The Cruel Queen [On Hold]

6| The Fire of Blue

When the Champions didn't move, she said, "Alchemists, from one line, Destroyers, form another." She turned her head to the prisoners, each of their hands cuffed but not tied to the other. A collar at their necks and a leash made of a chain in the hands of their guard.

Sherwood appeared as tired as Amara if not more. Probably from his new schedule and long hours of work. From the punishment he received from the Cruel Queen.

"Remove the chained leashes," she ordered, waving her hand at Sherwood. The other hand found its place underneath her chin.

She glared at Sherwood until he left the room. Cyra could not bear to look at someone who'd committed treason...legally.

She looked at her prey, the poor souls that crossed her, with a gaze that would scare off commoners.

Too bad they weren't commoners. They were prisoners who survived torture.

"Rares," she mused, "you may choose which line you would like to join." A smile that looked nothing like happiness struck her face.

The Cruel Queen looked insane—psychotic. She was enjoying this.

Without giving it much thought, Dara stood in line with the Destroyers and Drayce with the Alchemists.

She'd expected the twins to pick the opposite lines.

She fixed her position, kicking the ends of her silk gown out. The ends of the glorious ivory had already turned brown from the dust that managed to form even with the servants' constant cleaning.

She watched the three Champions of Losej. The prisoners and the general's daughter.

How ironic.

Amara, the first in line for the Alchemists, stepped forward. She set up an example, leading the Alchemists without orders from the queen.

She tried to catch Cyra's eye and give her a smile but to no avail.

Cyra wasn't lying when she said she would treat all Champions equally, no matter her relationships.

Amara's hand flew up, parallel to her face. As she closed her eyes, Cyra could feel the air around her falter.

Amara was a Type Two Alchemist, the type that can combine even the smallest particles invisible to the human eye. And from the way Amara sucked the oxygen out of the room, she was going to do something dangerous.

A high-tier enchantment. Or higher than that.

For a moment, the queen could not draw breath. Neither could the Champions near Amara.

That alone would be enough to neutralize an opponent. Stealing their source of breath.

But the general's daughter had more planned.

An enchantment circle formed around her palm, gradually growing in size. The orange light it emitted stunned even the prisoners.

Seconds later, everything froze. The circle was gone and the air was back.

But then, the fire came.

Red fire bustled in the palm of her hand, fading to orange and soon a deep yellow.

Fire, a God-Tier enchantment.

The fire wrapped around her hand.

A flicker of blue flame came—the hottest and most dangerous color. Any blue magic would be able to kill anything.

Blue was power.

The blue, life-taking fire stayed for only a moment and vanished alongside the rest of the flames.

Pretending that the spell hadn't shut down on its own, Amara bowed and went to the back of the Alchemist's line.

Standing behind the male prisoner, she studied the collar around his neck.

A brilliant thing enchanted with alchemy, engraved with the sigil of the Grand Alchemists. It had been her dream to join them, but she'd failed the entrance exam three years ago.

The sigil, a reminder of her failure, threatened the water in her eyes to fall. She longed for a second chance.

But the Grand Alchemists do not deal second chances.

He turned to face her. "What are you looking at?"

She rolled her eyes, all feeling went from her face. Replaced with apathy. "At what's in front of me."

Scowling at her, he turned around and watched the Destroyer perform an enchantment.

He had no idea what was happening. He could only put on a facade of comprehension. What he knew of anything magic-related was what the guards gossiped about.

The Royal Grimoire, a spell-book.

Enchantments, magic spells that were limited by the law.

The Cruel Queen—the Cruelest Queen.

The guards' statements regarding the queen's deeds always seemed fake. Surely, there was no way the queen would torture her prisoners herself.

But after seeing the punishment she placed upon Sherwood, it seemed like reality had finally hit him. Hard.

Drayce's eyes fell on the queen just like his thoughts.

Her face was scrunched up by disgust and her eyes curtained by boredom.

Wondering why, he searched the room to see what upset her now.

It was the Destroyer who'd failed his enchantment.

Drayce chuckled at the Destroyer's adrift hair, half of it much shorter than the rest. A consequence of his failure.

The next Alchemist presented her enchantment.

As time passed, Drayce's body itched. He wanted to do something. Watching the Champions do things he could never dream of was boring.

Feeling an itch at his neck, he reached to scratch it.

The metal cuff of his wrist touched the collar, and pain flooded his body.

His body burned—stung—melted.

But not enough to make him make a noise. Just enough to earn a wince.

It was nothing compared to the torture—the whips in the Immortal Zone.

His hand returned to his side, but his neck danced around trying to get rid of the itch.

***
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Word Count: 1512