The following morning arrived beneath grey skies and a persistent drizzle that seemed determined to linger over Reinstle.
Arthur had been awake long before dawn. He stood beside the window of his chambers, watching the rain trace crooked paths across the glass.
A knock echoed through the room.
"Enter."
The door opened and Alfred stepped inside.
The elderly butler looked as immaculate as always. Not a crease disturbed his suit, nor had a single silver strand escaped its proper place. Arthur had seen generals look less composed before battles.
"Good morning, Your Grace."
Arthur glanced toward the rain.
"I suspect the weather disagrees."
Alfred followed his gaze.
"It has been expressing its opinion since sunrise."
Arthur almost smiled.
"Has Lord Vladis arrived?"
"He arrived fifteen minutes ago."
"And?"
"He has already frightened three servants, argued with the chef, and requested breakfast twice."
Arthur nodded.
"So a normal morning."
"Entirely."
Alfred paused.
"Shall I send him in?"
Arthur considered it.
"Tell him to meet me in the east corridor."
"As you wish, Your Grace."
Moments later Arthur left his chambers.
The manor bustled with its usual rhythm. Servants moved between hallways, fireplaces crackled softly in distant rooms, and somewhere far below, a clock announced the hour.
Vladis was already waiting when Arthur arrived.
He stood beside a tall window overlooking the eastern gardens with his hands clasped behind his back.
The moment he spotted Arthur, a grin appeared.
"Lord."
"Vladis."
"You look terrible."
"So I've been told."
"By whom?"
"Everyone."
"Excellent. Consistency is important."
Together they continued through the corridor.
How many years had they known each other?
Long enough that neither bothered counting.
They had grown up together inside Reinstle. They had survived impossible tutors, impossible lessons, and several perfectly reasonable disasters that became unreasonable the moment Arthur became involved.
Some relationships changed with age.
Theirs had not.
At least not in any meaningful way.
Vladis still worried too much.
Arthur still ignored good advice.
Both considered this entirely normal.
"You are thinking again," Vladis observed.
"A dangerous accusation."
"A fair one."
"I disagree."
"You always do."
"That is because I am usually correct."
"Of course you are, Your Grace."
Arthur nodded.
"I appreciate your honesty."
"You appreciate being agreed with."
"Also true."
They descended a staircase and entered the oldest section of the castle.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
The polished corridors disappeared.
Stone replaced wood.
The air grew colder.
The laughter and conversation of the upper floors faded into silence.
Few people came here willingly.
Fewer left with pleasant memories.
The Black Wing occupied the oldest foundations of Reinstle Castle. Long before Arthur's family inherited the estate, the underground structure had served as a prison for dangerous conspirators, and anyone powerful enough to make royalty nervous.
Iron lamps flickered behind protective cages fixed to the ancient stone walls, their golden glow doing little to challenge the darkness that lingered between the corridors. Water dripped somewhere in the depths below, each drop echoing endlessly through the prison like a slow ticking clock. Arthur and Vladis moved in silence, passing through three heavy gates before arriving at the fourth. The wardens stationed there stepped aside immediately, saluting as they did so. No orders were given. No questions were asked. Experience had taught them that when the Duke of Reinstle descended into the dungeons personally, something serious had already happened.
The final iron door swung inward with all the enthusiasm.
Arthur entered first.
Vladis followed reluctantly, his expression growing more skeptical with every step.
"Remind me why we're here?"
"You asked for updates."
"I asked for sensible updates."
Arthur's gaze drifted toward him.
The final cell stood deep within the Black Wing.
Unlike every other chamber, five separate containment arrays had been carved into the surrounding stone.
Silver chains stretched between the walls.
Protective sigils glowed faintly beneath the floor.
Everything about the room suggested one simple truth.
Someone dangerous lived here.
Inside sat a woman.
She occupied the center of the chamber with an ease that made the restraints surrounding her seem almost ridiculous. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders and cascaded down her back like a dark river. Her hands rested lightly upon her lap, and despite the cold stone floor beneath her, she held herself with the effortless composure of nobility.
At first glance she appeared no older than thirty.
At second glance, she appeared older than memory itself.
There was something deeply unsettling about her features. Not because they were unpleasant, but because they were strikingly beautiful. Her pale complexion and refined features belonged more naturally in a royal portrait than inside a prison cell buried beneath a castle. Every movement carried a strange elegance, as though she had never truly accepted the idea that the cell belonged to her.
When her eyes opened and settled upon Arthur, a slow smile touched her lips.
Arthur disliked that smile immediately.
It reminded him far too much of family.
"Arthur," she said softly.
Her voice flowed through the chamber like warm honey, gentle and welcoming in exactly the way a venomous serpent might be welcoming.
"I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."
Arthur folded his arms and regarded her with complete indifference.
"Good afternoon, Aunt."
Lady Vladella placed a hand dramatically against her chest.
"So formal after all these years."
"We have had several unpleasant conversations."
"You imprisoned me."
"You attempted treason."
"Allegedly."
"You confessed."
Vladella tilted her head.
"Details."
Beside him, Vladis had quietly increased the distance between himself and the bars. Years of experience had taught him that conversations between Arthur and his aunt possessed an alarming tendency to become dangerous without warning. Neither participant ever raised their voice, which somehow made the exchanges considerably more threatening.
Vladella's gaze drifted toward him.
"Lord Vladis. How wonderful to see you again."
The councilman offered a polite smile.
"I cannot say the feeling is mutual."
She laughed softly, "Still charming, I see."
"And you are still imprisoned."
A brief silence followed.
Then, to Vladis' surprise, Vladella smiled even wider.
"You still dislike me?" She smiling asked Arthur.
"I work very hard at it."
"Excellent."
For several seconds, she simply watched Arthur from behind the bars, the faint smile lingering upon her lips. Then, almost imperceptibly, the expression changed. The warmth did not vanish entirely, but something quieter replaced it, something thoughtful. Arthur noticed the shift immediately. She had stopped looking at him and had begun studying him instead, examining him with the careful attention of someone who had discovered an unexpected detail within a long-forgotten painting.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What exactly is interesting?"
The smile returned, though not in the way it had before. It spread slowly across her face, carrying with it a hint of amusement that immediately put Arthur on guard.
"Something has changed in you."
"You've seen something. Am I right?" she chuckled.
The words settled heavily in the chamber.
The temperature seemed to drop.
Arthur's expression remained perfectly composed, but Vladis, who had known him most of his life, noticed the faint tension in his shoulders immediately. Vladella noticed it as well.
Her smile widened.
"Oh," she said softly, almost to herself. "That is fascinating."
Arthur's voice, when it came, was calm enough to be dangerous.
"How do you know that?"
Vladella ignored the question entirely.
Instead, she rose from the narrow cot and approached the containment bars. Ancient runes etched into the floor beneath her feet. The iron restraints lining the walls hummed softly in response to her presence.
"I wondered when it would return," she said.
Vladis stepped forward.
"Return?"
For the first time since they had entered the prison, the amusement faded from Vladella's face.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. More careful.
"The visions."
Neither man moved.
"You lost them when your mother died."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"Answer the question."
Vladella met his gaze without hesitation. For a long moment, neither looked away. The silence that followed felt heavier than the stone walls surrounding them.
She smiled again.
Not with amusement.
Not with mockery.
But with the weary sadness of someone remembering a tragedy long buried.
"Because," she said softly, "the same thing happened to her."
The heavy doors of the Black Wing groaned shut behind Arthur and Vladis. Their footsteps gradually faded into the upper corridors until only the dim glow of retreating lanterns remained, swallowed little by little by the prison's endless darkness.
Silence reclaimed the chamber.
For a long while, nothing moved.
Lady Vladella remained seated upon the narrow cot, her eyes closed and her hands folded loosely within her lap. The playful smile she had worn throughout their visit slowly disappeared, leaving behind an expression far older and far more fragile than either man had seen.
A tear slid silently down her cheek.
Then another.
And another.
There were no spectators now. No guards lingered beyond the bars. No audience remained to witness the performance of the infamous witch of Reinstle.
The grief was real.
Pain twisted across her features as she lowered her head. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the cot until the aged wood creaked beneath the pressure. A strained breath escaped her lips, followed by another, each sounding more difficult than the last.
It looked less like mourning and more like endurance.
As though she had spent years carrying a wound that should have killed her long ago.
The prison remained still.
Only the faint hum of the containment runes disturbed the silence.
Eventually her lips parted.
"Gwen Keins."
The name emerged like a curse.
A shadow passed across her face.
"I will make you suffer."
Her voice trembled.
Not with fear.
With hatred.
"The years have done nothing."
Another tear slipped free.
"The pain remains."
The runes carved into the stone floor brightened faintly, responding to emotions older than the prison itself. The air around her seemed to stir, carrying a pressure that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with memory.
"You took everything."
Her hands clenched.
"And one day, I will make certain you understand what that means."
The hatred slowly faded.
Something colder replaced it.
Something patient.
Something terrible.
Something that had survived the passage of decades.
"You just wait, Gwen."
A faint sigh echoed somewhere within the darkness.
Or perhaps it had not come from Vladella at all.
The shadows shifted.
The prison fell silent once more.
Far above the chamber, hidden amongst the ancient stone beams supporting the ceiling, a grey cat lay sprawled lazily in the darkness.
Amber eyes observed everything.