guardian? What _can_ you do?"

I am at a loss for words and I turn my head away, before shaking slightly and returning my burning eyes to him.

"I will find something," I reply vehemently, and the lightning in my fingertips threatens to spill out and launch itself at him in correspondence to my anger. "I will spend every chance I get to undermine you and ruin whatever victory you think you've gained."

He is silent for a moment, and the amusement in his eyes fades until he staring back at me coolly. The ice in his eyes begins to almost spread over me, and gradually, I feel myself returning to a calmed state. Sense returns to my mind and smoothly overrides the anger that had been clouding my thoughts.

Besides, it is possible that he is lying. I think that I would have sensed if he'd killed them by now; there is probably some sort of Guardian trick in which I will know if I have lost my friends. Chances are, he is only deceiving me so that he may take the Heart of Kandrakar.

"I believe you," Phobos eventually answers my earlier tirade, and I frown in confusion. Then, a dark smile crosses his face and I resist the urge to shiver. "This is why I shall deny you the opportunity to make any movement against me."  
>This time, it is I who stares coolly at him, but he returns my glare with a levelled gaze of his own, and despite the height I currently have against him in my position, I feel as though he is towering over me.<p>

"I believe you," I reply, quoting his own words quietly, but I understand that what he said is the truth, whereas my tirade was based on a hopeful vow.

"Now that we understand each other," Phobos inclines his head in a mockingly respectful gesture, and holds out a hand into the air, "The time has come. We will move this conversation elsewhere."

He gestures his hand impatiently, and I stiffen suddenly. Now that the moment has arrived; the moment where I will willingly step into his cage like I did in my dream, a certain fear takes over me. The type of fear that an animal staring into the eyes of its hunter has, and the type of fear that makes a marked person do reckless things to try and escape their inevitable fate.

I struggle to contain the emotion, but it is swiftly overpowering me. My fingers tingle with the excited lighting boiling under my skin, and my mind is screaming it's protests at my next actions, but I ignore it.

I raise my hand and let loose a blast of lightning at the prince before me, and I relish the momentary surprise that crosses his face. My joy turns sour in an instant, however, as he smoothly deflects the blast and settles a scolding expression into eyes.

"That wasn't very smart, little Guardian," Phobos, with his velvet voice, stares me down and I feel myself withdrawing back into a cooler, calculating state. "I advise you not to try that again."

I bite my lip but the glare in my eyes must be noticeable, for the prince hardens his gaze until it assumes the expression of a warning.

"Remember that the fate of your friends is currently undecided, and that I can change that in a moment," he reminds me, and the fight immediately leaves me. I will not do anything that will risk their safety, even if it means giving myself up to him. I will only be his captive; it will take much more of a battle for him to receive the Heart of Kandrakar from me, so I will not be giving up too much to ensure the wellbeing of my friends. Phobos notices the deflation of anger in my body, and raises his hand once more in an escorting gesture. "Now, come along."

"And if I refuse?" I ask, making sure that all options are open and clear to me.

"Then I start killing everyone you love until you accept," he replies calmly in a bored tone. I shiver, but tell myself that I shouldn't be surprised. This is his very nature.

I shimmy myself over to the end of the roof and latch onto his hand as I leap off of the edge. My wings beat furiously at the air until I slowly fall; my grip on Phobos' hand guiding me to the ground. My boots touch the dirt and I shake my head free of the dust that has undoubtedly settled in my crimson hair.

I attempt to take my hand away from the Prince's, but before I have the chance to, he wraps my arm underneath his in an escorting manner. It is a tight grip though, and I cannot wrench my hand free without alerting him to my actions.

"For assurance," Phobos tells me smoothly, before he musters up the energy required for his next action.

I take one more look at the burning town of Meridian but it is cut short as the prince teleports me away from the last moment I had of freedom.

And all the while, the storm grows in the distance.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for all the feedback that you gave me! I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but I don't tend to update unless if I get around 10 reviews; that number of reviews usually gives a diverse group of feedback to examine and analyse to better shape the next chapter.<strong>

**By the time I did get ten reviews, however, I actually was going through a rather difficult time, and there were a few family emergencies occurring, so I wasn't really focused on FF. Now though, I am back in business!**

**Yes, I changed the title. I felt that What's A Mu'rin Beatha D'an? was a little too light-hearted for the seriousness of this story; for this story will be serious. There will be light-hearted scenes, but the majority of the story will be focusing on the interaction of Will and Phobos and how that will change and affect the rest of the characters and the overall result. Because of the antagonistic relationship between Will and Phobos, their interactions are not likely too be light-hearted. **

**I am trying to keep everyone in character as much as possible, and for this to be possible, then the romance between Will and Phobos is likely to be dark- as that is the only way I can really see it forming in this story. There will probably be the occasional moment of tenderness, but Phobos and Will strike me as a possessive man and defiant woman, so tenderness would not last too long between them. But you are welcome to suggest any other titles you think may suit the story, and I will consider them :) **

**What do you guys think about the cover image I made?**

**Please give me feedback and you will get a chapter much quicker than last time, haha :)**


	3. Me And My Enemy

**Warning! A bit of foul language and violence approaching. Read on at your own risk.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Did you think that I wouldn't find out, Murin?" His voice is a whisper; as gentle as the breeze of the crisp morning. And yet, it was edged; there was a sharpness, a clarity to it that sent a wracking shudder throughout my body at the unspoken darkness that undoubtedly clouded his thoughts.<em>

_I sat in a hunch; my back slumped forward and my eyes glazed and unfocused on the surroundings that I had woken up to for an unmeasurable amount of days past and to come. A blurring pattern of antagonism, bleakness and self-pity marked the defeat of my boredom. For I was not bored; I was filled with emotion, with thoughts- however low- to occupy the duration of my imprisonment._

_And of course, he was there._

_He was always there._

_He would be present; whether in my mind, in surveillance or in physical form. He had that effect on people…on me. Like a parasite, he would latch onto his host and settle to nest in a burrow underneath my skin. That way, even when I couldn't see him, he revelled in the fact that I knew he was there._

_He sighs._

_The air he breathes is pure but the rush of used air he exhaled was tainted with his contact; the evil inside him rotted everything in its sight, and the shadowy sigh he emits rushes over and brushes against my pale skin._

_I can almost envision my white skin decomposing immediately from the contact, and for a moment, I allow myself to wonder whether such a fate would grant me an inch of relief. For my skin to continue to blacken and gradually fall away and leave me little more than bones…would I be free? Or would I still be trapped; simply a structure of bones and organs that would still pulsate and detached veins and arteries that would flow crimson blood in an ironic attempt to preserve what little physical life I maintain?_

_A hand brushing against my cheek suddenly breaks me from my thoughts and startles me into the realisation that I still possess skin; that I haven't rotted- at least on the outside. Inside, my mind is tumultuous and decaying and everything that he has caused it to be by touching it with his words and blackened fingertips._

"_Murin," he whispers, a smooth layer blurring over the sharp edge I previously heard. His fingers; near sickly pale, grasp a darker strand of my hair and twirl it gently around in a circular motion. I lean into the touch to express my gratitude for the slightest emotion; for the slightest distraction…regardless of what disguised form it may assume. "What ails you?"_

_Once, I would have snorted at the usage of 'ails' but the spirit to do so has abandoned me; has left me to fester in this pit of nothingness and saccharine promises of freedom. Perhaps everything will abandon me one day; perhaps even my meagre and near non-existent sense of self-preservation will vanish, and I will forsake all that I have pretentiously tried to deny myself._

"_It's warm," the words rush out from my mouth, and even though his Whisperers ensure my wellbeing on the basic necessity levels, my mind creates the vision of my lips being so hoarse from my daily repeated words that they have become cracked and too dry to speak without inducing unavoidable pain._

"_You would still have a window, Murin, to cool you down had you not tried to throw yourself onto one of the lower turrets," he reminds me in an almost scolding tone, but his voice is so concentrated on remaining calm- a technique, I think, he has perfected from years of court and political spies- that he does not manage to pull off motherly scolding._

"_I wasn't," I reply instantly, with the quickest reaction time that I can record for days, but the sense to correct him is just too overwhelming. He is surprised, but falls silent and allows me to speak. "I was going to fly."_

_His eyes narrow and it is obvious that he is suspecting that something is amiss, but I do not quite mind. I have corrected him, I have made him understand the truth- a concept that I once thought he viewed as foreign, but I now realise that perhaps he has the most pure notion of honesty than any other human I have crossed paths with._

_He has told me from the moment I walked into his little cage that I would not leave intact, that I would be broken and useless; my wings clipped and my sight blinded from discrepancy. That is his truth, and I fear it shall pass._

"_Murin," I blink and the world errs from what I previously viewed as bleak nothingness, to focus all onto him. His blonde hair; glimmering in the rays of the sun as though a god was smiling down upon his very existence. "You have changed."_

_He pushes back the sides of my hair from my face, and lowers his body down until he can stare deep into my eyes. I try to avert my gaze from his by turning my head away, but his smooth hand cups my cheek and pulls me back to the same position I was in._

_His eyes are as icy as the cold ocean of Earth's northernmost point, and yet they carry a chill to them that a mere body of water could never accomplish. My world revolves in his visage; in everything he exhumes, in all that I can absorb. Anything is received with utmost gratitude for it will distract me from the bleakness, from the fear of fading into the cage I willingly remain in._

"_There is a shadow within your mind," he murmurs, though to me, every word he speaks is as loud as a speaker-phone, for I am deliberately hanging on to every syllable, to every expression he creates and wipes away like a slate. I barely register the actual meaning of what he is saying. "A seed has been dropped and you allow it to grow into fruition."_

_Just as he says, perhaps one day the darkness will sprout from my head like a plant; and the tendrils of branches borne of shadows will reach high into the sky with greed and desire and through their unending want, the freedom I seek will be granted._

_My eyes have undoubtedly glazed over once more, for he has developed a musing expression onto his face, and the hand still cupping my cheek gives my skin a gentle caress to ease me back into the present. I return, but reluctantly, and part of my mind still remains with my thoughts, with my desires and blackening dreams._

"_I'm left to wonder how you would react if I unlocked your cage?" He tilts his head in almost amiable curiosity, but by this time I had already grasped the understanding that there was nothing amicable about the man before me. "How would the shadows claim your mind? Would they consume you before your desires do?"_

_I must have shown some reaction, some flicker of movement to answer his treacherous words, for he chuckles quietly, and the strands of woven gold from his head shift against the floor that they must have grown used to by now. Perhaps one day they will meld entirely with the marble, and he will also be trapped in a cage that I experience._

"_Your desire to return to me will be your undoing," he continues with a velvet voice, and he leans forward so that our foreheads skim against each other, and his tainted breath washes over my dry, cracked lips. Immediately, I sense that they will begin to rot from his influence at any given second._

"_No," I reply and nearly startle myself with my coherency, but I suppose my need to correct him once more grants me strength. My eyes flutter closed and I release a shaky breath before I press forward. "I will find freedom."_

_The line between us; our ever-present connection suddenly tightens, and becomes taut. One more word from me and it shall snap; sending us both into an unravelling motion of a collaterally-damaged nature._

_But, as this sort of situation must be omnipresent in any political court he is so experienced to, he smoothly calms the scene as he moves his tender hand from my cheek down to my chin; giving my jaw bone a smooth caress as he goes. He pushes my face up to meet his, but as usual he does not embrace me any further._

_As he says, my desire to do that for myself will be my undoing. For I feel it now; the desire; the raging want to entangle myself in his grasp further burns in every fibre and cell that I possess._

"_For freedom," he breathes to me, yet his words are as clear as the sky high above me and the visage so carefully placed before me. I hang on to him mentally; the dependency shining to my mind and thoughts of self-preservation with a certain sense of clarity, yet I do not struggle to supress it any longer._

_He stares down at me, and I return his expression like a mirror; a blank item only used to reflect the existence of another, and his words reverberate into my mind creating an echoing effect. I immediately understand that they will always remain with me; forever and onwards until the end of my being._

"_You must first _seize_ power."_

* * *

><p>I awake suddenly from my dream; experiencing a pattern that I had known for days now. But this time, something was different. There was a change to the feeling of the vivid images conjured by my mind during sleep.<p>

But unfortunately, there isn't any time to consider this, as my bleary vision clears and I find myself staring at the top of a foreign cave structure- and not the roof of my bedroom. In fact, as I come around a bit more, I notice that I am not in my comfortable bed, but a very rock-hard excuse of a mattress in the corner of a cell.

I resist the immediate urge to cry out and leap up in fright, and I calmly release a sigh to ease the tension settling in my chest.

I remember him bringing me here the night before with the instruction to sleep and prepare for a long day tomorrow.

"Is it familiar, Guardian?"

My head snaps around to face the sound of the voice. Outside of the magically supported bolts of lightning that marks the bars for my cell, Prince Phobos stands down on the ledge across from me, Raythor posing as guard by his side.

I almost laugh at the situation.

"The cell that I released you from," I state with a grim, humourless chuckle, before standing shakily and hobbling my way over to the edge of the cell to face him properly. "I never knew you were a fan for irony."

Raythor was obviously annoyed by my lack of outright fear that I was displaying. I was scared- there was no doubt about that- but I refused to show it.

Phobos probably understood this, as he would have dealt with other rebel leaders in the past, and would have learnt the tactics of the confined defiant by now. If he does notice anything, however, he simply chuckles softly to himself before holding his hands out in an entertained gesture.

"Victory has certainly changed my outlook on it," the prince replies smoothly, gazing down almost musingly at his fingernails. "The captor has become the captive…yes, I do quite like the ring to that."

"I'm glad," I drawl with a spark of mischief that Irma would be proud of. Then, I sober up entirely, wishing to see my fate as soon as I could. "Now show me my friends, and we can get down to business."

He smirks with a sudden burst of fervour, and stares down the rows of cells below me.

"They're right beneath you, little Guardian," Phobos replies with a louder tone to his voice, as though he intends others to overhear our conversation. I can only image who else resides in the prison with me. "Caged in the cells that you so righteously confined my supporters within."

I threw my thoughts out into the air, and waited a moment as my consciousness tried to grasp onto Taranee's. Nothing came back, indicating that either he was lying, or that they were unconscious…or blocked from me.

"I don't sense them," I tell him firmly, crossing my arms over my chest as though it could protect me from him. "And I don't trust your word for it. The heart will not be given up for this."

He raises his eyebrows in mild surprise, but then the calculating expression returns to his face as he loads another attack into his verbal cannon.

"Not even for the lives of your friends? How cruel you are, little guardian. But then…I suppose I already knew that."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask defensively, already showing him a possible crack in my armour, but I, of course, already know the answer to my own question.

Phobos is undoubtedly referring to the moment he saw during his time in my world. The moment where the epitome of my petty selfishness shone through. It disgusted me that he was there to bear witness to it.

"Your competition with that mortal was most enlightening," he continues, only confirming my suspicions. "How you refused to be defeated by a simple woman who you had considered to be inferior to you in all aspects…and you were most creative in your victory."

I recall how he had immediately complimented me after my race; and the thought brought a blush of shame to my cheeks. In fact, I assumed that, had Phobos been in my situation, he would have done the exact same thing; nothing too flashy as too arouse suspicion, but just a freak accident to affirm in everyone's mind the validity of my innocence.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, but I already understood everything he was saying. He was right; I'd been the champion for so long that I refused to go down- especially to _that_woman. So I cheated. I regretted it and played fair from that moment onwards, but that doesn't change the fact that I did it.

"It was wonderful to see the almighty spearhead of justice stoop to a level bequeathed onto me." I turned my head away, blushing in shame, as I heard Raythor begin to raucously laugh. This annoyed me, but I was not the only one who it annoyed. "Raythor, you insufferable creature, if you interrupt me again, I will throw you into one of these cells to rot." Phobos turns back to me, his momentary loss of composure fully erased. "You know, Little Guardian, we have more in common than what you'd like to think."

* * *

><p>I easily lose track of time, alone in the dark space with nothing but my thoughts and the echo of Phobos' words to accompany me. I don't have anything to distract me and as I mull over everything that has happened in the past few days, nothing can take my mind off the ominous sense that I <em>know <em>Phobos is right about me.

It comes as a welcome change then, when I hear footsteps down below me.

"Back again?" I move to stand near the cell; mind taking a reprieve from my thoughts.

Then again, perhaps being lost in my thoughts is a near step nicer than what I am undoubtedly going to experience from the Prince and his pet.

"It's almost as though you're looking forward to seeing me," Phobos, dressed more elegantly and regally then our previous meeting, walks up to the edge of the pillar that juts out into the middle of the cylindrical walls of the prison. "Though, knowing from experience; there isn't much else to look at in that small cell."

Perhaps it was my late night. Perhaps it was the slight pounding in my head. Or perhaps it was just seeing him again that made me snap at him.

"Oh, _fuck_ _off_."

I scowl at him in irritation- my moods at peak hour due to my raging hormones of anger, fear and tension- and let him calmly know that I'm not in the mood for banter.

I am about to saunter away again, back into a lovely little reclusive corner, when his next words catch me off guard.

"What language, little guardian," he slowly replies, his voice deep and screaming out that there is meaning behind his talk. "What would your mother say? Perhaps we ought to ask her ourselves."

There is a moment of tense silence as his words sink in. During which, I am repeating an endless echo inside my mind. Finally, I break it by turning around and facing him once more to show that I am receptive and ready to listen.

"You have her?" I ask quietly. I shouldn't be surprised; I know the efforts Phobos would go to in order to secure his power. I shake my head and chuckle humourlessly. "Of course, you do."

"Of course, I do," Phobos repeats my words as he surveys me with an expression of interest on his face. He is watching me; trying to see how I will react, trying to pinpoint anything that will give him an upper hand against me.

I try to remain stoic and impress my persona of 'cruelty' onto him and his desires, but it is to no avail. I am not stoic and I am not cruel. I'm competitive and selfish, but _not_ cruel. I cannot leave my mother- my oblivious, innocent mother- to his mercy.

I know that I will not be able to stop him this time.

"You know the Oracle," I reply flatly, recalling the many times that I had conversed with the mystical leader of the council. "You know how strong he was when it came to protecting the heart. It wouldn't surprise me if he's placed some sort of spell on the heart to stop me from giving it away."

The Prince nods slowly, and I realise that he has considered this as a possibility, but I know that he is intent on trying to claim the power that I possess inside my body.

"He will be disappointed, I fear," Phobos drawls as he raises a hand and unleashes a bolt of lightning my way.

I flinch as it reaches me, but it only serves to extinguish the bars of my cell into free air. If I desired, I could now make a run for it; unfurl my wings and take off into the prison…find my friends and mother and attempt escape.

But this would be ridiculous.

If I were Phobos, I'd anticipate such a move, and therefore would have either placed my mother and friends in an entirely separate prison, or simply be lying to me about holding them in the first place.

I cannot risk such an attempt at this moment, as I don't have the facts necessary for success. That is what I have learnt that a leader must do; grasp the facts and build a strategy instead of plunging aimlessly into action.

So I simply walk forward and wait at the edge of my cell; where the ground suddenly falls away into nothing and if I take another step, then I will also fall. At my back, my wings twitch as they urge me to take flight, but I resist.

Phobos, upon seeing that I am not going to flee, breaks into a calculative smirk. He knows that I am currently in his power due to the chess pieces he holds in his hand. He asks me to dance, I'll dance…for now.

This is my plan; what I must do. I need to wait him out, and gain his begrudging trust until I see an opportunity.

"Good decision, little Guardian," he praises me with an approving nod, before raising a hand. I await a forced teleportation spell from him, but all that he does is gesture for me to go to him. "You may fly down."

I nearly roll my eyes.

This is simply another of his tests; just to see how far he can tempt me with near freedom. He intends the promise of escape to tantalize me into defying him so that he may exact punishment. He wants to see just how he can manipulate the puppeteer strings I wear for him.

I wince imperceptibly before breathing in deeply. My feet push off from the edge of the cell floor, and my wings rejoice in the momentary freedom as they stretch and welcome the air as it kisses against the green membranes.

I curve elegantly to prevent me falling below the pillar of earth that Phobos and Raythor stand on, and as I do so, the wings unleash a torrent of energy so quick that I am able to raise myself up above the two Meridians.

My eyes catch Phobos tensing suddenly, as though preparing himself for an escape attempt from me. Raythor's hand twitches once and then finally moves to rest on the hilt of a sword he carries at his belt.

I put their thoughts to rest as I level myself directly above them and slow the flutter of my wings down until I am lowered onto the earth beside them.

"Quite a show," Raythor grunts in annoyance as his fingers uncurl themselves from his sword hilt, and he turns around. "Right this way, my lord."

"Thank you, Raythor," Phobos nods in reply, as he holds out his arm to me in a mirroring gesture of yesterday when he'd escorted me here.

I frown, but place my hand on his forearm. This time, he does not need to curl his elbow tightly to keep me captive against him; he knows that I will not resist and will be compliant.

"Where are we going?" I ask loudly, my voice stern and demanding of recognition. The entire situation is screaming suspicion at me, but I refuse to allow my inner thoughts to cause me mishap.

I see Phobos' lips twitch upwards for a moment, and this only solidifies my sense of unrest, but then he turns his head to me and his gaze is triumphant.

"I'm leading you to your quarters, of course," the prince replies graciously, squeezing my arm as if to ensure the truth behind his words. "We can't have the current Keeper of the Heart of Kandrakar rotting in a cell. Your overnight stay was only to show you that I am in control."

"And that you're out for petty revenge."

He narrows his eyes suddenly, and I see Raythor determinedly walking a few paces ahead of us as though to avoid the anger his master was about to show. In scorn, I noticed how very much like a dog he acted; he was a bitch some days, and other days he was a loyal pet.

"Petty revenge?" Phobos repeats in low tones, and I find myself regretting my momentary spur of defiance. It may cost me something in the near future. The prince must have seen a drop in attitude in my outward appearance, for he calms himself visibly and chuckles. "I don't think you have any idea just how much power I have over you."

I resist the urge to scowl at him, but instead settle to looking away from him and into the walls running by beside me. Doors appear beside us every now and then, but I am only able to imagine what lays behind them, as I am constantly dragged forward through the winding corridors.

Gradually, my surroundings grow more luxurious as we enter the main palace where Phobos himself resides. Every now and then, we spot a Meridian noble, but as soon as they notice us approaching them, they deliberately disappear off into another room to avoid me from seeing just who has betrayed Elyon in the Meridian court to gain the favour of the new leader.

This doesn't surprise me; I didn't expect every single politician of Elyon's world to remain faithful to her when a more powerful ruler offered a greater prize. I believe that currently all of the former queen's nobles of the court were now tripping over themselves to gain the prince's favour.

We arrive at a pair of doors. Elaborately carved in variously beautiful patterns, the meaninglessly beautiful engravings are painted a shimmering gold that I'm surprised Phobos didn't get rid of when he returned the palace back into the way it had been during his reign.

And yet…there is something awfully familiar with them.

"These will be your quarters during your stay," Phobos announces to me, and gestures to Raythor to open the doors. The man reaches forward and grips the handles and pushes inwards with a slight grunt, indicating to me that the quarters within had not been used in a long time.

With a raised hand, Phobos sends out a spell that magically lights up the rooms within. I cannot resist my mouth falling agape at the visage before me.

Luxurious sheets of silk and pillows of finely woven lace cover the mattress that is intended to be my bed- a fine substitute for the small, rock hard excuse of a bed from earlier- is in the centre of the room we enter. Off to the side, I see many adjoining rooms; some which appear to be study rooms, a bathroom and a large closet.

Despite the expensive, royalty treatment of the chambers, there is one sore thing that I recognise.

"No windows," I mutter to myself, as though speaking in a trance, as the fact sparks a moment of recognition deep within me. A recent memory of a vivid dream; a chain of dreams, in fact.

Even though I spoke to myself, Phobos has heard me, and narrows his eyes as he also gazes around the chambers to see that there are no windows.

"Ah, yes, I do believe that I actually requested that that was to be amended, Raythor," the prince speaks to our escort, who is alarmed but shrugging to show that he had no idea. Beside me, the blonde royal shrugs in momentary acceptance- though I have no doubt that someone is going to pay in the near future for the slip up- and sweeps his hand around in an arch. "If you want something done, I suppose you have to do it yourself."

All at once, streams of lightning erupt from his fingertips and suddenly the large walls opposite the bed fall away to allow the rays of the day to enter through floor length windows. From the wall to the ground of the chamber wall, there is only clear, solid glass- in fact, it is so clean that I have to squint to notice the reflective sheen from the inside to indicate that it's glass.

I nod my thanks, but as I release Phobos' arm and approach the windows, the feeling of déjà vu is only intensified as I gaze down outside. There are turrets below me, and a courtyard even further. In the distance, I am able to see the houses of the village and the dark forest beyond.

It becomes very certain to me that I have seen this image before.

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to rest for long," Phobos interrupts my thoughts as he steps over to a table nearby, and his golden hair brushes against the impeccable marble at his feet. "You must be present for a public event that will take place in just over an hour. I will send you assistance to prepare for your appearance, and I will return to escort you there." He places something onto the table, and on closer examination, I see that it is a purple rose.

The Prince saunters back over to the door and turns around to bow slightly in a formal manner; as one would have done in the medieval times of Earth. Nowadays in my world, we usually make fun of such mannerisms, but right now, I find it oddly fitting for the occasion.

I begin to think up various methods of escape, but the only situation that boasted the highest chance of success was for me to smash the glass on the window and leap out to my death. If I had the right motivation, I might be able to will myself to do it, but currently, I wouldn't have the strength.

And suddenly, I remember the dream.

The dream of standing in this exact room with different windows and failing to commit suicide. Déjà vu or a vision of the future, I wonder to myself. I do not know the full extent of my powers, but there was something slightly off about the dream I'd had; the room I was now in had quirks and traits that I see it no longer possess.

Maybe…my dreams were something else.

What if I was reliving a past life, or something akin to that?

"Phobos?" I ask as my curiosity overwhelms me to the point where I am seeking information from possibly corrupt sources. The prince freezes on his exit and turns slowly around to face me, his expression surprised but willing to listen to his 'guest.' A frown of confusion is firmly on my face as I speak. "Who else has been here?"

The blonde man blinks in puzzlement at the strange question, but then recovers to smile slightly to himself. His icy eyes meet my chocolate brown ones from across the room.

"You always were more in-tune with your powers than the other guardians, so it shouldn't be too much of a surprise that you noticed the left-over presence of a former resident," Phobos muses almost to himself, but his next words are aimed entirely at me. "I do believe that the last person to live in these quarters was the Queen Weira."

I frown, contemplating the meaning of his words, as the name means nothing to me. Upon noticing my lack of recognition with the name, Phobos smiles patiently, and then raises a hand to skim his fingertips deliberately against the crown resting on his head.

"Queen Wiera," he tells me softly, though his words reach me with ease, "Was my mother."

* * *

><p>I have avoided the windows since I have been inside the rooms.<p>

Right now, I can't distract myself with thoughts of past lives or the like. I need to figure out what Phobos is up to by insisting on my appearance at the public event he mentioned.

It's all too coincidental; my sudden relocation to better facilities and the new expectation of attending an event.

Now, it feels as though he really is treating me as ward or something; I'm not free, but I am now subject to better treatment than most other prisoners.

Currently, Whisperers surround me; summoned creatures to do Phobos' bidding. They have secured two fake braids firmly in place on my scalp; making it appear as though I have longer hair than I actually do. This has already aroused my suspicion, as I see no need to add fake adjustments to me, so I can only assume that Phobos has insisted upon it.

What's worse is the clothing I've been pushed into.

It is a fine dress; there's no doubt about that. A little too fine, though for a _prisoner_.

The skirts remind me of a ballgown; long, and fixed firmly in a constant position of flaring out due to the crinoline underneath the layers of material covering it. The bodice, thankfully, is not a corset, but a bodice with stitched carvings of swirling lines that is customary to Meridian nobles. Attached to the bodice is a large standing neck ruff that flares far out to each side of my face; and it makes my neck appear slender and almost shy in comparison.

Atop of my hair is a small Meridian styled hat; the sort that sits in the middle of my head and covers the parting of my red hair from the front to the back. My bangs elegantly frame my face and I turn and look in the mirror as the Whisperers teeter in success, I can only notice how different I look.

I appear to be Meridian; and a noblewoman, at that! I remember the sort of hairstyle I wear as what I have seen Elyon to be wearing occasionally. So, great…I appear regal.

The knock on the door alerts me to the presence of Phobos. The Whisperers open the doors and allow him entry after affirming that I am decent.

He strides in with a sort of grace that only a prince possesses, and takes a single gaze at me with raised eyebrows. Then, he turns to the Whisperers who eagerly await his approval, and nods once at them.

They all bow and file out of the doors, leaving me and my enemy alone in my chambers. I stand still, awaiting his comment; waiting to see if he received what he wanted by ordering me to be dressed like this.

"You look divine, little Guardian," Phobos appraises me as he holds out a hand in a gesture I assume that I am going to have to become very used to in the near future. "Very appropriate for your first public appearance since capture."

I nod stiffly, so as to not know the large neck ruff out of place and look ridiculous, and place my hand on his forearm once more. I smile grimly, because this is all part of my plan to gain his trust in my obedience before finding a chance to escape.

"Let's just get this over with."

We exit the palace through two grand double doors, and find ourselves on a balcony overlooking the courtyard I see through my window. Because of the past hour I spent determinedly NOT gazing out the window, I have failed to notice the change that has taken place below my chambers.

A guillotine has been set up directly before us.

I am led to a chair beside Phobos, and only Whisperers are behind us. All other noblemen, women, politicians and common-folk are gathered in the courtyard or lower balconies. I sit beside the Prince with a thumping heart; knowing the situation before me is not likely to be a good one.

Now that we are present, the ceremony can begin.

Phobos stands from where I am and approaches the edge of the balcony, placing his elegant hands on the top of the carved, glistening marble. The people down below grow silent as they gaze up at their ruler, and I wonder whether their appearance here was also mandatory.

"Welcome, my subjects," Phobos begins, casting his arms out wide to show that his words are directed to all. "To the execution of the former rebel leader!"

A cheer rushes up from the crowd, but the blood pumping in my ears blocks out most sound. I try to steel my face; to show that I am emotionless, but I fail.

_He has Caleb._

My fingers clench tightly in my lap and turn white from blood loss as I watch Phobos mouth silent words, and I see the crowd beneath him yell in joy- probably enforced joy, that is- and then the Prince turns around to me, and I fall back to the present.

"The Leader of the Guardians, the Keeper of the Heart of Kandrakar, will not face execution today," the Prince announces, and I shudder at the thought that perhaps the thought of killing me today had crossed his mind at some stage. "Instead, she will be made a very different example. She will remain here as a ward of mine, but more importantly; a message to the council of Kandrakar! We have their heart; they must surrender or forfeit its power!"

Inside my chest, I feel my actual heart beating wildly behind the ribcage, and am led to momentarily wonder whether, if I reached inside my own body through the blood and muscle…would I find a beating lump of flesh, or would the Heart of Kandrakar be powering my body? Is that what it means to be a Keeper?

For a startling moment, I have an image of Phobos plunging his hand deep into my chest and tearing out the vibrant, glowing Heart from my body as the crowd roars in delight.

"For now, she is a restrained guest," Phobos amiably smiles at the crowd, who cheer once more. I hear a blessing called out, and I cage my fury. How could they throw away Elyon so easily? Do they think she's dead? The Prince cuts my thoughts off as he points to Raythor, who stands at an entrance off to the side of the courtyard. "Bring out the prisoner."

The doors open, and immediately, my heart falls into my stomach.

For it is not Caleb the guards hold.

It's Caleb's father, Julian. The _former_ rebel leader.

As horrible as it is to admit, a moment of relief takes over my mind. The fact that it's Julian being executed means that Caleb must have evaded capture, and is safe behind rebel lines. This is Phobos' way of punishing Caleb for not being caught; executing his father to get to him.

Then the moment wears off, and the panic takes over.

I remember the times we had worked together with Julian, and how I'd always trusted in his to ome to our aid. He was honourable, and good. He couldn't die, and I owed it to him to try and save him.

"You can't do this," I mutter aloud, my breath emerging in pants, and the lightning rushes to my fingertips as I yearn to leap up and begin a battle to save Julian. But I cannot, for Phobos has my friends and my mother. My strings are tied to keep me the obedient puppet and I hate it. "You can't."

Noticing my panic, Phobos faces me; an expression of gleeful triumph positively beaming from him as Julian is lead to the guillotine to the cheers of the audience. Some people are actually throwing food at him; old, rotten vegetables, and recently killed meat to splatter him with filth in order to add to the humiliation.

How could they do this? He was fighting for them!

"Of course I can do this," Phobos replies softly, a smirk stretching his lips as he watches me, and the sun behind him shadows his face and lights up his golden air to assume the appearance of a god. If only he were so benign. Then he returns to face the crowd as Julian is placed inside guillotine amidst the roar of the audience. "For the crimes of treason against your rightful king, I sentence you to death!"

The roar is deafening.

"Any final remarks?" Raythor addresses the former rebel leader, who nods his assent.

Julian overlooks the crowd, and I know that, even though his eyes are not facing me, his words are directed entirely at me.

"The fact that you still live," he says, and despite the roar of the people I feel as though his words are being heard only by me, "gives us _hope_."

I stop breathing.

The silver blade of the guillotine is raised high in the air, and in the instance before it falls, Julian raises his eyes to meet mine.

I expected to see a glimmer of envy or fear, but it shocks me to the core at what I actually see. Inside his gaze, I only see hope. Hope for me, for this world and the others. A small smile crosses his face, and I suddenly gasp in a breath of air because I know that he needs me to continue living; to continue fighting and granting him the hope he currently holds. The hope in his eyes.

And then, the hope is gone…Along with his head as it falls onto the ground below.

* * *

><p>I storm into my chambers and tear off the neck ruff. I toss it carelessly across the room with a scream of fury and I clutch the fake braids attached to my scalp and rip them out- ignoring the pain that comes with them. I fling them as far as I can before rushing to soothe the pain in my scalp with my fingertips.<p>

I rub gently, but soon my nails dig into my skin and I begin scratching furiously to ease the wailing in my stomach. And then, the wailing exits my mouth and fills the cold air around me.

"Stop that," Phobos enters the room, a scowl on his face at me neglecting his escorting arm and storming off on my own. "You sound horrible."

"Why did you need to do that?!" I shriek at him, tearing off the hat on my head and throwing it at him. Effortlessly, he uses his telekinesis to change it's path and it lands a few metres away from his feet. "I've done what you asked! You didn't need to do that!"

A cold, calculating stare crosses his features and he steps forward. Immediately, I notice that the weather outside has changed to a darker, colder approaching evening as though it reflects my mood and undoubtedly the mood of Caleb somewhere.

"It wasn't about you," Phobos replies in a low tone, as he walks over to where he had placed the untouched, purple rose on my table. He picks it up and begins to revive the drooping stem and petals of the bud to return it to its earlier glory. "He was a rebel leader, and an example needed to be made to those who would resist. Your appearance was only to show that I had control of Kandrakar."

I cry out and tremble in fury as lightning rages underneath my skin and within my veins. I yearn to launch attacks at him and inflict as much pain as possible, but I know that I would not even be able to scratch his cheek before I would be overwhelmed.

The tears of anger and grief prick at my eyes, but I determinedly hold them back. I will not cry in front of him; I have shown him already how much such an occurrence has unsettled me, I will not stoop so far as to show my sadness to him.

I turn around and walk into the closet room and flatly remove my shoes. I return to the main room to see that he is still there; having summoned a glass of water and placed it onto my table, and inside rests the purple rose. The water is undoubtedly spelled to keep the flower vibrant and full of life.  
>If only I could also drink some of that water.<p>

"Just please…leave," I quietly request as I sit down onto the bed with my back facing him and my eyes directing firmly onto my hands on my lap. "You've made your point."

I hear him stand and approach the door. It opens and then I hear him speak one final time.

"Very well," his voice is smooth and I sense that he has garnered a level of triumph from the day's events. For him, it is a job well done. "I will send Whisperers here to prepare you for the feast in three hours' time."

I scoff grimly and clench my fingers into fists so tightly that they turn white in a repeat of the afternoon.

"Any more executions I need to know about?" I ask with a spark of energy, though the hatred is obvious in my voice. Thankfully, the prince doesn't hold that against me right now, despite my expectations of him doing so.

"None for the moment."

Then he is gone, and I am alone.

* * *

><p><strong>So...I'm thinking I may have to change the rating up to M. What do you guys think?<strong>

**WHEW! That was an effort to do. I was originally only going to leave it much shorter, but then I thought: Hey! You guys gave me 13 reviews! That deserves a long update!**

**So here we are. Let me reiterate: Phobos isn't a nice, fluffy, romance guy. He's a **_**dick**_**. He and Will are not going to all of a sudden be dancing in fields of sunflowers.**

**This chapter was interesting to write; I felt as though I was starting to get deeper into the story. Now things are getting serious. I'm sorry Julian fans, but it was either going to be Julian or Caleb, and I need Caleb later on in the story, so yeah. Julian is gone.**

**Music that inspired the writing of this chapter:**

_**Submission**_**- Tyler Bates ( The movie **_**300**_**)**

_**Budget Meeting**_**- Hans Zimmer (The movie **_**King Arthur)**_

_**Hold the Ice- **_**Hans Zimmer ("")**

**Please give me some feedback! I enjoyed writing this chapter, so I really want to know if you enjoyed reading it :)**


	4. A Can of Worms

**What's this? An update? Yes. **

**On a more serious note, I apologise for the long wait; things became so hectic. But the amazing and constant support that I've received from you all has been outstanding and honestly the biggest motivation ever. **

**Please enjoy :)**

* * *

><p><em>I miss the dust. <em>

_There is something satisfying about seeing evidence of age. A lovely break from the constant, unending, unchanging state of his face; so smooth, unblemished and young despite his true, ancient age. _

_In fact, everything about my chambers reeks of stillness. There is neither little movement nor change in anything I see until he enters. It's as though my life revolves around him, and the moment he leaves my presence, the world simply ceases to exist. _

_It's not as if I can help it; the days have grown endless and have eventually just combined into one eternal blur that only breaks when he enters. For though he is many things, he is not predictable. Every interaction with him creates new thoughts in my head that will stifle the emotions of despair that are rolling around inside of my mind in every spare chance they get._

_Like a merry-go-round with one horse darker than the other, or painted more vividly than the last. Perhaps one horse would be inlaid with gold, while the next with silver. I could never predict it, but the horses would always manage to distract me. _

_The magic present in this room is obvious to anyone; I am timeless here and I am unaware of how much time has actually passed. I mean, due to what I am, I already will live for a rather long time, but inside the walls of my cage he has made it so that time will have no presence here. Years may have passed, and I will not know of it. _

_There will be no steadily growing layer of dust covering the objects that I do not touch; there will be no crinkles as my skin tires of its gentle façade of youth and my bones grow weaker from the exertion of life. _

_Here I remain, and will do so until time resumes its pace. _

"_Come now, Murin," his voices represents the horses on the merry-go-round, but it is not actually the horse itself. His voice is more like the squeaking sound that accompanies the revolving contraption, or perhaps the music that plays on the more advances versions. "It's past noon and you're still abed. What a poor sleep you must have had."_

_I do not grace him with an answer. _

_My head tilts against the large pillow that I rest on, and my long hair blocks my eyes for a moment as knotted strands fall across my face. Some part of my mind tells me that I should move them out of the way, and perhaps even take better care of my hair, but to do so would require using energy, and I am not particularly sure that I even have enough energy to function normally. _

_But the strand falls directly into my eye, and my lids flinch at the harsh, stinging contact. The irritation begins, but still I obstinately refuse to move a hand to stop the annoyance of a sensation. Whatever little energy I still retain must be saved for any opportunity._

_Not that any would arise._

_My eye begins to water in an attempt to push the offending strand out of the way, and the liquid grows thicker…and thicker until a tear slides its way down across my bottom lid. It pools in the corner for a moment before streaming down my cheek._

_I briefly can manage to recall the sensation of crying, for such an act was something that I had strongly avoided in my captivity for it was a sign of weakness and told your captors that you could break. I was quite positive of the fact that I was not crying from sadness. _

_What had my father called tears of no emotion? Ah, yes. Crocodile tears. _

_And perhaps the crocodile and I had more in common than I had thought; we wore scales of armour to shield ourselves from dire harm, yet despite our efforts even the sharpest spears can pierce our hides. Our mouth was sharp and harshly dangerous, but even that would be blunted once our teeth were removed. Our claws were capable of harm until they were clipped. _

_We were strong and threatening until our weaknesses were discovered and relentlessly exploited. _

_He sighs, an action that comes instinctively to him and the shuffle of his robes against the marble floor are the only thing that alerts me to his movements. No doubt his long hair will also be trailing against the floor- not that he needs to worry about it catching on anything, or picking up any dirt on the polished marble since he has this room impeccably tidy. _

_There is a weight that settles beside me on the bed, but I cannot actually see it due to the strands of hair across my eyes that offer too much effort to move. The fact that the weight is warm gives me the inclination that it is him. _

_I feel a gentle caress against my cheek in a manner that is befitting of lovers, yet there is no such relationship between myself and the man who claims my company. The action is soothing somewhat, and I want to accept it, but my pride is too strong to allow such a thing. _

_Finally, the strands of hair are removed from my eyes, and the rush of light returns to my gaze like a child hurrying to return to the side of their mother. Yet I am no mother, and the light certainly no child of mine. _

_But it is a welcomed sight. _

_Until it is blocked by his face as he leans over to examine me. I flinch as I have no choice but to return his stare; and my undoubtedly now dull grey meets the cold almost silvery blue that I have only ever seen before on him. The contact is forced, but not noticeably so, as he begins to move off to the side and my gaze cannot help but follow. _

"_You are a flower, Murin," he whispers; his voice the very sound of heaven but the personality that I know lies beneath is nothing but hell. He shifts from his position on the bed, and his hand finds its way to my cheek again. "But the days of your blooming have passed; now your petals wane and the stem which held you so begins to loom." _

_My lids are tempted to fold over as my focus drifts from holding them open and instead goes to the words he has uttered to me. He calls me a flower, yet I was never so noticeably fragile. _

_I was strong. _

_Yet I can break so easily. So perhaps he is right; perhaps I am a flower. This body of magic and light is a stem that supported me, but now that I no longer have the strength to maintain who I was my stem begins to fold over. And I need no clarification to see that I myself have faded; the fire I possessed has been converted into vital energy to keep me surviving- and even now I'm not sure how long that will last. _

_He is right; I am a flower. _

_And I am waning._

"_Whose fault is that?" I speak up finally, and my voice is hoarse; catching on the ends of my words and cracking. It is then that I realise that my throat is in terribly poor condition and I strain my mind to remember the last time I replenished myself with water- or food, at that matter. _

_Nothing comes to mind._

_I was not the only one who had realised what poor condition I was in, and the tell-tale sigh of his is the only warning I receive before the hand that was resting on my cheek begins to move. It slides further around my head; the warm yet incredibly smooth skin brushing against the delicately sensitive area of my shoulders._

_I shiver against my will, and turn my head to the side; pushing my cheek away from his grasp. This is the most energy I've used to move in quite a while, and the effort understandably causes my vision to spin for a moment despite the fact that I was lying down. _

_But there was no need, for his intentions were not impure. _

_His hand slides around the back of my neck- carefully avoiding what must have been my bird's nest of hair- and gently cradles my head in his palm. A groan of discontent passes through my lips as he applies pressure; coaxing my neck upwards, and I have no choice but to finally move. _

_As my head is repositioned, the rest of my body has to follow along as though in some form of a butterfly effect; my shoulders have to move to accommodate the change, and then my back, and then eventually my waist. _

_Pain accompanies the change in position; for I am suddenly accessing muscles that have been sleeping from disuse and they are not repaying the wake-up call kindly. A whimper escapes from between my lips, and I need not look at him to know that he is amused by my behaviour. No doubt it reminds him of a child who does not want to wake. _

_Yet am I not rather similar to a child? A child is weak; a child can break._

_I am weak._

_And I may be dangerously close to breaking. _

_Finally, I have risen to a sitting position, but small groans of discomfort continuously fall from my mouth as the world spins in my vision and my head is so light that I can quite easily imagine it disconnecting from the rest of my body and floating high into the air. The only support that I have is his hand that rests on my lower back and holds me still._

"_You were a leader, Murin," he murmurs softly in an almost reprimanding tone, and I can sense the hum of his magic soaring to life as he summons an item in his free hand. "You cared for all of your people and ensured their prosperity and survival…yet you lack the basic capability to do the same for yourself."_

_There is a cold sensation underneath my bottom lip, and the suddenness of it causes me to jerk in surprise and fly my eyes down in the general direction of its source. A goblet is tantalisingly close to my lips, and I can see the glittering liquid beneath me- its very sight making my throat ache further._

_But the message is clear; he is only coaxing me. I must do the rest myself. _

_Earlier in my state of captivity, I may have considered his actions manipulative, and would have refused to do anything or finish anything that he starts. _

_Now, there is no need; for my life revolves around him. And whilst there are moments where the possibility of breaking underneath the pressure of the bars from my cage becomes very real, he is always there. _

_Perhaps he is waiting; perhaps he wants to be the first to see the pieces of broken glass that represent my shattered remains. _

_But no…glass still maintains a level of strength, and I am certainly not strong. I am not glass; for glass possess the ability to withstand pressure. _

_No, I am not glass._

_I am a flower and my petals are waning whilst my stem begins to loom._

_So perhaps he is indeed waiting- not for shattered glass- but for the last of my faded petals to fall and scatter in the wind of his creation._

_He is always a constant in my blur of endless time; whilst everything else is either frozen incomparably or spinning uncontrollably around me, in this stage of eternity within a cage, he will be there to break a pattern of fragility. _

_He is not the merry-go-round itself, yet he causes the horses to turn. But the horses themselves are what he leaves behind him on every revolution of the ride._

_**I am a flower.**_

_The horses themselves are my thoughts._

_**My petals are waning.**_

_The thoughts he leaves in my head to fester during the endless blur of time behind the bars of my cage._

_**My stem begins to loom.**_

* * *

><p>The storm has arrived.<p>

Rain pelts down heavily onto the windows, and the water erases all traces of the execution that had occurred in the courtyard down below me. Now, though I don't pay the outside surroundings any heed, for I am currently being manhandled into a separate and complicated dress.

The bodice is not a corset (volunteering to be the Victorian-era model in the school fair had taught me to recognise corsets quite easily) but it is still rather too tight for my comfort. I resist the urge to gasp for breath as the Whisperers stuff my neck into a layered ruffle of blue and blue. As a finishing touch, a small shawl that could barely oversize a dishcloth is draped tenderly over my shoulders and pinned underneath the ruffle.

My feet go into comfortable slipper-like shoes that swathe the edges of my toes in warmth. I can't say that I am displeased with that. After that, I am forcibly walked over to the vanity table and placed down before the mirror.

I hate the next part; the hair. Because it is so short, the Whisperers want to enhance its length with magic, and I wince in anticipation.

They place the comb underneath the tips of a clump of strands whilst another grips the roots and pours magic into my scalp. Then the strands of my hair are tugged on viciously, and I can feel the acute pain reverberating through my roots as the clump is lengthened considerably.

Tears begin to well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I am a warrior; a Guardian of the Veil. I have faced monsters, villains and have just witnessed the death of an old ally.

I will not cry over a little primping.

This procedure takes place on every single strand of my hair. At the end of the ordeal, my eyes are a little too red for my liking, but the Whisperers give me time to recover and busy themselves with styling my hair before applying my make-up.

My now long, red hair is piled atop of my head and stuffed inside a hair net whilst two small strands are left out at the front to frame my face. I think I looked ridiculous; straight hair that near sticks to my scalp. I dread the 'public' appearance.

Thankfully, the Whisperers must also agree that I look a little less-than-acceptable, for they immediately send magic pulsing through to my scalp, and all of a sudden, every strand of my hair puffs out in curls.

It is much better. I look like something out of a Tudor movie. I've always found the fashion of Meridian to be somewhat reminiscent of the Tudor style; perhaps there's some copyright issues taking place?

I restrain a giggle at the random thought, yet I am slightly more cheered. For now, at least.

The make up is applied, and then I am led to a seat at the table that is next to the window. It seems that my fashion artists don't trust me to do what I really want to do while I wait for my escort. I don't blame them; my eyes are itching like crazy, and I am sorely tempted to wildly scratch them. But that will ruin all of their hard- albeit painful- work.

And so I wait patiently; the way a tamed animal should. But I am not an animal and nor am I tamed. For now I wait, but I fully intend to bite the feeding hand the first chance I get.

As I sit, my eyes recovering from the ordeal that I had put them through earlier out of my misery, my gaze turns to the window that I had recalled from my dreams earlier in the day.

I'd heard of déjà vu; I'd even had to study it for a brief period during a class back in Fadden Hills, but I'd never experienced it to this extent. Not to the point where I could gaze around a room that I was being held captive in, and recall moments from various dreams set in this very room even though I had never seen it before.

It is creepy, and I'm not sure I like it.

But every time I try to think about it, all that comes into my head is that, in my dreams, I was obviously a captive as well and in very much a similar position to the one that I'm in now. But there has been a disturbing pattern to the dreams now; my thoughts are growing darker in them.

There have been moments where I think I'm _breaking_, and that is not a good omen considering I am currently Phobos' prisoner and breaking in this position is extremely dire. I would have to forfeit the Heart and therefore forfeit Kandrakar itself, and no matter what he puts me through, I will not allow that happen.

Even if he executes my friends and allies right in front of me.

I will not allow it to happen.

But in my dreams, I feel like I'm close to not even caring whether it happens. And it sets my heart beating furiously to even consider the fact that these dreams may be…visions of the future.

And that is a horrible thought.

But then the alternative theory that I have forming isn't exactly any more reassuring.

Queen Weira was the last person in this room, and even now despite the fact that my power is resting beneath the surface in a currently dormant state, I can almost sense the tingling presence of her from when she had been here. I've heard from Elyon that she was very supposed to be very powerful, and so it's no surprise that I can sense her residue aura.

What if it's more than that, though? What if Weira stayed as a prisoner for some reason in this exact room for an extended amount of time?

What if she tried to jump out of a window? What if that window was then taken away by a man that was suspiciously akin to Phobos?

A groan escapes my lips, and I resist the urge to bury my face in my hands. That would undo all of the hard work of the Whisperers, and as much as I hate they are creations of Phobos' power, I would hate to ruin their effort.

My head whirls with my thoughts, and I know that I should probably talk to someone about them, but in my current position, the options of a girly chat aren't exactly favourable.

But…since it isPhobos' mother that I think I'm dreaming about, wouldn't it be a good idea to try and get some information out of him?

Maybe it is time to delve into some Meridian family history.

Doing so will distract me; it will give me a reason to exist. It will make me worthy for someone else's sacrifice.

_For Julian's sacrifice._

* * *

><p>The doors creak as they open, and a sudden gust of air hits me and makes me grateful that I have escaped the stuffiness of the chambers.<p>

I walk slowly through the corridors as I sneak a glance up at Raythor, who stoically leads me through the palace. I've been told that I will wait outside the doors of the great hall before Phobos himself will escort me into the feast.

My shoes make no sound on the floor, and it seems that Meridian fashion tends to vary from the Tudor style it resembles in the footwear department. Whilst Tudor shoes were uncomfortable, these shoes are actually more resembling of ballerina-like slippers, and are remarkably comfortable. I think this was more a gesture of compassion for me, considering I understood that I would be expected to be in a standing position for an extended amount of time.

The atmosphere between Raythor and I is tense, and my naturally fiery side yearns to throw insults at him, but I am smart enough to hold my tongue. Evaluating my position, I know that I will need all of the allies that I can get, and even though I don't think that Raythor will ever fully be an ally of mine, playing the perfect captive can earn me favourable treatment.

Around us, though the silence reigns, the interior decoration of the palace is not as gloomy as I remembered from my last visit here- where everything from the halls to the floor was heavily gothic. Now though, there was a slightly lighter touch, and I wonder if it is to accommodate guests from other worlds like me. Or perhaps it might have something to do with the fact that a gothic style means that there will likely be shadows in the room- which can always act as a hiding place to the more magically advanced.

There are torches hanging from the walls, but where they would have once been decorated with a black handle and grotesque spikes, now it was only simple wood. In fact, as I stared around me, there were deep, rich coloured carpets and such complicated tapestries hanging from the walls. The windows were also rather pleasing to the eye now; where once they had been tinted darkly with a black-shade, they were now either clear or tinged with a vibrant red.

"I see that Phobos has taken up a spare job as an interior designer," I finally speak up, pleased at myself for allowing a witty edge to enter my voice. But I need to support it positively if I am to get anywhere with Raythor. "I like what he's done with the place."

The guard grunts once and I know that he's probably not in the talking mood with me. Usually, as I had learnt with Phobos, an escort would be holding my arm 'for assurance' as the prince had told me earlier. But Raythor was standing as far away from me as possible, and I don't think that it was from a lack of need for assurance.

"That's _Prince_ Phobos to you, guardian," Raythor finally talks, though it is only to correct me, showing as much loyalty as a pet dog.

I remain silent as I bite back the retorts that immediately spring to my thoughts at his words. Geez, he is so undeniably loyal to someone who doesn't even deserve an inch of his trust. Aside from the fact that we are on different sides, I cannot help but respect him for how strongly he stands by his morals.

I watch him for a moment, wanting to say something, but also knowing that I need to be very careful for what I say lest I drive him further away from me. This was critical.

Perhaps the best option is to be as honest as I could- Raythor's personality in general seems to agree with this strategy.

"You're very loyal, you know?" I tell him, clasping my hands behind my back as I move. The good thing about this dress is that, whilst it does possess a corset, it does differ from the Tudor style it resembles in the comfort factor. "I've never quite met an enemy who stood so strongly by his leader when they hit lowest. Most tend to abandon and jump at the first chance to switch boats."

I know that I have said the right thing, for Raythor's back straightens slightly, and I think that he realises that there is no reason to be uncomfortable in my presence. I am not going to do anything; I'd already been giving a slight, indirect warning of what would happen to the people I loved if I misbehaved, and therefore I am more than willing to be compliant for now.

"I pledged my service to him, and I will not go back on my word regardless of how many times _he_ may," he gruffly replies to me, though his voice is much more noticeably open now that he has reassured himself that I will not cause any trouble.

"I can respect that," I reply quietly, making sure that my head is facing away from his so that he won't think I'm being too conversational. "Even if I don't understand."

He falls silent, and I think that I have struck a chord within him. It probably won't convert him to my side, but it will improve our relationship.

We continue on through the palace, and I had never actually realised how large this place truly is until now. Maybe there is some sort of enchantment that condenses the appearance of the building to the external eye, but I don't really know why someone as vain and boasting as Phobos would bother.

Since he has a large, extravagant palace, I think he would be exactly the type of person to flaunt it.

But I guess I'm wrong.

We exit from a corridor, and we are now situated at the top of a grand staircase adorned with silver inlaid jewels on each side. Looking down, I can see the two giant doors that obviously lead into what must be the main chamber in which I'll be spending the evening. Across from where we stand, there is the entrance to another corridor.

We halt, and I assume that this is where I am to wait for my official escort, Phobos. Wonderful.

After seeing him so blatantly order an ally of mine to death, now I must endure his presence even further.

My dress brushes against the violet-coloured floor, and my surroundings are a pleasantly warm temperature despite the coldness of the people who inhabit it.

The silence is strained now between me and my actual guard and escort. He has been silent since our last exchange, and whilst I am aware that he will not become my immediate ally, he is considering what I have said to him.

That is all I can ask for.

"Just before the prince returned from your world," Raythor breaks the silence with his words, and I listen quietly, "I received a very interesting visitor."

I stiffen, and remember the night of the Halloween fair, where Phobos had betrayed his vow and seized the power of Nerissa's seal for himself. It wasn't unexpected as such, but our most major back-up plan had failed to save us in the end. That plan had been gaining Raythor's trust and having him as an inside ally of ours.

"Is that so?" I reply in a cautious tone, knowing that I needed to be careful where I was treading in this conversation. For if Phobos found out, then the consequences would not be gentle. He would also begin to suspect that we had other plans up our sleeves, and it's vital for my survival of this imprisonment for him to let his guard down. I face Raythor, knowing he values upfront honesty and therefore I have to act accordingly. "Hay Lin was sent under my orders."

"It was a good tactic," Raythor admits, crossing his arms and nearly growling his words with his rough jaw. "If I was any less dedicated to my liege, then I would have followed you. But my loyalty to Prince Phobos is too strong to break, even if that loyalty isn't returned."

I clench my fists into the material of my dress, and bite my lip as a sense of anxiety begins to overtake me. This may not end well.

"Have you informed Phobos of your visitor?" I ask, knowing that if Raythor chooses to answer me, then he will speak the truth.

There is a moment of silence, and the atmosphere is impossibly taut. He is no doubt aware that I am very concerned about this turn of events, but I think he is deliberating with himself whether it would be wise to give me information.

"No," he replies, and I frown in response. His dedication is very strong to his ruler, but why is he withholding such a detail? Raythor spots my expression, and a scowl crosses his features. He raises a hand to press it against his forehead, and I know in that instant that perhaps there is something more occurring in this palace than what I had thought. "Your plan was good, guardian; too good. If I tell Phobos about your messenger, then he'll begin to suspect me regardless of what I say. I would be planting the idea in his head, and he would think that I'd already defected."

I blink at this, and realise just what I had done by sending Hay Lin. Effectively, I placed him in a predicament. If he tells Phobos about what had happened with Hay Lin, then Phobos would still suspect me, but he would also in turn suspect Raythor himself. For Hay Lin had been sent to try and convert the guard onto our side, and Phobos isn't stupid.

He could easily suspect that Raythor telling him of Hay Lin's visit was a ploy to make the guard seem more trustworthy.

Regardless of what Raythor would say, it would still make him appear to be a spy.

"But wouldn't keeping quiet about it," I reply, trying to be careful despite the voice in my head telling me to be quiet and let the matter lie. But I'm a guardian, and I simply cannot do that. "Make you seem all the more suspicious?"

Raythor faces away from me, and runs a hand through his hair in an expression of the stress he is undoubtedly feeling.

"Damn it, guardian," he mutters, and a tone of utter irritation crosses his voice. "There's talk of Phobos giving me a wife soon, and I've been promoted to the leader of the guards. It only takes one rumour to ruin everything, and Phobos tends to leap at any opportunity to make an example of someone."

I frown at his words, and despite the fact that he is on the opposite side that I am fighting on, I can relate to him somewhat. In a much lesser way of course. Just a simple whisper from someone could ruin your reputation- that much I understand.

And besides, whilst I am here, it is in my best interests to gain as many allies as I can.

"I won't say anything if you don't," I promise him, and the word of a guardian is near golden. Besides, I wouldn't be stupid enough to break my word when it's for Raythor- he'd never trust me again.

We fall into silence once more, but this time there is a softer edge to it; as though the air is slightly fresher between us. And it is; I am grateful that he will not spill to Phobos, as this means that I can increase my position within my cage as I try to figure out an escape plan.

Then something occurs to me, and I shake my head in doubt.

"Wait a moment," I interrupt the quiet environment again, and look at Raythor curiously. "Phobos is giving you a _wife? _You have time for _wives?_"

The guard frowns in confusion, as though he doesn't quite understand what I am trying to say.

"What else would we do?" Raythor asks, crossing his arms and staring at me intently, as though thinking that this was a ploy to unsettle him. He needn't be so worried, I wouldn't try that on my first day of captivity. "We must procreate somehow."

I try to push the image of Raythor '_procreating' _firmly out of my mind, and blink rapidly to assist my mind in that process.

"Yes, I know," I quickly say, "But…I don't know; I thought you were too _evil _to love?"

"It's not about love, guardian," Raythor replies coolly, straightening his back and looking away from me. I also avert my eyes from him as I hear a sound approaching us steadily, and a chill begins to sweep through my stomach.

Footsteps.

I didn't need three chances to guess who they belonged to.

"Why would you marry, Raythor," I begin softly, as I don't wish the man who is approaching us from behind the door of the corridor opposite us to hear our conversation, "if not for love?"

The footsteps cease, and the handle on the door turns, yet the sound it omits is not layered with the creaks that signify old age, so I am assuming that it is maintained with magic.  
>Beside me, the guard deliberately steps away to the side from me and ensures that an escorting distance is between us. He wouldn't want to look bad for his master.<p>

"Politics, guardian," Raythor answers in an equally quiet tone, and I think he also does not wish to be overhead by his ruler. "It's all about politics."

I am still musing on his response as the doors opposite us swing open, and Phobos enters. The sense of grandeur is utterly befitting of him, and I have no doubt that it is a theme that I am going to have to become accustomed to.

"Ah, little guardian," his arms are outstretched, and his attire has been altered into a pair of elegant, pale blue robes that match the icy shade of his eyes. He barely turns to Raythor, but gestures dismissively with his hand. "You are no longer needed, Raythor."

Taking his leave, the guard shoots me a meaningful expression that only I can see before he does as his master permits and leaves our company.

Now alone, I straighten my back and stare at my enemy with proud, dignified eyes- showing no signs of my earlier sadness.

This is what Julian would want; he would want me to be strong. Because if I am weak in front of Phobos, it only adds fuel to his fire. The rebel forces need to survive, and even though I am cracking inside under the negativity Julian's death had produced, I cannot let it reach the surface while I am around Phobos.

But looking at the prince now, I can see that he is searching for my fragility.

His eyes are wandering across my face, my hands, my visible muscles; trying to locate a sign that I am nervous, fearful or sorrowful. But I have prepared for this, and I offer him nothing.

That is how I will remain.

"Are we going in?" I ask, interrupting his little survey.

Then he returns his stare to me; actually looking at me and not at my reactions, and I resist the urge to frown. Phobos has obviously found something not to his liking about my appearance.  
>"Your hair," he muttered, and a scowl crosses his lips, and a clicking sound escapes his mouth. "Worthless Whisperers."<p>

"What's the matter?" I finally give into the urge to frown in confusion, as I indulge his mood.

He makes a gesture with his hand that I have come to recognise as something he does whenever he uses magic. Sure enough, small miniscule bolts of lightning combine in a circle around me, and rise to my head.

As they reach the top of my head, I nearly jolt in surprise as I feel the strands of my hair being pulled apart from the Elizabethan-style that the Whisperers had painstakingly woven it into. Then, the circle of magic descends back down my body, and as it goes, I blink in surprise as two long braids like the fake pair I wore earlier have now replaced the previous style. The rather itchy neck ruffle also has been replaced by a starch neck ruffle; which sticks out and frames my neck and lower part of my head like before.

"Why?" I murmur, absentmindedly gazing down at the braids and ruffle and remembering just what exactly had occurred the last time I donned a style such as this.

_Julian. _

But there will not be a repeat. Not I can help it.

Phobos turns to the side, and he extends his arm in the customary escorting manner that I have already begun to grow used to. The sleeves of his pale blue robes are crinkling at the movement, but as I place my hand over the top of the fabric covering his arm, I cannot help but notice how very soft and gentle his clothing is.

Rather ironic for his character, if anyone were to ask me.

"I prefer the traditional Meridian royalty appearance," the prince informs me with an airy tone as we begin to descend the extravagant staircase with an unnecessary amount of elegance. I stare at the grand set of double doors down on the floor below us with a sense of foreboding. Yet my escort does not notice my discomfort- or, if he does, he makes no comment on it- and instead continues to speak. "You will be recognised as the ward of my throne, and so it therefore is rather sensible that you dress accordingly."

I roll my eyes at his words, and I have no doubt that my demeanour takes on a complete sense of what Irma would dub as 'sass'.

"I don't actually have _any _say in how I dress, thanks to you," I reply, trying- and probably failing- to keep the scathing tone from my voice. "Maybe if you did give me some say, then I _could _dress 'accordingly'." I try to mimic his rather noble-English accent as I quote his words.

A small tilt of his lips shows me that he is amused with my behaviour, and as usual this only serves to anger me. But after this afternoon's events, I know that quelling my anger and saving it for a rainy day would cause me less pain than if I do not control myself.

"I wish I could, little guardian," Phobos almost sadly tells me with a gentle shake of head. I know that he is mocking me by his tone of voice, but I only frown and let him continue. "But after seeing the poor attire of your world...well, I'm less inclined to believe that giving you a choice in apparel will end particularly well."

I scowl at him, showing him that I am irritated by what he has said of my people and our fashion sense.

"I'll have you know that _this," _I gesture down at my own clothes and then his long robes, "are _old _fashion styles of my planet. Yeah, that's right. _You _are copying our 'poor attire'."  
>He raises his eyebrows at what I have said, but doesn't appear in any way miffed at the inclination that his superior race has been copying the fashion trends of centuries long passed in my much more inferior world.<p>

We reach the end of the staircase, and after a few more paces, halt outside the two the grand doors. Thinking that the official 'escorting' moment was over, I am about to take my hand away from the prince's lower arm, but before I can do so, his finger clasp around my wrist.

I blink in surprise, and look up at the blonde man in confusion. He is watching me with a patient expression, and I wonder if perhaps I have done something wrong- Elyon never really did explain to me the customs of her world.

"We are the last to arrive here, as is tradition. We will be seated, and dinner will be served," Phobos slowly informs me, as though he were talking with a dimwit. "Be sociable, be polite, and at the very least try to appear gracious."

My eyes roll on their own accord at his obvious instructions; once I had heard that it was to be feast, I assumed that I would have to smile at least twice. The people inside were probably people who had betrayed Elyon, and so it would feel repulsive, but it was necessary for now.

I move to try and take my hand away again from the prince's arm, but once more he stops me. This time, my irritation shows, and I snap my head up to meet his eyes with a glare, but that anger fades the moment I see that his demeanour had changed.

Where before it was amiable, now it is cold.

"Do not embarrass me, little guardian," Phobos mutters, the warning clear as day in his voice, and then draws back away; my hand on his arm the only link connecting us as we stand on opposite doors to the entrance.

As I hear the title being announced in the room before us, it is drowned out by the prince's softer voice as he mutters a final remark to me.

"I fear that you will not like what happens if you bring me shame."

* * *

><p>The dish is an oddity.<p>

"My favourite!" The call comes from the woman across from me on the table that we have all been seated at. She claps her hands, which possess long, violently green nails together in delight, and positively beams at the Whisperer that places the tray in front of her.

A similar tray is placed in front of me, and I try to hide my reaction of shying away from it. It appears to be some sort of strange Meridian animal that I seriously hope is not being served raw. It still looks suspiciously red, so my reaction is natural.

But on the other hand, it is possible for me to contract diseases from raw meat here? Does Salmonella exist in Meridian?

"What do you think, my lady?" The woman across from me blabbers needlessly as she picks up a knife from beside her and begins to eat.

The moment I had taken my seat, this woman had positively beamed and word-vomited at how _'very _delighted she was that the great, powerful Heart of Kandrakar was near her.' Oh, and then had come the stream of giggles; the occasional flirtatious comment to the prince- who was seated next to me but was otherwise usually engaged in different conversation- and the gushing praise. Once, the woman had mentioned Elyon, which had nearly caused me to snap at her, but thankfully I maintained my control.

I smile politely at her, as I have seen others do as well, and nod down at the food before me. Honestly, it reminds me of half of a large turtle with some spices sprinkled over the top. And by half, I seriously mean 'cut straight down in the middle' half. _That _is how weird this creature appears.

"It looks wonderful," I reply in gracious tones, with a gentle beam across my features. That is the façade I wish to uphold tonight; I am gentle and can do no harm. That is best for my time in captivity. "Though I am already quite full; I am not sure whether I will be able to eat it all."

_Oh, I'll be eating as little of it as possible._

The woman, I think she has mentioned her name to be Nydia, takes a moment to understand what I have said- for whilst she is excellent in exerting her own conversation skills, it seems that she is much slower in using her 'listening' skills. Then, she nods in understanding and sighs at me.

"I've heard that people from your world don't have the same sized stomach as most of us do," Nydia tells me with a sympathetic expression. "Don't you fear; if you can't finish yours, then I will be happy to take over for you."

_Be prepared to eat all of my food. I won't be taking a bite._

* * *

><p>It takes about an hour for my head to begin to pound.<p>

I'm not quite sure what was in the drink that I was given, but I assume that it was not just water. Actually, I'm not sure if Meridian water would be entirely the same as Earth's water anyway, but still; water is innocent, and the ache in my head is telling me that whatever I had was _not _innocent.

"My lady, are you feeling well?" Nydia places a hand on my arm in concern, and I seriously am about to reach breaking point with this woman.

All night, she has pestered me, flattered me and stuck by me like glue. Even now that the meal has finished, and we are all proceeding to the ballroom, she refuses to leave my side. I appreciate friends as much as anyone, but when they are 'friends' that betrayed their former queen, I am not quite sure what to think of them.

But I certainly don't want them anywhere near me.

"I am well," I respond with a smile and a bow of my head, as we approach the ballroom in an orderly fashion. Beside me, there are other tittering women of all shapes- and I mean _all-_ but Nydia seems to be a leader of them and since she had demanded my attention, then nobody else will be getting it. Maybe it's a blessing.

Either way, after seeing that I am fine, she flashes me a wink, and skips forward a few paces.

Her hem brushes against the ground as she falls into step beside Phobos and latches onto his arm in an escorting manner. There were two differences that I notice about the action now that it is regarding her and not me; firstly, she wants to be there. And secondly, Phobos does not want her to be.

Immediately, my liking of her increases rapidly.

His lips smile politely, as I believe that he has been trained to do whenever in a situation that he does not prefer, but the edges of the expression are downturned and his entire face reeks of displeasure. From experience, I know that he is irritated and not at all happy with the turn of events.

"Excuse me?"

A voice interrupts my pleasure, and I turn to the side where it came from, and I see that a man has now fallen into step beside me. His face is actually quite humanoid, but underneath the high collar of his shirt, I can see the slightest hint of almost luminescent gills.

"Since your escort is currently being occupied by my wife," he begins, in a rather baritone yet pleasant voice that probably assisted him greatly in politics, "I was wondering whether you would accept me as an available substitute?"

His wife?

I cast a quick double-checking look back towards Phobos and note that Nydia is still fawning over him like a love-struck teenager. So, if that was the case, then where is this man's-

Oh.

"Nydia is your wife?" I ask in shock, blinking rapidly as I tend to do whenever I am surprised. My gaze continuously flickers back towards my official escort and the woman I had been sitting with all night. "But she…I mean…Aren't you _mad?_"

This is rather appalling actually; the idea of a married woman flirting outrageously with another man. In my world, any decent woman understands that doing such a thing is taboo.

But then again, this isn't my world.

The man blinks in confusion to my question, and then follows my gaze to see his wife and my escort. A smile crosses his lips, as he quickly pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and dabs it gently against his neck where I can assume his gills lay.

"At that? No, why would I be?" He asks in generally polite tones, yet I can tell that he is just as confused with me as I am with him. "Prince Phobos is a great leader; if he decides he wants my wife, then I will be greatly rewarded for it."

I am unable to stop the visible recoil from occurring, yet the man does not seem perturbed by this. In fact, he seems to take this as an answer to his earlier question regarding whether he could become my substitute escort.

He holds out his arm, and in numb shock, I do not take it.

"What is it, my lady?" He asks in a way that is so like Nydia, that it is uncanny. "Is something the matter?"  
>I remember Phobos' warning to not bring any shame upon him, and so I quickly remedy my action by accepting this man's escorting arm. We begin to walk in silence; him simply comfortable at not being alone and embarrassed, and me in shock at how the men of this world treat their women.<p>

It was no shock that they betrayed Elyon if this was their general behaviour towards their wives.

There seemed to be such a lack of…love. All I know is love; my mother now has married for love, and I know that Dad probably won't be far off with his _darling_. Despite all that I think of where I live, at least I know that marriage is most commonly done for love.

Why is it not the same here?

"_It's all about politics."_

Raythor's earlier words return to me at that moment, and I frown in response. My eyes scan around the room, and even now I can see that men and women who are linked arm in arm in obvious sign of marriage are utterly indifferent to each other.

Marriage here really means very little with love.

Why?

Breaking off from my thoughts, we enter the ballroom, and I am immediately taken hand in hand by the man beside me. As we move, I momentarily remember that I do not even know his name, for I have not asked.

How rude of me.

I place my hand on his shoulder in the customary waltz hold that I remember practising at school, and lock fingers with his free hand. I straighten up and prepare to begin dancing to whatever music plays.

The man frowns though, and gently unlaces his fingers from mine. He grabs hold of my wrist and ever so tenderly moves it up towards his shoulder and leaves it there. Basically, both my arms are thrown over his shoulders in a position that I am not used to when I dance.

Worse, both of his hands move to grip my hips, which are accentuated by the flaring skirts of my dress. How is this going to work? I won't need to be spun around or anything, will I?

Oh, I really know nothing of Meridian customs.

Music fills the room, though no musicians are in sight, and I really should not have feared for my lack of knowledge regarding this dance.

The man's hands on my hips propel me backwards, and he steps forward to meet me, before moving me in another direction and leaving me to cling to his neck for dear life.

Around us, I can see other couples doing exactly the same thing, and I am sincerely worried for the sanity of the nobility here. If this is how they dance, how do they do yoga? There is no balance here at all for me!

Let alone control.

Since the man is directing me, the only thing I can do is move where he wants me to go. This dance, it seems, really does sum up how I am seeing the relationship between men and women here in Meridian; the man leads and the woman only follows.

I feel revulsion.

"If I may interrupt?"

Oh, speaking of revulsion.

I turn and see Phobos has politely halted our dance, and beside him Nydia is still clinging to his arm. I can clearly see that he does not want her to be there at all, but I highly doubt that anyone else is privy to that insight.

From what I've seen, they view Phobos as a god.

"Gendor, I do apologise, but I was wondering whether I might steal my ward away from you?" The blonde man asks with a sociable and ever-so-sweet tone to his voice that makes me feel irritated. He tends to have that effect on me. "I was rather hoping to catch her early on in the night for a dance."

The man, who is obviously named Gendor, removes his arms from my hips and bows respectfully to his superior.

"Of course, my prince," he replies, before rising and taking the arm of his wife none-too-gently.

Immediately, Nydia latches her arms over his shoulders and they begin to dance in a much more elegant fashion that what I was doing, but the motion still maintains a level of force that makes the scene rather uncomfortable to watch.

Phobos watches me for a moment, before holding his arms out expectantly; the motion pushing back the sleeves of his pale robes and revealing his clear wrists. From my distance, I can still see that there are veins visible in his white arms. Veins tend to mean a heart.

So Phobos has a heart. That surprises me.

With that wry thought, I manage to appear civil as I hold out my hands in return. The prince grasps a hold of them and pulls them over his shoulders, and this time, I understand that they are to remain there for the dance. I am thankful for his long hair that manages to hide my flinch from others when he takes a hold of my hips with his hands.

We wait to begin.

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

He is firm in the dance, yet more gentle then Gendor was. My previous dance partner demanded utmost control, but with Phobos…he is remarkably tender.

Not in the physical sense, but his motions are only coaxing. Not like Gendor's silent orders. Phobos applies slight pressure on an area of my hip to get me to move in that direction, but he is never firm about it.

Almost as if he is giving me an option to refuse.

But I do know that if I were to do such a thing, then it would be embarrassing for him. And he had already warned me about what would happen if he were to be embarrassed.

Over his shoulder, I can observe Nydia as she dances with Gendor, and from the general flow of my own movements, I can garner that my current dance is much more fluid and graceful than hers. Possibly because mine contains the illusion of a choice; that I can choose whether I want to move or not.

With her, she is being pulled around on a leash. There is very little elegance in a movement commandeered by a leash.

"She doesn't love him, does she?" I murmur softly, though my voice is close enough to Phobos for him to easily hear.

Deftly, he applies pressure to the very edge of my hip, which I have learnt means that he wants to spin slightly. And so I move, and eventually he halts us, and I realise that he now has the complete view of what I was just observing.

He practically radiates body heat as he leans his head down to reach my ear in order to speak in soft tones so that near busy-bodies do not listen in.

"Nydia despises Gendor, the foolish woman she is," Phobos replies to my question, the downturn of his mouth indicating that he wasn't happy with this fact. We spin once more, and then move backwards, through the crowd and away from the other pair. "She is very lucky; wed to one of the most influential members of my court. Her life is guaranteed to be spent in luxury and she is incapable of appreciating it."

"But why is she married to him if she doesn't love him?" I ask him, trying to peer through the crowd in order to see them again. "Why would she marry someone she hates?"

The prince raises his eyebrows as he propels us both to the side, and couples around us veer out of the way lest they incur the wrath of their ruler. His face is only directed towards me, though, and it holds a sort of mildly surprised expression on it.

"Because I commanded it," Phobos explains, and I frown suddenly at the shock. Mistaking this for interest, he continues on. "Late in my reign before my dear sister returned, Nydia had been growing irritating; I rather think she fancied herself queen. I had to put an end to it, and there were many nobles already vying for her hand- though Gendor was obviously the wisest choice."

I am speechless; mostly from the fact that he had treated a woman of his court like she was nothing more than cattle. If such a thing were to be done where I live, it would be diabolically horrendous.

Atop of his shoulders, my hands clench suddenly and am only supported by the crook within his collar bone. Otherwise, they would have fallen away and I would have made no move to reposition them.

"You're horrible," I mutter lowly, so that only he will hear and not any of the noblemen around him. "You ruined the life of a woman who cared for you."

"She cared for my power- little, if not at all, for me," Phobos, a tolerant sigh in his voice, corrects me before tilting his head to stare at me with a little bit more curiosity in his eyes. "She was a nuisance, and I have little use for those. But I still had enough compassion to ensure that her life would be spent with a man with high influence inside the court- she will live in luxury."

I shake my head, his words vile to hear and nearly just as repulsive as the man they are spoken by.

"She will live without love," I reply softly, and even now my thoughts begin to drift to my own predicament. It is likely in my current situation that I also will live without love, for mine is in an entirely different world away. "And a life without love is a very lonely existence."

His scoff breaks me out of my thoughts, and I turn to watch him suddenly with a much more calm demeanour than before. Nydia herself does not necessarily mean anything to me, yet her situation only serves as a reminder to my own. I push the thought out of my mind and face the conversation at hand.

"Love has its benefits- that I have seen," Phobos admits, and I blink in shock at his open admission to this fact. He is an evil villain; aren't all evil villains meant to deny the importance of such a horrible thing as love? His gaze sharpens, and the hands around my hips clench with a stronger sensation of firmness. "But it will haunt you; in every glance, you will witness love. Every person you encounter shall be filled with love. Every death at your hand will mean the loss of love."

I raise my eyes to meet his, and my lips part in confusion at his near poetic words. They are spoken with such a gentle tone; with such a benign intent that suits his outside image so well that for a moment, I truly can see why the nobles of Meridian have welcomed his return to power.

"Unfortunately, the quest for power demands that love be lost, and journeying in that quest, one must become immune to that loss," he continues, his usual stretching of his lips in a near-smirk breaking whatever contact I had with him in that instant. "Thus, there is me."

The prince chuckles at my behaviour, as I pull back away from him in an attempt to remain as distant as possible within the dance. Finally, I admit defeat, and halt in my movement.

I feel my dance partner press against my hip in a hint to continue moving, but this time, I am accepting the refusal offer he extends with every not-quite-so-forceful touch. I raise my hands from his shoulders, and he in turn removes his from my hips- showing that he understands a basic social cue.

"I wish to leave," I tell him, a stony expression coming over my features as I stand opposite him with just the smallest amount of my defiance seeping through my tone. "I have socialised, smiled and danced this evening. May I be excused?"  
>It took every inch of my pride to request permission to leave, but I know that the consequences of not asking would be worse.<p>

"But, little guardian," Phobos begins with a bordering-mocking smile on his lips, "You mentioned naught of enjoyment."  
>"That was my intention."<p>

This time, the defiance has returned to not only my voice, but my face as well. The prince will not need to look far to see something worth punishing, but currently a strange sort of calmness has overcome me. Perhaps it has something to do with our conversation, or perhaps his mention of losing love has reminded me of Julian and his hope for me.

If I continue to do nothing, then that hope will have been wasted for nothing.

Phobos and I continue to stare at each other; both trying to outdo the other and be awarded victory, but this time, I am rather without fear. Which makes little sense; he has already said that he has my mother, and even if he currently does not, it will not be hard to wander over to earth and snatch her into his grasps.

He can hold so much as leverage over me.

Yet as cruel as it is, there is one thing that I know will keep me strong; that will give me the strength to deny his leverage and desire. The Heart; the power that will cause worlds to fall underneath a tyrant, should he ever gain it.

That is where I come in. The position of Keeper is not easy, but there is nothing that I can do but strive to fulfil the role.

If that means sacrificing others, then I know that it will have to be.

"Very well," Phobos relents surprisingly, and I blink in shock as he raises his hand to the nearby door and makes a 'come-hither' gesture.

A moment passes where I continue to glare at the prince with suspicion ripe in my expression, and a strangely content emotion in his. He has something planned, and I'm not quite sure I want to know what.

I do not need to wait long to find my answer.

"You called, my prince?"

I cannot control my facial expressions as I hear the reptilian voice creep over my shoulder, and the slithering that accompanies its owners' approach. Turning around, I find myself having to stare up at the grotesque body of Cedric- someone that I _certainly _did not want to see again.

In retrospect though, I should have seen this coming.

Beside him, the spider-like woman known as Miranda has reverted into a humanoid form- for which I am actually quite grateful. I'm not sure how well I would have handled seeing another monster beside on of my biggest foes.

"Miranda," Phobos addresses the spider woman, who inclines her head in a gesture of receptive listening, "I fear that our guest has taken to feeling quite unwell. Escort her to her quarters, if you will."

I open my mouth to protest, and to say that I am actually feeling much more eager to engage in dance again, but before I can, the spider woman grips my arm in quite a painful manner. I flinch, and try to pull away, but I find myself being dragged along by her.

We move through the crowd, and I use my other hand to try and claw away her fingers in order for her to release me, but she shoots me a very irritated glare.

"Do not cause a scene," Miranda scowls at me, before a satisfied smirk crosses her lips- probably at seeing me as the captive now instead of the captor that I had once been. "Prince Phobos will not appreciate such embarrassment to his name."

I still immediately at her mention of embarrassment, and remember the prince's earlier warning, but I still feel obliged to give a few more tugs against her grasp before admitting defeat. A few of the lesser guests watch with a frown on their face, but they do nothing to intervene.

_Traitors._

It is with that thought that we exit into the corridor and proceed to my quarters with not another word uttered between myself and my escort.

I do believe Miranda is simply content to be leading me back to my cell.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

* * *

><p>The prince and his reptilian servant exited the ballroom and observed as the Keeper of the Heart of Kandrakar was near-dragged down the corridor.<p>

A chuckle of amusement fell from the royal's lips, for this was what he had intended after the guardian's show of defiance earlier. He believed that she was gradually becoming accustomed to her situation, and therefore felt that she needed to test the boundaries of her imprisonment. She need not be overly concerned about that, but it was not to be avoided.

It was what any leader would do; test everything in order to clear a safe mental path to walk down.

Oh, Phobos had no doubt that she would eventually attempt a dramatic escape, in order to reunite with her beloved friends, and inspire the rebels into a large front attack.

But he had already shown her that he had more power over her than what she realised. And he would not hesitate to show it once more, should the need arise.

"Foolish."

He turned back to face the ballroom- his icy robes making a swishing sound against the gloriously coloured carpet floors as he did so- and summoned a glass of the finest wine to his hand in order to quell the thirst in his throat. He had been dancing with his ward for longer than he had anticipated; engaging conversation does tend to change one's outlook on time.

"_A life without love is a very lonely existence." _

He tilted his head and stilled suddenly, as he allowed himself to truly consider her words. It was obvious that she was referring to her life and lover from her own world, but she had unwittingly opened a can of worms that wished to dig within the ground of his mind and uncover thoughts long buried.

_A loveless existence may be lonely_, he considered silently to himself, _but love knows no conventions, and is a wild creation_. It was something uncontrollable, and if there was anything that Phobos despised, then it was something that he could not control.

With that thought, he motioned for the Whisperers standing beside the double doors to open them and allow him entry to return to the ballroom of pesky nobles all vying for favour.

Before he could enter though, a voice interrupted him.

"My prince?"

Phobos raised his eyebrows in appraisal, for he did not appreciate being kept waiting, and turned his head to face his reptilian servant, who had finally graced all present with reverting to his humanoid form. It certainly meant that the prince was at less fear of the ceiling being damaged due to his servant's height during snake form.

"Have you noticed, my prince?" The snake asked with a gesture to both the guardian who was barely visible at the opposite end of the corridor, and a large, glorious tapestry that was hung beside him. "With the girl, I mean."  
>There was a moment of silence that ensued, in which the servant began to think that he had said something he should not have. The prince was still; his drink that rested in his hand untouched and his hair cascading in smoothness and the odd braid down his shoulder to the floor.<p>

Finally, he straightened back up, and raised his drink to his lips.

"Of course I've noticed," Phobos replied, the same self-assured air unconsciously present in his voice as he approached his servant where he stood before a large tapestry. "I would be a fool not to."  
>His eyes observed carefully the young ward being finally taken to a separate corridor at the end of the long one in which they stood, and for a moment, the vision of the bright red hair above the traditional attire of Meridian royalty made him pause. His gaze returned to the tapestry before him, and in his position, he could have been gazing into the sewn eyes of his younger self- not that he remembered anything from such a time.<p>

But it was not the young child that he was focused on within the tapestry.

"Of course I've noticed," the prince repeated softly as he stared at the figure behind the child, "her resemblance to the queen."

His drink was pressed to his lips once more as he allowed himself another sip before continuing.

"Why do you think her hair is braided?" Phobos asked rhetorically, before passing his drink to Cedric, who had been carefully listening to every word that his master had been saying. "I do naught without reason, Cedric- do remember that."  
>With his final remark now said, the prince turned away from the earliest tapestry of his own existence, and returned to the ballroom of the world that he much preferred to be in.<p>

One of his own control; that was his domain. One without guardians; one without people who would seek that which had been buried for too long.

"_A life without love is a very lonely existence." _

She had opened a can of worms, indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope that you enjoyed that- it was certainly an effort to write! :D<strong>

** I had a few version of this chapter, and most of the others focused more on Will's sadness over Julian's death than the feast that was taking place. I eventually lowered the level of sadness, mostly because it didn't let the story flow properly, and also because I don't think it suits her character. Will has made it quite clear in the show that she is _not _a damsel in distress, and she wouldn't sit and cry over something horrible when there was a job to do.**

**Right now, I want it to be clear that Will is constantly just trying to survive her time in imprisonment and escape. **

**This chapter, I tried to show a little bit more of Meridian- which is actually quite difficult, considering the fact that Will is imprisoned inside a palace. So I tried to show you more of it through the court life- which you'll see more of- and the behaviour and history of various characters. **

**Thanks for reading! I intend to answer every review I get, but if I accidentally missed you, just tell me! :) **

**Please review! **


	5. Verdict

**So, college happened. I am so sorry it has taken this long for me to update this, but seriously, work and school just took over. I've had this chapter in the works since late last year but I just haven't had the chance to sit down and work on it like this. **

**But seriously, every one of the reviews and support I've received from you all has just motivated me to finish this and get it out to you. Plus, now I'm working on something special as well! (I'll leave that news- which some people already know now- until the end of this chapter otherwise I'll fill up too much space up here).**

**_I don't own W.I.T.C.H. _**

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>Seven days.<em>

_I count the days as they pass me by, and note their marvellous ability to leave me as unchanged as ever. When I was younger, I remember being unable to track time during my breaks from school, and eventually the days would span into weeks, and further into months. _

_It has happened here, I know, for I discovered long ago that scratching a mark onto the pearl coloured walls did not grant me any power over what I had abandoned. _

_Time itself was a strange concept. _

_The thought that as you speak, as words leave your mouth in a hurried rush of fury, that those words are already considered to be in the past, and the present is now the harsh slap of his hand against your cheek. And it's taunting; the thought that the action that brought you to such an undesirable present is so close to you, so tangible, but is far from your reach in the past. _

"_That was foolish, Mu'rin," he admonishes me, though his outward appearance has returned to the soothing stone I know and loathe. He brushes his hand gently against the robes covering his chest as if to wipe away the impurities of my presence._

_My eyes trace the lining of the marble floor, imagining running a single finger along the cracks that have formed within the gleaming surface. The stinging on my cheek is still present, and I wonder whether I would find a small welt or mark on my otherwise unblemished skin. I cannot help but flinch as my eyes narrow and blink rapidly to try and stop the watering. _

"_What has brought this about you, Murin?" He asks me, though I am satisfied to hear that the cold tone to his voice has replaced the fake, honey that he usually speaks through._

_I refuse to look at him, and instead turn to face the place on the wall where my window used to be. It is probably not the exact spot, but I like to imagine that it is. He may have erased it from the picturesque view of my chambers, but I can always see it there. _

_It is my reminder. It represented a chance for freedom, and by its presence I know that I willingly wear the chains that bind me. _

"_Seven days," I mutter back to him, knowing that his question was not to pass without answer. "It's been seven days."_

_I do not need to see him to sense the frown encroaching upon his perfect features. Though personally, I think I've become rather sensitive to shifts in his mood. When you only ever see one person, you begin to feel more attuned to them as though they are also moulded in with the environment around you instead of being external to it._

"_Seven days?" He echoes, stepping closer to me and returning to the soft demeanour that I have begun to attribute to him. "Seven days since what?"_

I don't know, _I think in my head as a desired response, but that is a lie. This is something that I know, something that I can remember. But it is something that I don't want to share with him; it is something personal and something that will open a window of opportunity to my mind. _

"_Seven days," I begin, knowing that it would be unwise to lie or refuse him an answer, "since you visited me."_

_There was a moment of silence that stretched between us, and I waited with bated breath for the mocking words or the laughter that I assumed would follow. _

_There was nothing of the sort._

"_Oh, Murin," his breath comes out in a rush, in a soft sound of soothing relief, as he raises a hand to cup the cheek that had he had struck. I wince at the movement, and the sting that results on my skin. "Do not worry yourself over such matters."_

I'm not, _I want to tell him, but that would be a lie again. _Every day you are gone, my mind clears.

_When he leaves, I will gradually be reminded of why I should be resisting, of why I am here and how I am still standing over the edge of my windowsill with the decision to jump or step away in my shame._

_He places his free hand on the curve in my lower back and gently, with the position of two dancers, leads me over to my bed. He prompts me to sit down and I do without question or complaint. The sheets, I notice, are still crumpled from my earlier sleep._

"_You need not worry over my absence, Murin," he tells me with his voice rolling like honey from his lips and his touch on my burning skin like cold, relieving ice. "There is only one place in my heart, and that is beside you."_

Liar, _I think to myself, but I would not dare say that to him. One burning cheek is enough for a day. _

_Instead, I remain still and refuse to answer him with the same fire that I possessed before I realised that I was willingly caged. _

_He understands this, and a soft sigh dries the wet cracks of his lips as he stands from his position beside me. The hem of his robes brushes against the marble floor that has dulled slightly from time and negligence and he comes to be before me. _

_He does not kneel to equal himself with me._

_He does not bend._

_But he gently presses my cheek to his chest all the same. It mocks an embrace, but it is the closest thing to tenderness that I have received from him and the bars of my cage since I was imprisoned. _

_And it shames me to love it. I run to tenderness like a rat to a morsel of food, and it is disgusting._

_It is poison but it is indeed mine. _

"_I will always return to you, Murin," he whispers down to me, but it is unnecessary. _

_My poison, it seems, is also his._

* * *

><p>When I'd woken up that morning, I could still feel his hand against my cheek.<p>

It was a disturbing moment, and no matter how many times I had shaken my head, the sensation had not left until the Whisperers came to rouse me from bed.

Now, I wait outside the double doors like the obedient prisoner Phobos expects me to be. Or not be, I suppose. Either way, I will be giving him an amusement.

The night had not been kind to me, and my sleep was plagued with the images of Julian's head pressed against the block and waiting for the axe to fall. His words filling the air before the blade severed his neck.

_His_ face was there as well.

And then, of course, there were my usual dreams; that of the imprisoned woman and the cell which so closely resembles my own.

Is this woman- this 'Murin'- me? My only clue seems to lie in her constant companion, the man that is the image of my captor. But there is something not quite right about the two of them; both obviously have the same nature of malice, but where Phobos seems to be noble, the man in my dreams is more…_refined._

It is not something easily picked, but the only choice I can consider logically is that my dreams are somehow depicting my future- a gift from the Oracle of Kandrakar, perhaps. This thought, however, brings me no reassurance.

The woman in my dreams- who, by my thought is future me- isn't strong. From what I can tell, she isn't handling her captivity well.

But I'm also nothing like her.

It frightens me to think that I might be eventually, after years of captivity. Surely, however, the resistance and rebel forces wouldn't allow me to remain prisoner for that long; they would undoubtedly be trying to regain control of my power and be sending mass amounts of rescue efforts my way.

On the other hand, though, they may be steering completely clear of me, for the closer they get to me, they also get to Phobos. If they aren't prepared for that confrontation yet, they may leave my rescue until the final battle.

Which may take a long time.

A shiver wracks my form, and I know that it isn't from the cold. My arms are covered by the violet sleeves of the dress I wear, but I can still feel the goose-bumps rising from my skin and grating against the velvety material covering me. It takes a moment, but I will myself to calm down and compose my features, knowing that I don't want Phobos to see me unnerved.

Again.

I straighten up, and catch sight of myself in the mirror beside me. It is slightly dirtied- showcasing how very alike this style of Meridian is to the Tudor times that I have seen in my history classes. I can still make out my features, but the image is distorted almost, as a result of a lack of clarity.

My hair is once more braided in what I assume to be a popular fashion trend of Meridian- I have seen Elyon wear it countless times- and a small hat rests between the parting of my hair reaching down to touch the crown of my forehead. Thankfully, the Whisperers didn't dress me in a ridiculous collar today; and the dress I wear has a respectful neckline of my collarbone. The velvet fuchsia material covers my sleeves and outer edges of skirt that plunges to the ground, but parts to reveal a patterned interior layer of my dress.

I don't feel natural- I feel like I'm wearing some hired costume on Halloween- but I doubt that that will ever change. This environment isn't what I'm used to and there will never be a sense of ease that I assume came instantly to Elyon on her first visit as Phobos' guest.

But I am different to Elyon; she was the Light of Meridian and the lost heir to the throne. I have no links here, and I belong to Kandrakar.

Which is exactly what Phobos hopes to gain.

My head snaps away from my reflection as I hear footsteps approaching from the corridor opposite me. The hall obviously lies beyond the set of double doors beside me and I assume I am being led to be paraded like a doll in front of the people again.

"Guardian."

His voice, so silky as that which haunts my dreams at night interrupts my bitter thoughts, and I raise my head to see him approaching me with Cedric at his side. The snake's skin almost appears slimy in appearance and I do not resist the scowl of disgust that tugs at my lip as I adamantly avert my eyes from him.

The prince is dressed in robes of white which stand out against the warm brown of the stone walls beside us. Behind him, at the end of the corridor, sunlight streams through the stained windows and beams of variously coloured light compliments his apparel from the front. His hair matches the golden laced hem and trimmings of his robes and is braided and left loose as usual.

He and the snake approach me, and an acrid smell begins to reach me, which causes me to hold my breath for a moment to recover. It seems as though Cedric is _shedding_.

How unpleasant for me.

The snake bows his head and after receiving a gesture of permission from the prince, makes his way into the room beyond the double doors. As he disappears, I catch a glimpse of a well-lit room and dozens of people standing in a crowd or seated with assigned chairs. Before I can examine further, the doors are closed and I am brought back to my conversation.

"Good morning, Guardian," Phobos greets me with a barely-present incline of his head and turns to face me with the smile I've begun to attribute to him when he is pleased. "I trust you slept well?"  
>I purse my lips, understanding that this is a test. He knows very well what was on my mind last night, and that it obviously affected me and rattled my nervous state.<p>

Of course he knows that. It was his intention.

"I slept," I respond, my tone civil enough, but my head tilted as a show of defiance. I straighten and clasp my hands behind my back. "I hope the same cannot be said for you."

"I was blessed with wonderful dreams, guardian," Phobos replies, his head turning to flash me a smile that is heightened in aesthetic appeal by the streams of sunlight behind him, but his words are far from beautiful. "Filled with crushed rebellions and conquests of the worlds. It was a shame to wake from them."

He is taunting me; both by his mention of the rebellion and his ability to crush it. We both know very well that if he was to face the forces of the resistance right now, there would not be any good outcomes from it.

"A pity it was just a dream," I snap back, managing to stifle my tone down to resemble a growl and not the fiery retort I had intended it to be.

"Of course," he humours me with a smile that reeks of amusement.

A moment of silence follows, for I know that anything I want to contribute to the conversation will not be child-friendly and he will not approve. But I cannot stop these thoughts from coming; I am this man's enemy and even the tamest of cats will not be comfortable in the environment of its foe.

"What am I doing today?" I ask, sarcasm lacing my tone as I raise my eyebrows. He has made no movement to indicate that we are going to be following after Cedric any time soon, so I consider it as good a time as any to talk.

I ask my question with an apprehensive mind, however. Yesterday proved to me that much could occur in the space of a single day, and I am not overly eager to face the prospect of another day like the last.

The prince raises his eyebrows at my tone, but makes no other acknowledgement of it. Instead, he tilts his head and seems to muse over my question.

"Cedric is currently announcing the gathered crowd of our impending arrival in the courtroom," he informs me, and I realise that we must be standing outside the courtroom then. No doubt Phobos intends to flaunt me to the people again, but at least I likely won't have to socialise like the previous night. If the courts in Meridian are anything like our medieval history books detail, there won't be much of an opportunity for the prince to force me into association.

"And then?" I ask, knowing that the court would not take the entirety of the day. This leaves me with a full afternoon with which Phobos has the power to make miserable. "What happens after that?"

"I have business to attend to, guardian, so I will be regrettably absent," he tells me in a musing tone, raising his eyebrows as he considers my fate. For a moment, I realise that he is still a _prince, _a _ruler _and despite his obvious love for flaunting me around as a victory, it's likely that he has other business that is more pressing. Other tyrants in history have merely passed duties off to advisors and officials, but I don't think that would be Phobos' style; he wouldn't dare pass any of his power out to someone who could use it against him.

Of course, this is still something that Elyon would have done better. His methods in leadership are wrong, and he favours cruelty and fear over the love and kindness that my friend used.

But, as I saw last night, the people couldn't care less. Power is power, and if it still is coming to them, then they're not inclined to argue with its source.

It's disgusting.

"What happens in the court?" I ask, breaking the prince away from his deliberation of my fate. If I let him think on it, then he'll be more likely to concoct some horror for me to sit through. Better to keep him distracted, I assume. "Is this just going to be a show of your power on the townspeople, or are there going to be more unannounced _murders_?"  
>He chuckles softly as though I've told him a joke, and then holds out his arm. I need no prompt; I understand the gesture by now.<p>

As I stiffly wrap my own arm around his, he talks.

"Not that I know of, guardian," Phobos replied smoothly, manoeuvring us both to face the grand doors. With a flick of his wrist, they begin to open and I am able to glimpse the large room within once more. "Remember, no embarrassments."

Where the room had been alight with chatter earlier, it was deadly silent now.

Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be the man who dared to speak when the prince was arriving. My eyes scanned the area; pouring over the hints of grand tapestries at the opposite end of the chamber, and surveying the faces within the gathered crowd for anyone familiar. This isn't a smart idea, however, as the only faces I see are those of known traitors to the rebellion, and I feel irritation well up inside me at their very sight. Cedric and Miranda are among the lines of the crowd, and I assume that the front is reserved for important officials only.

I hold my head high despite the knowledge that I am in enemy territory and I am no more than a captive. If Phobos had desired it, then I would have joined Julian at the block yesterday.

We approach the pedestal that holds the throne in which Elyon should have sat. It is now adorned with gleaming purple stones that are too rich and vibrant to be amethysts, and it has been modified to suit Phobos' male figure. Beside the throne stands Raythor, obviously acting as a personal guard.

A moment of panic seizes me as we approach the throne. The prince is showing no signs of merely leading me off to join the rest of the crowd, and I highly doubt he plans to make me stand behind him as Raythor is.

I try to catch his eye by turning my head to face him, but he makes no effort to look at me. A small smile spreads across his lips, and I know that there is something wrong.

He is planning something.

We come to stand beside the throne, and it is with a heavy lump in my throat that I turn to face the crowd. They look up at me, and I wonder what they are thinking. Some of them would recognise me easily as the face of the Guardians and Kandrakar, and some would recognise me from the public _events _yesterday. There are others, though, that have likely never seen me before.

I scan every face, and internally I cannot help but wonder how many of them are still loyal to Elyon.

"Citizens of Metamoor," Phobos interrupts my thoughts as he addresses the gathered crowd. There is not a sound from them, and he presses on. "Today, I will be receiving the issues of all who seek my wisdom and judgement."

My eyes are drawn to the doors at the opposite end of the hall, where I assume the visitors will enter. Of course, logic tells me that every guest will have been previously screened to ensure that they are supporters of the prince, and even if a single rebel managed to infiltrate his way to an audience, he would be silenced in an instant. The citizens who speak today will be propaganda for Phobos, I assume; a technique used by many rulers to convince the public of their right to rule.

According to last night, where I met multiple supporters of Phobos and traitors of Elyon, he may not need substantial amount of propaganda to legitimise his rule.

He casts me a sidewards glance, and holds out his arm out in a gesture to me; the material of his white robes sweeping against the polished stone floor.

"Many of you will recognise this woman beside me," the prince begins, not sparing me another glance, "as the Heart of Kandrakar and leader of the Guardians of the Veil."

The citizens in the crowd uneasily shift and I am glad to see them frown in doubt or bite their lip in shows of discomfort. The tension rises in the room, and I am able to pick out a sense of guilt as the people who have betrayed their rightful queen now are faced with one who they are now enemies with.

But I do not have much time to be pleased.

"She is my hostage and ward," Phobos continues, narrowing his eyes and steeling his tone as he also detects the change in atmosphere. His head faces me, and there is an almost-warning expression present in his gaze; he is non-verbally reminding me to behave. My brow begins to crease, but the unpleasant smile that pulls at his lips makes a shiver of unease prick my spine.

He steps back and turns his entire body towards me, but not in intimacy; more so like I remember seeing the players in theatre do when acting out a scene. This is what he is doing; he is playing out a scripted performance, a pre-mediated plan for the crowd.

This does not bode well.

"Will you not take a seat, guardian?" He asks with an entirely false polite edge to his voice as he gestures to the side of the throne.

For a moment, I am confused. There is only the throne next to me, and surely he does not mean for me to dare to sit there. But then the only other option is to sit on the-

_Oh, of course._

"You've got to be joking," I mutter almost silently, so that none may hear me. I raise my eyes to meet the prince with an indignant glare, clearly showing him what I think about this situation.

He tilts his head, the civility now gone from his features and his eyes slowly begin to narrow. His words from the previous night ring in my mind, and I wince instinctively. Really, he can hurt the people I love quite easily- especially now that he knows where they are since his visit to earth- and I should act with more concern for them.

But this is ridiculous.

"I will not," I hiss in muted breath to him, so that only he may hear my words. The crowd undoubtedly knows that something is going on, but they will not know what. I glare at him strongly, and my arms stiffen at my side. "I refuse."

A strained smile pulls at his lips, and I realise that this refusal is likely denting his public image in front of the citizens. To shatter my budding thoughts of rebelling further, he reaches behind me and places a firm hand on my lower back and begins to push me towards the steps in front of the throne.

"You act as though you have a choice, guardian," Phobos replies softly, but with no less malice in his voice than usual. He casts a meaningful glance to Raythor, who places his hand on his sword hilt in a symbolic gesture to me. "Now…sit."

Dozens of eyes must be on me. Dozens of people were about to see a proud guardian sit before the throne of a usurper. Everyone was about to see me submit to my enemy.

I shake my head so that the stray locks of my hair will fall down and cover my burning red cheeks. Tears of embarrassment sting at my eyes as I begin to walk towards the steps before his throne. The hem of my velvet dress brushes against the stone floor as I close the distance.

My eyes flicker upwards at the prince behind me once more, just to show him how this entire scene appals me, before I whirl around in a flurry of skirts and material, and lower myself onto the step.

The cold strikes me immediately as it seeps up through my dress and I manage to contain the flinch from my face. I struggle to compose myself, but I take a few deep breaths, and allow the air of the chamber to temper me as it rushes inside my lungs.

The prince smiles in satisfaction and, now that I am dealt with, begins to make his way to his throne. He does not even look at me as he passes me on his way to the throne; he merely brushes beside me as he steps upwards. I feel my lip tug up in disgust, but I shake it off as I remember that I am still visible to the public eye.

I hear a rustle of robes and a small sigh of content, and I know that he is seated.

"I officially open the people's court," Phobos announces, now that he is ready to begin. I can easily imagine how he is seated; proud and regal, smug with the satisfaction of having me at his feet. It is something I garner he has been planning for some time; he has introduced me as his ward, yet he wishes to display me as his inferior.

And in front of the people, that is certainly what I am.

Small chatter resumes in the chamber for a moment, each member turning to converse in their mildly sociable atmosphere. I am left with a sense of waiting, as Phobos would surely not allow his subjects to talk so freely if his court was in full session.

And so I sit, hands clenched firmly in the velvet material of my dress and resisting the desire to turn and glare at the man behind me. I stare adamantly forward, not really looking at the people in the crowd, but at least giving the impression that I am.

I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me.

Finally, after another moment, the doors at the opposite end of the chamber open. There is an immediate hush in the crowd, and heads turn like a domino effect to see the procession of two guards escorting a middle-aged man forward.

His clothes are not falling apart, but they are clearly not the clothes of an upper class citizen of Meridian. Even I can tell that much. His feet are bare and I blink in surprise as I see the hint of fur-tufted toes and sharpened nails. As he approaches, I am able to catch the glimpse of the two ears that angle out from his skull and the glint of cat-like slits in his eyes.

He steps forward from the guards and falls into a respectful bow; his hands reaching forward onto the marble floor and allowing me to see the similarly sharpened appearance of his nails.

"Rise," the voice from behind me drawls, though much less noticeably than before.

The man hurries to do so, pulling his ragged clothing from underneath him so as to not trip over it as he gets to his feet. He brushes himself down and respectfully averts his eyes from the prince and settles them on me instead.

I peer at him with my curious, brown eyes and I suppose that something in my gaze intimidates him, and so he naturally tears himself away from looking at me as well.

"B-Blessings onto you, my prince," the man stammers as a greeting, nodding his head nervously a few times. Then, assuming that he has done something wrong, he clears his throat to hurriedly continue, "And to milady as well."

I must have been sitting there with a vague expression on my face for a few moments before I realise that he had spoken to me. I blink in shock, and am about to respond when the prince interrupts me.  
>"Well met," Phobos replies, his voice silky and I get the feeling that this is nothing more than standard procedure. "Both my ward and I are grateful for your blessings. Now, state your purpose, if you would be so kind."<p>

Slightly miffed than I cannot speak for myself, I smile kindly at the man to try and calm him, but he is still avoiding my eyes and does not see me. Instead, he shuffles nervously for a moment, trying to figure out how to best frame his words. I can understand his nerves.

Something tells me that Phobos is not a generously political man.

"It happened on the night of your victory against the _traitors_," the man began, and his words caused the smile to fall immediately from my face. But again, he did not see it. "They came from the forest. They started fires, and tore down the fences of my land. My livestock fled and I have not been able to recover them."

I raise my eyebrows, doubting the tale. From my account of the night, the rebels did not stray towards the fences and it had been a strict order directly from Caleb that the land and farms were to be left intact as they fought their way to the palace. The rebels were disciplined enough to listen to that simple order.

The man was obviously mistaken.

"The rebels didn't touch your fences or livestock," I say before Phobos can reply to the man, and immediately I sense a change in the atmosphere of the hall. I see expressions of shock pass over the inhabitants of the crowd and I am smart enough to understand that I have likely broken some rule of society. It matters little to me, and I continue. "I oversaw the attack of the rebels, and not one of them strayed towards the farmland."

Phobos is silent behind me, waiting to watch things unfold before he decides the punishment for my transgression. The farmer has gone pale- or at least as pale as I thought one of his appearance could be- and is clutching the long cane he carries with shaking hands.

"M-My fences were destroyed," he insists, smiling uncertainly as he clearly was not been expecting opposition to his claims. "There is no denying that my livestock are gone and it's the traitors' fault."

"Yes, there _is_ denying it," I respond hotly, leaning forward on the stairs and momentarily forgetting the humiliation and pressure on my situation as I defended my friends. "The rebels had nothingto do with any loss of yours."

"Surely my lady is mistaken," the farmer laughs nervously, glancing around the hall as though hoping someone will agree with him. "Perhaps it is your feminine wiles which have interfered with you judgement, if you do not mind me saying."

_Of course I mind you saying, _I am about to say, but as I open my mouth to protest, I am interrupted by Phobos, who has finally decided to intervene.

"And are you claiming that my ward's judgement is unwise?" He quietly asks, and the hall gains a deathly quiet atmosphere. "Knowing, of course, that any claims you make against my ward will also serve as a claim against myself?"

I whirl around, confused as to why he is coming to my defence in this matter. Surely he would wish to slander the rebel's image as much as he could, and this would be the perfect situation for it! He is not looking at me, however, and is instead giving a fixed stare to the man before him.

The farmer recognises the danger that he is clearly in, and he immediately bows his head and begins to stammer out his apologies.

"Of course not, my prince," he gasps, repeatedly nodding his head and trembling where he stands. "I would not dare make such senseless claims."

"Very good, then," Phobos sounds pleased, and I hear the tell-tale sound of him sighing underneath his breath- only my close proximity allows this. "However, our good farmers cannot be left without produce; Cedric will oversee the compensation for the livestock you have lost."

I frown, assuming that the snake-man will likely be as pleasant as nails on a chalkboard. Yet the farmer brightens considerably, motivated by the prospect of a reward for the tale that he has spun. He bows again and stammers out his blessings to Phobos- this time, his blessings to me are noticeably absent- before he is escorted back out of the hall.

As we wait for the next subject to be brought in, I slowly turn around to face the prince, knowing that whatever punishment that he has in stall for me for my interruption will be best dealt with as quickly as possible. He meets my gaze, and in his eyes I see the cold calculation that I have begun to attribute to him, but not anger.

"Well?" I shrug my shoulders, feeling less self- conscious about my position now that the silence in the courtroom has dissolved back into chatter. "Aren't you angry?"

"Angry?" He repeats in a low voice, so that only I and Raythor- who would dare not join in- can hear. He leans back against the throne, stretching his arms languidly in an image that suddenly reminds me of a cat. "Your interruption was permitted because it served to reveal the peasant's greed."

"Then why did you reward him?" I ask, frowning in confusion as I stared up at him- my bewilderment masking the humiliation I feel at sitting below him. "I bet he didn't even lose his livestock and lied so he'd get more."

The prince chuckles at my accusation, and while I would usually be annoyed that he is amused at my confusion, I more interested in hearing what he has to say than focusing oh my anger.

"You're observant," he admits, giving me what might be called an approving glance. He taps his fingernails gently on the edge of his armrest, and I hear the soft _click_ even from where I sat. "He will not dare admit his deceit, but he will instead spread my good name."

The truth sets in, and I realise how clever this is.

Phobos will not call out this farmer on his obvious lie, and in return the farmer will support him, and will praise him in the community. It is victory through manipulation, and with this move, Phobos will have gained a steady flow of supporters from the farming populace.

This situation strikes a chord within me, and familiar words rise to my lips.

"She won not through the might of her magic but the prowess of her wit,'" I quote, remembering the phrase from the text I had found in Cedric's library on Halloween. It seemed like an age ago now, but only a month had passed in reality.

The prince raises his eyebrows at me, and for a moment I see he wears an impressed expression, before I turn away and face the crowd again.

"_The Tale of Ismena_," he identifies the source of the quote. He should do, as he recommended it to me in the first place. He stops tapping his fingernails against his armrest, and he continues. "Did you find it to your liking?"

I'm silent for a moment, choosing to not immediately give him the satisfaction of knowing that _yes_, I did enjoy it very much. I had to constantly remind myself that this was a real tale despite the magic and fantastical adventures the queen was experiencing in the text.

"It was decent," I finally answer, shrugging slightly to express my disinterest. It is only out of spite, for I had indeed found the book to be very interesting.

"I see," is all that he says in reply.

We are silent again until the next subject is escorted into the room, trailed by guarding Whisperers.

As the morning progresses, I see a pattern forming. Phobos exercises his strategy of spreading a reputation through the subjects. Farmers are given generous rewards and civil disputes are settled calmly.

Towards the end of the morning, the commoners have stopped being allowed entry, and are instead replaced by civilians of the higher classes. While there is still the odd dispute that had to be settled, I notice that the issues are more to do with gaining leverage in society. An elderly man who Phobos later told me had once held a favoured position in court sought to establish a knighthood for his youngest son.

"The youngest is the useless child in a family," he had whispered to me afterwards, taking care to give me information like this.

"No child is useless," I had hissed back at him, before whirling around and refusing to look at him again.

It is just before Phobos tells me the court is set to close when a nobleman enters with a young woman I assume is his daughter trailing just behind him.

They bow their heads, and I cannot help but notice the shimmering material of their clothing and the glittering of the jewellery they wear. They must be very wealthy, or have a lot of favour from Phobos.

Perhaps both.

"Blessings onto you my prince, and my lady," the nobleman begins, a smooth, honeyed edge to his voice.

"You may rise. You are well met, Nerios," Phobos replies, and turns his attentions towards the young woman. "You have grown more beautiful, Oritia, since we last met."

She bows her head in gratitude, and I raise my eyebrows at the prince's flattery. I had not had the chance to overhear his conversations with the noblewomen last night at the banquet, but I can imagine that he would have thrown compliments around as much as possible to keep them appeased.

The nobleman clears his throat, and pushes his daughter to the front of him. She lowers her eyes from the prince and instead looks towards me. She is curious about me, I think, but I can also see that she is rather nervous.

_I don't blame you_, I think dryly to myself, before I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder at the proud ruler behind me, _you're asking Phobos for something. That's more than enough to be worried about._

"It is due to my Oritia, that we have travelled from Northhaven to seek an audience with you, my prince," the nobleman, Nerios, says, and I can see that there is a slight sheen of sweet building on his face.

"Is that so?" Phobos replies, and I turn to see that his eyes have narrowed into a knowing gaze. He picks at the edge of his sleeve in disinterest, and then gestures that the man can continue. "Tell me what has upset you so."

I frown, wondering whether Phobos knows something about these two already. The man seems to have followed my train of thought, but he still proceeds.

"As you are aware, my prince sought residence within my household during the last winter of your reign," Nerios began, dabbing at his neck with a handkerchief. "During this time, my daughter has informed me that you had… _close _relations."

What does he mean by-

_Oh. _

I can't stop my eyes from rolling as I cast a glare to the prince, who is adamantly ignoring me right now. Instead, he is watching the young woman as she squirms in front of the audience. She has lowered her eyes to the ground and is refusing to look up.

"And are you here to claim compensation for your daughter's virtue?" He asks, a trace of amusement in his voice. The woman flinches at his words, and I pity her as she nervously clutches the sleeves of her long dress tightly. Phobos chuckles softly behind me. "A prince is entitled to his desires."

"Of course, my prince," Nerios swiftly replies, bowing his head as a gesture to show he was peaceful. "On the contrary, I came here today with glad tidings." I frown, wondering what he meant. Surely he should have been furious that his daughter had been disgraced.

"And what are these tiding?" The prince asks, a bored tone to his voice again.

The man hesitates for a moment, and I cannot help but notice that the woman has stepped back to hide beside her father- too nervous to stand before Phobos' ongoing scrutiny.

"My daughter has informed me that she is carrying a child," Nerios announces, "and she has lain with none but my prince."

My jaw drops in shock. Phobos is going to be a daddy? As I sit in bewilderment, I vaguely try to remember the number for child protection services. Not that it would do me any good here.  
>The courtroom erupts into whispers and murmurs, and I look to my side to see that even Cedric has a shocked expression on his face. Oritia has peered up at the prince apprehensively, obviously trying to gauge his thoughts.<p>

"An heir?" I hear someone whisper in the crowd.

I whirl around to face him and for the first time since these nobles entered the hall, he meets my eyes. I realise in confusion that he is amused by this affair, and I can see that he is chuckling under his breath.

He looks away from me and clears his throat loudly. In an instant, the crowd is silenced and we all wait to hear the prince's verdict.

"What glad tidings these are," he answers, and I see the father and daughter relax in relief at his acceptance of the news. "Unfortunately, they are not true."

The smiles fall from their faces. I sit in bewilderment, as I try to register all that was happening.

Phobos had slept with this girl. She had said that she was now pregnant with his child. But he had said that she wasn't.

If he'd slept with her-which is a _really _weird thought for me to process as I'd never seen him take any notice of women before- then how could he be absolutely certain that she wasn't pregnant?

The girl exchanges a pointed glance with her father, and he hurriedly pushes her behind him protectively and steps forward.

"Whatever do you mean, my prince?" Nerios asks, tugging at his collar to relief himself of the sweat building on his neck from his nerves. He gestures to his daughter, even pushing her forward slightly as though he were presenting her on a platter. "My Oritia has been confirmed by our physician to be with child- _your _child and heir, my prince."

I glance behind me to see that Phobos has lost the amused expression and is now wears a cold slate on his face. From personal experience, I know that means he is irritated and is soon like to lash out and punish this woman and her father if they continue.

His eyes look down and meet with mine, and he raises his eyebrows slightly, as though surprised that I am daring to look at him during such a moment. I frown, trying to ask him how he knows she is lying about having his child with my face. He seems to understand my confusion somewhat, for his lip curves in amusement once more.

He looks away from me and I follow his example by facing the nervous nobles.

"Your daughter is not with child," Phobos assures Nerios, and my eyes widen in shock as he does not order them to be punished for their lies. "Do you think your prince would be so foolish as to not take strong precautions to avoid such a situation?"

It would be very stupid, I realise, for Nerios to continue to press the matter. If he does, he would risk implying that Phobos is foolish, and the prince would not be merciful there.

The lord bows his head, smart enough now to know that he has been beaten, and does not wait for an escort before moving swiftly towards the exit, pulling his poor daughter along behind him.

The court is whispering amongst itself, all apparently excited by current turn of events. I can assume that there will be wild rumours in the taverns tonight about how the prince is refusing to acknowledge his own child because it was conceived by wedlock.

But I know that is not true.

Phobos would never allow a child he did not want to be delivered into the world. No, he is absolutely certain that that woman was not pregnant.

But how did he know?

I hear him shifting behind me, and I look behind me to see him standing up and beckoning to the audience.

"The court is now closed," he announces in a dismissive tone. He nods to Raythor, who comes immediately to my side and gestures that I am to rise.

I stand without further ado, wincing as my legs protest from being in their uncomfortable position for so long without relief. As I rise, I brush the non-existent dust from my lap and straighten out my body. The crowd watches me, and this time I feel I can walk with an excuse of dignity as Phobos, Raythor and I exit the courtroom.

The moment the doors have shut behind us, I confront Phobos.

"How did you know that she wasn't carrying your child?" I ask immediately, walking swiftly to keep up with him now that he wasn't guiding me with his arm as he usually did.

He raises an eyebrow at my questioning him, but he is in a surprisingly tolerant mood with me today, I've noticed, and so doesn't press the issue. Perhaps it was my obedience in sitting down before him in front of the crowd like a pleasant little dog.

"I had taken measures to ensure that would never happen," Phobos replies, not looking at me as he wanders towards what appears to be a large hall that is empty of all but Whisperers who were clinging to the wall.

Something in his voice makes me dislike his tone.

"What _measures_?" I question further, narrowing my eyes at him even though he has not glanced at me once since we left the courtroom.

"I cursed her," Phobos answers as he strolls towards an adjoining corridor, "so that she would be barren."

I stop in my tracks, unable to do anything but stare at the man's back in horror.

"You did _what?"_ I ask in mortification, shaking my head as I struggle to come to terms with what he has done.

He stops in front of the entrance to the corridor and turns around to face me, an exasperated expression on his face.

"Spare me your theatrics, Guardian," he admonishingly tells me, as Raythor reaches his side and gives me a pointed stare. "In truth, I did her a favour."

I resist the urge to splutter out a protest and assure him that he was _not _in fact doing her any sort of favour nor should he dare claim that he did. I glare at him and refuse to walk any closer to him; I clench my fists in the skirts of my dress and remain at a firm distance away from him.

"Oritia is the youngest Lightgrass daughter, and she is far from the fairest," Phobos continues, knowing that I am affected by this barbarity then many of the other challenges I have come across. "She has no wit or significant value other than her name and shred of beauty. Now she has no value to her father, perhaps he will allow her to wed the stable boy she fancies."

Nadia's story last night had made me realise that Phobos truly held nobody in high regard, and O'itia's confirms it.

"You are _horrible,_" I hiss at him, feeling my hands shaking against the material of my clothes.

He is amused by my behaviour, and indicates to Raythor that we are to continue travelling through the palace. I trade glares with the guard, who gestures not-so-politely that I am to follow with no trouble.

And so we move through the castle, passing hallways and corridors filled with vibrant tapestries and colourful art but utterly devoid of people. Occasionally I will see the hint of a Whisperer turning the opposite side of the hallway, or ducking into a nearby chamber to avoid detection.

The sunlight of the afternoon seeps onto the floor, and as we pass a window I feel distracted from my darker thoughts by the sensation of heat hitting my skin as I walk through light.

I hear very little in the seemingly empty palace, only our footsteps as we progress to our destination. Phobos has not spoken to or even glanced at me since we had left the courtroom, and in the absence of speech, our footsteps are dauntingly loud.

Finally, we stop. We stand outside a pair of grand, wooden doors with brass straps stretching from one end to the other as support.

Phobos faces me, and I see a calm, but calculating look in his eyes.

"Regrettably, I must leave you for now, guardian," he informs me, and I vaguely remember him telling me this earlier in the day. I feel a weight lift from my shoulders, but then the issue of where I am going because more pressing.

The prince places a hand against the wooden door and pushes it open with a loud _creak_. The action surprises me, for I have only ever seen him use magic or someone else to do such a task.

It occurs to me then that perhaps this place is special to him, for him to lower himself to physically open a door.

"This was my mother's library, and for a time, it was also mine," he explains, glancing at me for effect. "I have little use for it now. However, seeing how you enjoyed _The Tale of Ismena_, I think you would find a better use for these books now."

He nods to Raythor who bows his head and enters the library without so much as a glance at me. I frown, before I realise that I am now to have a guard that I am not in my chambers. I guess that figures, as Phobos likely hasn't scoped me out completely yet and probably doesn't know what I am capable of trying to do when unsupervised.

"Raythor will watch over you," he says to confirm my thoughts. "Amuse yourself to your heart's content, guardian."

The guard beckons that I enter, but as I watch the prince turn to leave and go to whatever business he has, a question rises unbidden to my lips.

"Don't you _want_ an heir?" I ask, remembering the hushed excitement of the audience at the prospect of the prince's child. He would need very little propaganda to rouse his people against the rebels if he only had a child of his lineage for them to fight for.

Phobos stops in his tracks, and slowly turns to face me, a surprised glance in his eye. Whether he is surprised that I am still thinking about this, or whether I have changed my train of thought away from Oritia and onto the idea of a child itself, I can't be sure.

"Of course I want an heir," he replies softly, not taking his eyes from me.

I frown, and open my mouth to protest.

"Then why"-

"Oritia has never mastered any form of magic, nor does she possess any wit or sign of intelligence," he drawls in response, narrowing his eyes in irritation that I have mentioned her again. "She was weak, and that will not stand."

I cross my arms, perhaps to unconsciously protect myself from him and his violent, medieval concepts and take a step back towards the safe, warmth of the library.  
>"Then what will stand?" I ask, unsure whether I really want to know the answer to that.<p>

He tilts his head, a smile of amusement crossing his lips again.

"Power, little guardian," he answers, seemingly pleased that I had asked. "Any heir of mine must have the power to conquer worlds."

It is such a ridiculous thought that I nearly laugh. But it is also a cruel one, for him to already expect so much of a child I hope he will never have.  
>"How do you plan to get that?" I ask with a scowl, narrowing my eyes into a much more critical glare.<p>

His answer makes me more unnerved than ever before.

"Perhaps I already have it."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know if there are any mistakes or the like in here, for it's currently quite rough, and though I've checked it myself, I will have likely missed many things. <strong>

**It was really nice to read some people's theories in the reviews! I'd love to hear about your ideas and opinions about where the story is going! **

**Now, about the news: I am writing a short prequel to this fic. It will be called The Final Word and will be centered around Phobos' time on earth, but I will probably barely cover the actual events in the show as everyone knows about them. I've already made references to it in this chapter, such as The Tale of Ismena and how Will mentions that Phobos recommended it to her. That's about halfway through the prequel (mind you, it probably won't be more than 6 or 7 chapters long to be honest) but it's probably one of the...intimate? scenes I've written for them. **

**And references to The Final Word will probably come up more as this fic progresses. I've had it planned from the start of this fic, and it will just tie up certain things. **

**And that's about it! I hope you will all support the prequel (first chapter is almost publishable) as much as you have supported this fic! **

**Please drop a review if you have the time! Like I said, they really motivate me to keep writing and they really make me very happy :D Thanks for reading! **


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W.I.T.C.H., Adventure, Romance