CHAPTER VI

A BATTLE HAD erupted at the northern frontier.

The capitol flared up with panic.

Healers were being transported.

Weapons were being conveyed.

Hearts were pounding. Hearts were stopping. Blood was spilt.

“Stick to the plan,” Regulus mumbled as he walked abruptly with his traveling cloak and Arabella right behind him.

“Stop treating me like a fool,” Arabella retorted, checking that her knives were strapped onto her.

She presented her arm in front of them, a suggestion to Disapparation. He glanced at it and back at her, then vanished into thin air. She rolled her eyes and Disapparated herself.

She showed up in a tent. Right away, she began casting a number of Protection Charms on it. There was not much she could do there, their plan had been that she stayed in the tent and helped around with the Healers and generals, and that Regulus joined the bloodbath.

The battle was long and bloody. In the end, many men were lost, but the enemies retreated.

———

“YOUR HIGHNESS,” SAID one of the generals, “we have terrible news.” He was pale, holding his hat in his trembling hands, but Regulus did not move, as though he already knew what was going to be said. “Your highness, it is . . . it is your mother . . .”

It became still and silent, all eyes on Regulus. He did not move or said a word, and his expression was not mournful, not anything, in fact, it was just still. He had not even blinked.

“She has—”

“I know.” His tone sliced like a frigid blade, but it did not seem in a bitter way, just in an irritated way.

The general slightly bowed his head. “It was the Killing Curse.”

Dead silence, as Regulus’s eyes penetrated the general’s with a stone cold expression. One would await for him to cry or weep or tear up or mourn, but he did none of those.

“Are you waiting for someone to escort you out the door?” said Regulus after a long moment.

“No,” the general sputtered, “Your Highness. I will depart now.”

When it was just Arabella and Regulus alone, he glanced towards her questioning expression, but did not say a single word.

“Who do you think—?”

“I do not know.” He was swiftly walking away.

“Do you not want to know?” she asked as she followed him.

“When did I ever say that?”

Arabella struggled to keep up with his pace as they walked down the dark and lonely corridors of the palace, their footsteps echoing against the marble in the large vastness.

“Well, you seemed quite unfazed when the general informed you.”

“That is because I did not know how to react,” he chided.

“You did not know how to react? Are you serious? Your mother just died!”

Regulus did not pause a single second. “She never really treated me like a mother,” he answered, jaw clenched.

“Is this how you were when your father passed away too?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” he said, and stopped, turning to her so abruptly she nearly fell onto him. “Why are you so concerned anyway? My mother was not a great mother, nor a great queen, nor a great woman—and you know it. After all, look what she did to you,” he said as he seized her arm in one hand and pointed at the scar. “Whoever murdered her chose the right person to kill.”

Arabella’s eyes had grown wide as she looked up at him, almost afraid of him. Her arm ached where he was grasping her so tightly. She searched for something in his malevolent eyes—something human.

“It was you.” It was scarcely a whisper, her voice hoarse and out of breath. She said it with fear and disbelief.

Regulus released her arm and walked away again. “You are accusing me of murder, now?” he said in a low, husky tone, but did not seem offended.

The pieces of the puzzle united in her mind. “It makes sense!” she said, her heart pounding faster and harder than ever. “You were the only person she saw today besides the elves who cannot even use a wand . . . It was you! You murdered your own mother!” Arabella began to panic, thinking of all the horrid outcomes that could possibly occur. The king she was married to was a murderer.

Regulus spun around and placed his hand over her lips, the warmth and contact of his skin startled her, her heart leapt. “I did it for the greater good,” he said quietly through gritted teeth, his face so close to hers. She took his hand off her lips. His eyes flickered towards her scar. “She will never hurt you again.”

Arabella’s cheeks reddened and looked away from his blazing gaze. It warmed her to think that Regulus had killed someone for her, because someone had hurt her more than him.

But then perhaps she was mistaken. Regulus would never kill for someone else. He was too selfish, narcissistic, and egotistical, she reminded herself. Especially her of all people, because of his hatred towards her.

“We must never speak of this again,” he whispered, and she nodded. Regulus did not know why, but for once he believed her. He trusted she would not tell a single soul, even if he knew she loathed him every second of every day, and, with just a few uttered words, could ruin his life. She could have him arrested, executed even, but she will not.

———

FORMER QUEEN WALBURGA Black assassinated during the Battle of Blood, read the first page of the Daily Prophet.

The days had become somber and gloomy. After Walburga’s death, the palace seemed much more desolate and quiet. Walburga had been the only one who ever invited guests over, but now, the only ones wandering around the large palace were the lonely souls of Arabella and Regulus, with some house elves here and there, cleaning or cooking, but many had been set free, for there was no need of so many house elves around. Very rarely, some noble would come to pay their respects for a few minutes.

Regulus paused as he was walking past the bedroom. The door left a crack open, and he peered inside where Arabella stood in front of a mirror with a long black gown. The sleeves reached her pale wrists and the neckline reached up her neck, just under her chin. Her long, ebony black hair swayed down her back with large waves. Regulus slowly walked into the bedroom, looking for something in his wardrobe, but keeping his eyes on her. She was struggling with her corset, cheeks flushed and lips parted.

Of course he was not going to offer to help, but when she asked, he did not decline like she had expected him to. Instead, he smirked at himself. He stood behind her, looking at her in the mirror. He moved her hair to the side, sending shocks up the back of her neck. She never understood why her senses always intensified when he was in close proximity, now it seemed awfully silent. His fingers moving her hair, the floorboards creaking under their feet, their slow, soft breaths—so loud in her ears. He wrapped his fingers around the black strings of the corset, and began pulling.

“Is that good?” he asked, his voice soft and quiet.

“No,” she answered, just as quiet, “tighter.”

The warmth from his strong hands on her waist diffused throughout the surface of her skin. His breath on the back of her neck caused goosebumps to rise. He was about to tie the string.

“Pull harder,” she said, and so he pulled until she could hardly breath. “There, that is good,” she whispered.

His fingers lingered on her waist for a few seconds after he was done.

Arabella did not want to admit it to herself, but she liked the way Regulus looked dressed in black from head to toe.

She put her long waves in a low bun, and covered her small hands with black, laced gloves, then placed the ring over the top. She never wore the ring, she only ever did if she was leaving the grounds of the palace.