Two hours later, they'd cut off nearly a foot of her hair.

She wished it'd been an exaggeration, but the hair that had once flowed past her hips reached only the middle of her back. Her head felt light in an unsettling way.

Her wrists felt light too, free of handcuffs for the first time in an eternity. She held on to that brief, fleeting moment of freedom as guards led her to the throne room.

"The King requests an audience with the girl." A guard had told the servant girls in charge of making her look presentable. She'd seen this coming, but the words made Zerlinda feel as though the ground was slipping out from beneath her feet.

She couldn't let them hurt her. She couldn't let them break through every defense she'd put on after years of being hurt over and over again by life trying to trip her up.

So why, why did the mention of The King on its own make her feel so fragile? What would happen when she'd be forced to address him, to act the part life had dealt her as the slave to her father's murderer?

God only knew what he'd make her do. Her hands trembled at her side. She forced them still despite the empty feeling at the pit of her stomach.

The throne room was unlike anything Zerlinda had ever seen, and she hated herself for the awe overwhelming her. She walked along floors of cold marble and gazed up at a ceiling adorned with hundreds upon hundreds of colors.

Sunlight flooded the room through large, arched windows, kissing everything it touched with a glisten of light.

On a dais at the center of the room stood the king's throne. Like the castle itself, it was carved out of white stone, crested by several fine jewels and other materials.

She couldn't look at that throne without being reminded that King Magellan's entire reign was built on the backs of Nerissa's people. That his very throne was bathed in the blood of those who had died in their attempts to save themselves in futile, futile uprisings.

The dead, empty eyes of the man hanging next to where she should have been hanging flashed through her mind like a ghost.

She lifted her head and met King Magellan's stormy eyes. Her own gaze did not falter.

If looks could kill, Zerlinda wasn't sure either one of them would have walked out of that throne room alive. He seemed to drain all colour from around him, darkening everything he touched as though life itself bent itself to his will.

But through it all, he looked like... a man. None of the otherworldly grandness conveyed in portraits translated to real life. His skin was as golden as hers, even though he had likely never set foot outside. He had a head of hair as full as his beard. Both were a brown so deep it could have once been mistaken for a black darker than ink. His hair began graying with age, a sure sign he was only as mortal as all people were, and that the flow of time could be stopped by no one.

But his eyes. Framed by long, dark lashes, they stood out as emeralds given life. And when light flitted through those eyes, they looked as though they could stare deep within her soul. Her stomach dropped, but still, she couldn't look away from the green of those eyes. They were the kind of green lying between sky and grass -or perhaps even the of green of life regrowing after an unforgiving winter razed through lively lands.

He held himself with impeccable posture, an air of superiority in his face. That alone snapped her out of the trance befallen her.

"Kneel before the king." A guard whose presence she'd barely noticed barked behind her. She scoffed before logical sense could catch up to her. Because, slave as she might be, she felt bad for the lowly guard who had the audacity to think he could so much as command her.

In truth, those guards were nothing but slaves to the idea of serving the just King who existed nowhere but in their minds.

She whirled around to the man who'd spoken. "I kneel before no one." Despite the joyless, sarcastic smile she gave, her eyes like stone. The guard stepped forward and opened his mouth to retort something.

He paused before a word could leave his lips. She raised a brow, then threw a look over her shoulder.

To Magellan, raising up a hand in warning of what would happen should the guard not step down.

And so, the guard did. Not a spark of magic, and yet the slightest gesture from Nerissa's King commanded his every breath. Zerlinda was torn between anger, shock, and awe.

That wasn't quite true. There was a flame of fury lit deep within, going from a spark to a blazing fire within seconds.

She embraced that fury, because it at least let her believe that the fear beating in her heart was only an illusion caused by nerves.

"No one, you say?" Magellan spoke slowly, as though he thought her too dumb to understand him otherwise. But she understood him loud and clear. It was a bold move, but she took a step forward.

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a gleam of pride on those green eyes.

"Which God do you worship? Zeus? Aphrodite?" He asked, resting his head in his palm. She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off.

"What about Hades? Would you not kneel for Him?" A smirk unfurled on his face, wicked as the night. Something snapped in her. So he'd heard the rumors of her fool's bargain with the King of the Underworld. He knew who ⁠- what ⁠- she was. What she'd done in the name of Hades.

He didn't know why she'd done it, though. He'd never find it out. And if he did, he wouldn't believe her.

The least she could do now was cut down the lies he'd believed about her.

"Allow me to make one thing clear, your Majesty." A distant voice in her head warned her of disrespecting The King. She ignored it. "For as long as my soul remains in this world, I will worship none of The Old Gods. Not Zeus, not Aphrodite, and especially not Hades." Each word came out cold, calculated, and nearly as slowly as he'd dared to address her.

And perhaps for once in her life, not one of her words had been a lie. Her father had been Khalerian, and the people of Khaleris knew better than to worship statues and legends grounded in lies. As Hades's servant, she knew that better than anyone else.

"Blasphemy."Someone whispered by her side. She paid him no attention.

By the strange look on Magellan's face, it was clear he hadn't expected such an answer. He could kill her for this as he'd likely killed her father before her, and no one would bat an eye. At least, she wouldn't go down a spineless, lying fool.

Silence had fallen over the throne room. Zerlinda's gaze slid to the silver-haired woman seated by Magellan's side. His wife - Lady Sybil Rhea. Her red dress - a perfect match to Magellan's own robes - pooled like blood around her, on the backless sofa she sat on.

Not a throne, because, like all the wives of Kings before her, Sybil was no Queen.

Queen or no, Sybil's eyes, amber as molted gold, were fixed on her. And where The King looked shocked, she looked curious - interested, even.

The moment only lasted half a second, yet it felt infinitely longer before Sybil's gaze turned to the ground.

Magellan looked her up and down. She was immediately reminded of the disturbing, stomach-churning looks drunken old fools had given her after the alcohol fooled their minds into thinking they could have her. She had plenty of experience with those men. Nearly all of them had wound up with a knife to the gut - assuming she hadn't already gone for the throat -after they'd gotten too touchy.

Only, this wasn't one of those looks. This was shock, intermingled with concern and pity.

She didn't deserve any pity.

The King rested his hand in his palm. "How old are you?" He asked.

"Three months from eighteen." She answered.

"Only seventeen?" He laughed a wry sound. "So young. And yet, in only three years, you've killed hundreds of my people." He mused aloud.

She paused for a moment, the number he'd cited seeping deep into her blood. Hundreds of lives she'd given Hades in exchange for her sister's life, if not to whomever could pay her the highest price. Hundreds of lives she'd torn apart, all so her family could live to the next day.

She tested that number on her tongue, but it didn't make the horrors she'd committed feel any more real.

"You are a force to be reckoned with, Zerlinda Archaren." He breathed out.

She blinked.

He leaned forward in his throne. "I've heard much about you. Of your bargain with Hades. Of the otherworldly power it gave you." She wanted to correct him. The ability to hear, to feel people and their presence was hardly wonderful. As for the dark magic looming just beneath her skin -her foolish bargain had only turned her into a vessel for Hades's destructive power.

And yet, because he'd piqued her interest, she kept her mouth shut.

The way he drawled the next words was proof he knew this. "I want to offer you a bargain of my own...if you'll hear it, that is."

"Rumor has it that a rebellion is on the rise, and that some of my own men are plotting my downfall at this very moment."

She raised a brow, as though she hadn't already heard. But if those efforts had reached The King's ears, perhaps the man to be hung at her side had been correct in promising they'd stood a chance.

That thought changed everything.

Especially what he'd ask of her, and why he'd made an assassin a slave.

"Prevent assassination. No matter the cost, even if it involves killing another. And ensure nobody knows of your true reason for being in this castle."

The thought of death made the darkness of the Brand rise up, as though it would break the surface.

"What's in it for me?" The price he'd paid to acquire her showed he was generous in his rewards. He'd have to do more if he truly intended to keep her. Only desperate men sought her out, and if she knew one thing, it was that the desperate paid very, very well.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Accept my offer, Zerlinda, and you will be granted protection, food, and a place to stay in this palace. You would be treated as though you were my own."

He was playing his cards well. Should she take his deal, he'd be arming himself with one of the country's deadliest assassins. But it wouldn't be only that. By taking her in, he'd convince more than a few people that he had, at the very least, a spark of kindness within, if not a heart.

The Rebellion wouldn't be convinced so easily, and neither would she.

But this was a chance she had never, in her wildest dreams, hoped of receiving. For a moment, she dared to consider the possibilities it might imply.

To never again run, or be forced to steal her next meal.

To never again worry her family wouldn't survive the month.

To never again have to hide from the people all too eager to see her fall.

It was almost too beautiful a thought to be true. "The sum of money I'd give you certainly wouldn't hurt either." He added as an after-thought.

"How much?" She'd said it too fast, but she was far past caring.

"The same sum you were purchased for. Per kill."

Her eyes went wide.

She'd been fooled by money once and had never returned from it. But this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"And if I were to..." She hesitated, searching for the right words, "Refuse the offer?"

He smiled, but it was entirely joyless. A chill skittered down her spine.

"I'll take back the pardon generously offered to you at the gallows, and you'll be burned at the stake for the usage of witchcraft."

Her heart raced. Fear pounded at her head. How had she ever believed The King would so easily let her have the upper hand? She was trapped, the chains a phantom weight at her wrists. Within seconds, she was transported back in Andana, the noose tight at her neck. The snap of bones sounded as the lever was pulled. The dead eyes of the men and women staring back at her as she walked to what would have been freedom.

But freedom didn't exist. Not in Nerissa.

She had only two options. Serve the man who had gotten her father killed, or wind up killed herself.

There was, and had only ever been one true option. But if he was truly desperate enough, she'd take more from him.

"I have a request to make of you." Zerlinda started, though she knew it wasn't one he could ever make reality.

"You may speak." He said with a gesture of the hand.

At that moment, the light shone on the golden crown atop his head. A reminder of what she brought down on her.

She took a deep breath. "If I accept this offer of yours, I want all of the privileges you bless me with extended to my younger sister." She said, straining to keep her voice steady. To push away the tears forming at her eyes.

In truth, it was merely a distraction. Regardless of the crown atop his head, no man could ever bring back the dead.

Except she wouldn't remind him of that.

His eyes went wide, but she cut him off before he could begin.

"And I want trained healers nearby at all times, should anything happen to her."

The silence grew thick around them as The King considered.

"How old is this...sister of yours?" He asked.

"Sixteen a few months." Every answer was quick, clipped. She wouldn't give any information he didn't ask for, lest he find holes in her lie.

"Where?"

"West of Eldoris. A few miles from the sea." Or she would have been, had she woken up from that bloody night, nearly a week ago.

The King paused for a heartbeat, lost in thought.

"You drive a hard bargain, Zerlinda Archaren." He whispered her name like a curse. She could only pretend the fear didn't have her heart pounding like thunder in a storm.

"I ask only for my sister to live in the same conditions as I, as she always has." She retorted.

He gazed down, lips pressed in a thin line.

"You wouldn't want to separate me from my only true family, would you?" She added on. If he accepted and began the search, she'd at the very least have a few days to think of a way out of his bargain.

One which didn't involve her own death, no matter how much she might deserve it.

Or to escape from the palace, should it come down to that.

His gaze lifted to meet hers with the full force of smoky green eyes. Time slowed down as she waited for his answer. Her entire world and life narrowed down to this decision.

"If that is what you demand in order to accept my bargain, Zerlinda, then I believe we have a deal." He smirked, a cruel light set aflame in those eyes.

Her gaze flitted to the woman seated by his side. At Lady Sybil's eyes, wide with shock.

Fear.

She couldn't let either of them know of the cold fear she too was filled with.

So she mirrored The King's gesture, ignoring the sickness coiling in her stomach like poison. "We indeed do, Your Majesty."

-

Wow, look at me posting so many chapters in one day! I'm officially putting this story into the Watty Awards, and I can only hope it gets anywhere. Let me know if you liked this chapter by commenting and voting.