His eyes slide slowly over me as I keep my lips tightly sealed. Unfortunately for him, the person he knows isn't sitting in front of him.

'No word from your friends?' I don't even shake my head. My expression as lifeless as my so-called "friends."

The grin on Christiaan's lips keeps growing as if he's winning the game that this one-sided conversation represents.

'The black witch. That's what they call you now? A veiled name for a murderer, thief, and above all, a whore. Too bad there wasn't enough blood in Walmoet's body to speak, or to breathe. I would have liked to hear if 'you're finally better in bed.' He takes a step back again.

'You know it's forbidden to marry two men at once, don't you? Let's see what Daddy has to say about that, shall we? Guards.' As the words leave his mouth, two guards enter my field of view and the tortured man's screams stop.

Christian takes a few steps back before the blue-armored men open the door to my cell.

I lie still on the ground as the black heavy shoes enter my cell and remove the chain from my wrists. They pull me upright by the handcuffs. My cramped legs struggle to stand upright. The wet skirt of my dress sticks to my bare skin.

'You have looked better,' Christiaan laughs as I'm pushed past him into the dungeon. The cold, pointed stones under my feet, the staring eyes of the rotting prisoners, and Christian's triumphant grin. I should feel no more than a pig going to the slaughterhouse.

But what these men seem to forget or miss is that this pig possesses more magic than before. A combination of the magic of all the killing and the knowledge of combat techniques makes me much deadlier than the 19-year-old of the past.

There are two things that give me the power I lacked before; knowledge and the lack of fear of losing something.

I've lost everything I used to fight for. Rave is dead, the night riders are dead, my secret is revealed, Novak hates me, and Elien has become my father's target. I have nothing to lose, except my own life.

I'm pushed to the end of the hallway, to the chariot. The pink inset stone in the wall is the only way out of this coffin.

When the dungeons were built, my grandfather didn't want an opening for escape. Prisoners have a spell on them that makes the chariot refuse to teleport them. Without removing that spell or having a physical connection with an authorized person, it's impossible to leave these corridors.

Christian is the first to put his hand on the pink stone before disappearing from the hallway. The two guards hold my wrists and place their hands on the chariot at the same time. A dark pink color takes over my vision for a millisecond before we stand in the right tower of the castle.

This rat hole will always give me chills. The cold, the darkness, and even the subtle sound of the wind along the high tower immediately lock up my body. The only advantage over the dungeons is the warmth. For the first time in hours, my body stops shaking.

I have little time to see if they've changed the room in the past few years. Christian opens the steel door and walks ahead of me and the guards into the familiar long corridors of the castle.

I remember these corridors as cold and impersonal. I don't know how, but my father has managed to make them even colder. There is even less decoration than before, and the little that is there is black or dark blue. The dark blue curtains give a little atmosphere to the otherwise empty corridors. The once wooden doors are now dark blue and have black nameplates. The number of weapons on the wall suggests that it has become a military base.

Even the servants' clothing is darker. The gray-blue dresses have no decoration except for the black ribbon around the waist. The hood covers the little personality the ladies still possess. If I manage to discern a face under the hood, the pained faces look at me in surprise for a second before bowing deeply to Christiaan. The wolf and the sheep.

I know the way the guards show me. Down the four long flights of stairs, through eight doors to finally walk through the last five corridors.

The closer we get to the main hall, the more pained faces look at me in surprise. At the first encounter with a dawn member, I see a grin appear before he bows to Christiaan. Laughter follows behind us.

Upon our arrival at the large black doors, the two guards open the gates to hell without hesitation. My imprisonment is clearly the most interesting thing to happen in ages. As we enter the main hall, dozens of magicians fall silent.

The entire dawn stands in two rows before the raised dais with the throne and looks at me with a grin. Their wives stand at the back of the rows with their hands folded behind their backs.

High-ranking women used to have a certain personality thanks to their free choice of clothing. By now, that personality has also been taken away from them. While the dawn members all wear dark blue suits, the women wear dresses in the same color. Each the exact same model with a tight bodice and flared skirt. Only decorated with black embroidery at the end of the skirt, sleeves, and neckline. Finished with a black ribbon around the waist.

I don't hesitate for a moment before turning my gaze to the throne. The black-haired man looks with a grin in his daughter's direction. The black suit, with a long black cloak full of dark blue embroidery and silver stones, fits tightly around his body. The end of the cloak lies neatly on the ground without the black shoes touching the fabric. The silver crown stands stately on his head.

In the corner of my eye, I see Elien sitting on the first step of the dais like a dog. The black hood of the cloak, unadorned, covers his black hair and part of his eyes. What is hidden under that cloak is not visible. Only the large black shoes and here and there the pockets of the army pants.

In dead silence, I am pushed towards my father as dozens of eyes follow me closely.

Before anything is said, I am pushed hard to my knees by the handcuffs. I lose my balance, fall forward, and am pulled up just before my forehead hits the ground. My hair hangs in damp strands in front of my face, my bare lower legs on the ground, and the wet torn fabric of the black dress lying beside me.

Yet I look without hesitation straight into my father's brown eyes. The man unabashedly lets his eyes wander over his daughter before bursting out laughing. The resounding sound echoes through the high, black hall.

Christiaan walks past me in silence to the dais, bows to his king, and takes his place on the empty black chair next to the throne.

'Men, behold, the last night rider,' the king laughs through the hall. Immediately, all the sheep laugh just as hard as their shepherd. With a finger in the air, the hall falls silent as quickly as the laughter began.

'I had at least expected that you wouldn't be so foolish anymore,' he says condescendingly as he rises from his throne. All the sheep immediately bow their knees, waiting for the signal to rise.

'Look at yourself, sitting here with not a shred of that oh-so-mighty night rider left. No dragon, no magic, and no friends to protect you.' What he says passes me by like the wind that blows past the towers.

The feeling of being a night rider was taken from me when I let go of Rave. The original magic disappeared long ago. All that remains is the bloodline I carry, the chance of a new generation, and the shield of the life lines.

'That blood of yours, is it still black without your magic?' he asks with a grin as he steps down the first step. He puts his hand on Elien's shoulder, who is looking down, towering over the boy.

'Elien, show me.' The dog stands up from the step without saying a word and walks towards me. Yet I do not look away from my father's gaze. In my peripheral vision, I see my brother walking towards me. The hood almost obscures his whole face, but the small line that is visible shows the doubt and guilt in the black eyes.

Elien seems to hesitate for a moment, standing still in front of me, before I receive a fist to my right cheek. My head turns to the right before I receive another blow, this time to the side of my nose. On the fourth blow, I hear my nose crack before a very sharp pain shoots through my face. It doesn't take long for black blood to run down my nose onto the black floor.

That is the signal for Elien to stop hitting and stand dead still in front of me. My gaze slides over my brother, who looks at me guiltily with his big black eyes, before I catch my father's gaze again.

'Looks like it,' he concludes upon seeing my bleeding nose.

The unmistakable grin of Christiaan reaches his ears. My father also visibly enjoys the spectacle. Sometimes it surprises me how much the two men resemble each other. It was already visible, but with the years it cannot be missed. The dark eyes of the king are fixed on me. He takes the final step of the elevation as Christiaan crosses one leg over the other.

'You are convicted of your crimes against the crown and the people. You will pay for all the lives you have taken and polluted. I hereby sentence you to death by starvation.' The surprise on Christiaan's face tells me that I am not the only one who was prepared for the worst. Maybe there is a glimmer of love in my father's heart somewhere. However, Christiaan has other plans.

'Your Highness.' The man stands up, takes a step towards the king, and bows.

'If I may be so bold. Starvation in the dungeons is a fantastic choice, but perhaps it is wise to consider a public execution. There are heretics who doubt your way of ruling and believe that the night rider's magic is justified. As much as we want to forget, the night rider was a part of the royal family before her betrayal. A public execution shows your power. Given the night rider's charges, a severe punishment is appropriate. Crucifixion, flaying, or burning at the stake. It will keep the people in line.' The snake's tongue has become sharper with the years. Sliding through the corridors, around every corner, to eventually attack from behind.

My father turns to his advisor, lets the information sink in, and nods slowly. The brown eyes look at me from under the black lashes before Christiaan returns to his seat.

'The black witch was your nickname? A witch deserves a proper execution. In exactly one week you will be burned at the stake in front of the people.' The few breathless dawn members give me a glimmer of hope in the rottenness of these mages. However, that spark is quickly extinguished as soon as a loud clap erupts in the hall.

Christiaan's grin is one I'd like to burn off his lips.

While my father receives the loud applause for his black throne, I keep looking straight at the man. I see him send a grin my way before the two guards lift me off the floor by my wrists. Without saying a word, the men turn me around and push me towards the exit.

There are many men in this room that I vaguely recognize. Neither do the women, except for one. Diana looks at me with her head raised, her brown hair neatly combed and hands behind her blue dress. The faint grin is hard to miss. I've often blamed myself for Nora's death, but there's only one woman who's actually responsible.

The look I send Diana as soon as I'm pushed past her makes the grin disappear from her face. It's a promise, a promise for the near future and one I will never forget.