It was in the year 582 of the Calendar of Light that the good queen of Valora fell.

At the time, Valora was in an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity, one enabled by providence of the Goddess of Light. The people of the kingdom lived long, happy lives, the crops were fruitful, poverty was nearly non-existent, and tolerance and diversity were the ideals that all held sacred.

Much of this was enabled by the beloved representative of the Valoran people, Queen Melody, or, as she was known to her close friends and loved ones, Mel. The daughter of simple carrot farmers in a hamlet on the edge of the kingdom, Mel had been in training as a healer in her youth. It was four months before Mel’s 22nd birthday that the late Queen Heather had succumbed to elder age, leaving a vacancy on the throne.

And not 48 hours later did the Goddess of Light select Mel as Heather’s successor, through the channeled desire of the Valoran people to know a new leader as wise, kind, and just as the previous one. It was a great honor to be chosen in this way, one declared the most virtuous among thousands of similar folk. Advisors, knights, and priestesses had arrived at Mel’s rural family cottage with the customary golden chariot to carry the surprised young woman off to the royal palace.

For the next three years she was taught to lead and to govern, and though it was difficult at times and Mel once considered abdication — an acceptable outcome in the eyes of the Goddess of Light, who would never foist such responsibility onto one of Her subjects without consent — the young queen eventually prevailed, and came to be perhaps even more beloved than her predecessor.

Queen Melody carried herself with all of the poise and grace that was expected from one of her position, of course. She was 27 years of age now, possessed of brown skin, darker brown hair of shoulder length that curled occasionally, and a plump, curvaceous figure.

Mel wore a floor-length red dress with poofy sleeves and a loose skirt that swished around when she walked. On her head was a simple golden crown, and in her hand she carried a long brown-and-gold staff. She was sitting upon the elaborate brown-and-gold throne in the central room of the royal palace, an enormous room fitted with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the hilly vistas of Valora, a black-and-white tile floor draped with a brown-and-gold carpet leading up to the throne, and long red curtains all around.

Today was a day that came once a month, a day when visitors from around the kingdom were invited into the castle to speak with Queen Melody, to offer their perspectives and criticism on her leadership and to ask the queen personally for assistance with problems the kingdom was facing. Mel always looked forward to this day; it’d always been her passion to help others in even the smallest ways since she was a little girl, which high-ranked priestesses had repeatedly informed her was one of the main reasons that the Goddess of Light had selected her as queen; she was exactly the kind of leader that the Valoran people needed.

A sly-smiled woman named Deborah, age 35, was the first to approach the throne. Mel was almost inclined to roll her eyes as she saw the woman approach, though she held herself back as rudeness would be thoroughly unbecoming. The two were well-acquainted, and Mel was concerned that Deborah’s insistence on appearing in the throne room every month with the smallest of problems just to speak to the good queen personally was getting in the way of time she could’ve been using to tackle bigger problems. Still, Deborah meant well, Mel was sure — she always liked to see the best in all of her subjects, and her behavior was certainly flattering, even bordering on flirtatious at times.

“Your Majesty, dear, aren’t you looking beautiful today?” Deborah asked with a kind smile. Though she could be overbearing, she was a beautiful woman, possessing dark skin and very curly black hair tied in a ponytail behind her head, dressed in blue and orange robes typical of a merchant from the western province — a fruit merchant who specialized in oranges and apricots, Mel had learned a few months ago when Deborah had asked her to try a new orange cultivar that was supposed to be extra tangy. Mel had found it to be tasty.

Then the merchant woman let out a throaty cough followed by a sniffle, and Mel became very concerned. She leaped off of the throne, despite the objections of one of the knights assigned to guard her today, the lovely, strong redhead Dame Genevieve. Mel was simply too concerned with the well-being of her people.

“Oh my goodness, are you alright?” she said, taking Deborah’s hand lightly in her own. “Please, allow me to heal you.”

“Nothing big, Your Majesty,” the woman explained innocently, offering Mel a subtle wink. “Just a bit of pollen from my home village.”

Mel looked at Deborah with concern tempered by a hint of disappointment. “Deborah, you must take better care of yourself! The village healer would’ve been able to fix you right up.”

Thankfully, Queen Melody had only improved her skills with the healing magic that she started learning in her youth. Knowledge of such magic was passed down from the priestesses of the Goddess of Light, those priestesses having received it from the Goddess Herself. Healing was just one proud specialty upon a range of magical talents passed down by the Goddess; others included light (the palace was lit entirely by magical torches), agriculture (the crops of Valora grew bountifully and never fell to disease, unlike those of lands ignorant of the Goddess), and of course, self-defense in the form of flame and protective spells, which rarely had a need for use in this unprecedented era of peace and prosperity, the murder rate at an all-time low and no enemies to fear in neighboring lands.

Applying all of her knowledge, Mel pressed her hands against Deborah’s throat and chest, approximating the locus of illness, and began to chant the sacred words of the Goddess. A warmth flowed throughout the queen’s entire body, channeled through her hands into Deborah’s slight form, and the merchant woman let out a long sigh, the pollen excised from her lungs as she felt that she could breathe better than she had all week.

Deborah chuckled mischievously, fluttering her eyelashes at the queen, and said, “It’s true that I could’ve asked the village healer, but you are substantially more skilled, Your Majesty! Thank you, my dear. I’m feeling much better now.” She walked away, her request clearly fulfilled, though not before kissing Mel’s hand as was customary. The young queen let out a small sigh, relieved that this was the worst she had to deal with on days like these — merely an unnecessary request that would delay more important needs, with no malice aforethought.

Mel sometimes wished that she had any of the time to visit Deborah in her home village and purchase apricots from the local market. Perhaps the two of them could share an orange together, eating every slice until only their lips remained, touching one another. It would be considered appropriate and righteous for Mel to find a consort at some point in the future, but it seemed that there was never the time to search for anyone, much less to engage in true pursuits of love. It would take time away from the people that the queen was chosen to serve.

From there, Mel’s day was much easier. A man from the northern province complained of his hamlet’s well running dry; Mel had priestesses assigned to magically draw the water from the earth. A woman from the eastern province reported a few chimera sightings in the woods near her town; while the reports were sparse and Mel doubted that there remained a single monster born of dark sorcery within the kingdom’s bounds, she sent out a search party led by the fearless Dame Leslie to investigate. An old lady from the southern province simply wished to see the queen and the grandeur of her palace for once in her life, and Mel happily obliged, assigning Dame Beatrice to act as her tour guide.

By the time the last visitors took their leave and the great gates were closed for the night, Mel was well and truly exhausted, and her magical reserves had run dry. While Deborah hadn’t particularly needed her help, Mel had been eager to lend aid when a visiting stonemason had tripped on the throne room’s carpet and injured her knee, and separately when an irresponsible young woman had brought her cough and fever into the crowd of gathering people. That occasion required Mel to ensure the safety of several dozen; while the mechanisms of disease transfer weren’t well-understood in Valora, experienced healers believed that anyone breathing the same air as a diseased person was at risk, which meant everyone in the throne room — Mel, her knights, her advisors, and several visitors. Sister Alia, the palace’s presiding healer and priestess, had lent her aid as well.

Exhausted by procedure and social interaction, the queen decided to settle for a simple dinner in her living quarters, eschewing the feasts that royal chef Lana liked to provide to the palace’s entire staff for a bowl of carrot stew boiled in a pot just like she had grown up with. While the royal quarters were lavish, Mel had brought along some of her favorite furnishings from her home village, and the table hewn for her by the local carpenter was one of her most treasured possessions.

Sat with Mel at her table were two of her most trusted advisors. Lady Isabelle was a woman in her late twenties with a slight frame. Her long raven hair that hung down to her waist contrasted with her light skin but matched the dark blouses and dresses that she preferred wearing. She was a reserved person who rarely spoke except when spoken to. She had taught Mel to be more assertive, to stand up for herself. The queen had had to learn the differences between assertiveness and kindness, and Isabelle had been her go-to woman. She also possessed a great knowledge of the history of magic and the land of Valora, her own quarters filled with rows of heavy tomes on every wall — indeed, she had been a librarian in her hometown in the southern province, and Mel often referred to her when disputes over leadership were at hand.

Lady Sophie, on the other hand, was quite a lot more excitable than her counterpart. She was a tan-skinned woman also in her late twenties with curly red-auburn hair, which she customarily kept tied in a tight ponytail bound by a wooden hair clip. She dressed a bit more practically than Isabelle, preferring tight-fitting slacks and simple blouses, which showed off her muscular, slightly chubby physique. Sophie and Mel had known each other since childhood, growing up in the same town in the eastern province. Sophie’s deep knowledge of art history and trade crafts had only been bolstered when she had set out the moment she reached adulthood to travel across the entire kingdom, learning about the cultures of practically every settlement near and far. When Mel had first sat upon the throne, Sophie had been her very first choice as she began to select her advisors, and she never once regretted the decision.

“You did an excellent job today, Your Majesty,” Lady Isabelle said, sipping a cup of herbal tea that Sophie had brewed to accompany dinner. “You have a real way of captivating the people. It’s remarkable.” While she was a reliable font of knowledge, Isabelle felt a bit distant at times to Mel. The two didn’t have the sort of personal relationship that Mel shared with Sophie. But Mel felt closer to Isabelle than usual when she complimented her in this way. Perhaps that was a sign of vanity, something she needed to hold back.

“I do my best to serve the people of this kingdom,” Mel said with a small smile, demurely sipping her carrot stew from a wooden spoon.

“You don’t need to be so modest!” Lady Sophie said, nearly interrupting the queen, something that was treated as unthinkable by most of her advisors and knights. Mel didn’t like to put herself on a pedestal to begin with — while she had been chosen for her virtues, she knew that all respect was earned. And Mel had known Sophie for so long — it never even occurred to her to mind when her favorite advisor slammed her fist down on the table and gave the queen a pat on the shoulder as she was doing now, for example.

“Shall I banish her from the castle walls, Your Majesty?” Isabelle said, barely looking away from her teacup. After being chosen as advisor, the librarian had studied a ten-volume series on proper royal etiquette, and it showed every day to Mel, perhaps more than she felt was warranted. It made it hard to feel close to her, as close as she did with Sophie.

“Of course not,” Mel said. “Sophie is my friend, not just my advisor. We’re behind closed doors now, Lady Isabelle. You don’t need to be so distant. We’ve known each other for, what, two years? It’s alright to loosen up. No one will think less of you.”

Sophie had been Mel’s closest advisor since day one, while Lady Isabelle had slowly moved up the ranks since a year into the queen’s reign. At times, her knowledge seemed to know no bounds, and Mel had found her to be more and more of a valuable resource as a result. It had simply been difficult to establish a friendship when the lady seemed to push her away like this at every turn. But proper etiquette had probably been a part of how she had gotten here. Mel just hated sometimes how much stock the priestesses put in that.

But for perhaps the first time, Lady Isabelle turned her head toward Queen Melody, and gave her the slightest hint of a smile, her deep blue eyes that looked almost amethyst in the reddish light of the nearby fireplace quite beautiful. She was still careful, still reserved, but this is what Mel had been hoping for by inviting her to dinner alongside Sophie — not to be queen and advisors, but rather, to be friends.

“I will try and be a bit more open with you, Your Majesty. If that’s what you truly desire,” Lady Isabelle said, and Mel most certainly did desire it.

She smiled and nodded, replied, “Thank you, Lady Isabelle.”

“Just Isabelle is fine,” the lady said. “That title need not be asked of the queen herself.”

Mel put her hand on the back of the intelligent woman’s own, giving it a grip ever so slight. “Only if you’ll call me Melody. Or Mel, if you prefer.”

Soon Sophie was looking at the newer advisor expectantly as well, adding, “It’s OK, Isabelle. Mel doesn’t bite.”

A slight giggle escaped Isabelle’s lips. “It would feel unbecoming. I may have to work my way down to it.”

“I understand,” Mel said.

Then there was a knock at the door — the grand double doors that opened into the great corridor from the royal quarters, a whole room away now from the lavish eating area. Mel picked up her long dress, nodded to her favored advisors, feeling more comfortable than ever, rose, and went to see who needed her aid.

But on her way to the door, lethargy overcame the good queen, and she fell to her knees on the carpet in the front hall. She groaned out in pain, and Isabelle and Sophie quickly rushed after her, crouching down by her side.

“Are you alright, Mel? Should I call a healer?” Sophie asked, her voice wavering as she placed a hand on her longtime friend’s shoulder.

But Mel had never meant to worry her. “I’m just… just tired,” she said. “That much social interaction in a single day, not to mention the healing…”

“Shall I get the door for you, Your… Melody?” Isabelle asked, standing.

“My Melody, huh?” Mel laughed weakly as she strained her knees trying to stand, ultimately falling back to the floor.

“Easy now… we’ll handle anything you need us to,” Sophie reassured her.

“Very well. If you don’t mind, Isabelle,” Mel conceded.

Isabelle gave Mel the smallest of smiles and approached the door, opening it to reveal the face of Dame Tabitha, highest-ranked among Valora’s knights. She stood tall in her late 30s, scars on her light-skinned face, one eye missing and patched over after a nasty encounter with a formidable turquoise dragon that had been terrorizing the western province in her youth. Her dark brown hair was short-cut in a sideshave, and she wore the customary armor of a knight, sword in scabbard at her waist. On the knight’s face was a slight frown, showing hints of worry, even before she caught glimpse of the queen collapsed on the floor.

“Her Majesty is not operating at full capacity right now, Dame Tabitha,” the raven-haired advisor said. “Is your need for her urgent?”

“I’m afraid so,” the knight said grimly, looking off down the hallway. “I have need to speak with Her Majesty privately. She’s not hurt, is she? I could summon a healer—”

“I’m—” Mel struggled as she insistently pulled herself to her feet, leaning on Sophie for support and successfully pulling herself up. “I’m fine. Simply drained of magic and stamina. We can certainly speak, Dame Tabitha.” She fell onto Sophie’s shoulder, her friend wrapping an arm around her back in support.

Dame Tabitha opened the door further. Beside her was Sister Leah, a junior priestess whom Mel only vaguely recognized, a dark-skinned woman in her early twenties dressed in the gold-trimmed white robes of her order, emblazoned with a symbolic sun on their front, a bead necklace draped around her neck, a golden rod in her hand, long curly black hair drooping past her shoulders. She looked nearly as worried as the knight.

“As long as you’re indisposed, Your Majesty, might I take you off of Lady Sophie’s hands?” Dame Tabitha asked. “And we could speak about this matter in your living area?”

Mel wondered what it could be that would need her attention so badly, to speak about privately, even. She had not yet had to face any kind of crisis as queen, and she hoped that that was not about to change. But she simply nodded, tried to keep her composure, and said, “That will be just fine.”

“Very well,” the knight said, walking into the room with authority and wrapping her arm around Mel’s other side, Sophie letting the stronger woman take charge. “Sister Leah, if you could begin setting up the spell?”

“The… spell?” Mel asked.

“This is a sensitive matter, Your Majesty,” Dame Tabitha explained, walking at Mel’s pace toward the lavish living area, containing several soft couches gathered around a large glass table with an unlit fireplace on the back wall. “I brought the sister to cast a protective spell. To ensure that no one is spying on us, and that no one might listen in.” Indeed, Sister Leah was drawing a golden line of magic on the floor with her rod slowly, encompassing all of the couches within, and a glowing field was beginning to form in the air surrounding it.

“Ah, I see…” Mel said, never having experienced such a security process before. Dame Tabitha was no stranger to it herself, though. During Queen Heather’s reign a shapeslinker had slunk its way into the palace grounds, and the knight and queen had had to work together to root out the imposter.

“And we will be needing you two to leave as well, I’m afraid, Lady Isabelle, Lady Sophie,” the knight said, looking back at Mel’s advisors. “Even Sister Leah will leave when the spell is complete. We mustn’t leave anything to chance.”

“But if Her Majesty needs our advice?” Isabelle spoke up, raising a hand. “On how to proceed with this sensitive matter.”

Mel was a little surprised to hear Lady Isabelle questioning the knight’s orders, but she was still relatively new to this high of a rank, after all, and Mel herself had to concur anyway.

“Indeed. I’m certain I can trust these two,” Mel said.

Dame Tabitha began to shake her head, but she ceased, and sighed. “That is a choice you may make, Your Majesty, but security is of the utmost importance in this matter, I must reiterate.”

Queen Melody took a moment to think. This seemed such a serious matter, and that frightened her a little, and that made her want to have her advisors by her side, Sophie especially, as though to protect her. But Dame Tabitha’s expertise was security, and she certainly had the queen’s best interests at heart. She had been doing this for a couple of decades. And Mel ultimately decided that she ought to listen to her betters, making the wise and just decision as she tended to do.

“Very well, my knight. I will rely on your wisdom in this matter. I’ll see you both shortly, alright?” Mel said finally, offering her friends a reassuring glance. They both seemed a bit concerned, Isabelle especially, but they left out the door without a fuss.

“A wise choice, I believe, Your Majesty,” said Dame Tabitha. The living area was completely aglow with golden light. Mel had never experienced a spell like this close up, and she could feel the air crackle as she approached the barrier, now closed as Sister Leah pulled away, the circle complete. The queen wasn’t confident that she’d actually be able to pass through it, the other side nearly opaque as though she were looking through stained glass or amber. Mel pulled her hand away as she reached out to touch the barrier, not confident that it wouldn’t burn away her fingers.

“It’s safe, Your Majesty. The spell only serves to obscure your activities and conversation within, and to prevent any spying, magical or otherwise, from those outside,” the priestess said, taking a respectful step back, looking exhausted, her back slightly hunched as she recovered from the use of powerful magic. That was all too familiar to Mel.

“Thank you, Sister,” Mel said, giving the priestess a warm smile. “So I can merely step inside?”

“Yes,” Sister Leah said. “Sister Alia has had me practice this spell hundreds of times. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“But, speaking from experience,” Dame Tabitha warned, raising a single finger toward the priestess, “it may feel a little strange, Your Majesty.”

“I understand,” Mel said, gripping tight onto the tall knight’s pauldron. The strong woman smiled back at her.

“Then, if you would see yourself out, Sister? You’ve done well,” Dame Tabitha said, giving the young woman a single nod.

“Of course. Stay safe, Your Majesty,” Sister Leah said, walking briskly toward the double doors.

Nervously, Mel walked into the golden barrier in lockstep with Dame Tabitha, the knight still carrying a good amount of the queen’s weight. The barrier turned out not to be solid at all. It was like exiting the palace’s well-insulated stone walls on a breezy day, the difference palpable, but hardly a solid wall. There was a warmth to the protected area; Mel could almost sense the Goddess of Light looking down on her, smiling upon her once she was inside, and she felt defended, safe. Despite the opaqueness of the barrier, the queen had no trouble seeing once inside. Everything was bathed in the golden light of the Goddess, it was true, but it was also crystal clear. She could even see outside the barrier with no issue, all the way to the door, to the bookshelves in the far corner, to the large glass windows against the wall.

“Wherever you would like to sit, Your Majesty,” Dame Tabitha said.

“The large armchair,” Mel said, motioning to it.

“Fit for a queen,” the knight said, bringing her to it, while she took her own seat across the corner, at the edge of a couch, facing the queen, a grave look now on her face.

Mel felt like she was about to be scolded by her mother, like she’d been when she had tracked mud in on the first day of spring when she was ten years old. But it was clear that Dame Tabitha was only serious, no hint of anger at the queen present in her voice or demeanor. She was leaning forward, hands clasped together, her expression withering.

“So what is this about?” Mel asked out of a sense of obligation. She knew the knight would tell her what she needed to know.

“I’ve been reluctant to speak about this subject with even my senior staff,” Dame Tabitha said, looking at the silk-carpeted floor. “But I believe that there may have been a security breach within the palace walls.”

“Ah. Was something stolen?” Mel asked. Burglars were known to attempt infiltration of the palace for its treasures on occasion, but they had always been thwarted by Dame Tabitha and her knights. Still, with the protective spell and all, Mel worried that this was something considerably worse.

The head knight shook her head grimly. “I wish it were that simple. I’m concerned, Your Majesty, that there has been an incursion of dark sorcery.”

The good queen gasped. Dark sorcery had been excised from the kingdom of Valora for a long time, or so she had thought. It was altogether unlike the magic handed down by the Goddess of Light — where She brought warmth, light, comfort, and bountiful harvests, dark sorcery was a thing of shadow, illusion, treachery, and corruption. To practice it was forbidden, and even to study it was taboo outside of sanctioned educational environments.

“Truly?” Mel whispered. “H—how? Are you claiming that someone within these walls is a traitor, my knight?” Even under the veil of the protective spell, Mel felt a need to speak quietly.

“I fear that is the case,” Dame Tabitha said loudly, with confidence. “I fear that one of them is a pawn of Her Below.”

Her Below… the Goddess of Darkness, only spoken of in hushed tones, the source of dark sorcery. Her faith had once been the norm in old Valora, centuries before Mel’s birth, a period only preserved in history books. Empress Eileen, her armies bolstered by dark sorcery that allowed them to consume the souls of their enemies and gain strength, had established the brutal Valoran Empire, burning a path of conquest across nearly a third of the continent. Vassal states were made, the people treated as lesser than true Valorans, the might of the military made paramount, the weak and infirm sacrificed to Her Below.

And when the people had deposed the vile empress, dark sorcery had become forbidden, the laws of the Goddess of Light made paramount. Yet the empress’ successor, Administrator Karob, was no true representative of the people’s will. He tried to pacify them through a system of representative districts, but all that served to do was divide them while the rich and powerful picked their pockets clean. And so the people had prayed to the Goddess for salvation, as Mel had been told when she was a very young girl.

Their prayers had been answered, the Goddess handing down visions of those most suited to leading the Valoran people, to addressing all of their concerns. That was what Mel was now, queen appointee of the Goddess of Light. If she failed to represent the people’s will, to fulfill her destined role, she would be ousted by the priestesses. It had happened before, and Mel wanted desperately not to fail in that way. 

But if that shadowy false Goddess was rising again, if She got what She wanted, then Mel would fail as a leader in a much more fundamental way. It could spell the return of abject tyranny, the rejection of the will of the people in favor of the allure of absolute power. Preventing that outcome was Queen Melody’s divinely-ordained purpose.

“What makes you believe that this is occurring?” Mel asked.

“Strange occurrences here and there over the last months. Perhaps longer. It took me time to realize it was happening. Whoever we’re dealing with has likely been playing a long game,” Dame Tabitha explained.

“What sort of occurrences?”

“Last month, you might remember that Sister Iris was found passed out in a guest bedroom. When she was awoken, she couldn’t remember what had happened to her,” the knight said. “It was presumed at the time that it was simply due to a lack of water on that hot summer day, but the priestess was assigned to the herb garden that day… Easy to think nothing of it, but some of the rare herbs that are grown there are of great use in spells of darkness. I was taught about this during my knight education…

“And just two weeks ago, one of the keys to the palace library’s secure archive went missing from the drawer in the vault. I need not explain the dangers of someone accessing that place without authorization, the dark secrets kept there for safekeeping and education… We should have increased our security measures after that more than we did. These events weren’t taken seriously enough at the time.” Dame Tabitha’s fist was clenched, her eye trained on the carpet aglow in the protective spell’s golden light.

“But… but couldn’t the key have just been misplaced?” Mel asked. She found herself sweating, not wanting to believe this, not wanting to fail her people, even fail Dame Tabitha before her.

“Of course it could have,” she said. “It’s what we all wanted to think. It’s why we didn’t do anything. But we can’t keep presuming that everything will just turn out alright. We have to fight for this peace and prosperity to continue if we truly care for it.”

Mel felt moved, resolved. Her knight knew how to give a rousing speech and rally the troops when the time came.

“And besides,” Dame Tabitha continued, “I have greater reason to believe this. Just earlier today, when guests were starting to filter out, I was patrolling the halls, making sure that no one got lost in the palace. I was on the upper level, in the northwestern guest room. It was just as it should have been. Nearly no signs of disturbances, I thought. But on the end table I spotted something very strange.

“A prayer scroll, just like the ones in the chapel, unrolled, with its glowing text visible. And beside the scroll, a bound book, pages open, signed in blood. It radiated such an evil aura that I despaired even to step close to it, even as the head knight of all the kingdom. A spellbook, I believe, used by practitioners of dark sorcery.”

“Oh my… But one must know the correct sacred incantation to unroll one of the scrolls in the chapel,” Queen Melody murmured. “You think that it was an inside job, my knight? One of our own priestesses of the Goddess, turned to darkness?”

“The possibility can’t be ruled out, Your Majesty,” the knight said sadly. “It is said that dark sorcerers can shroud themselves even from Her all-seeing eyes. But really, it could have been anyone with access to the chapel who would’ve had opportunity to overhear the incantation. That is, any of the palace workers or guards.”

“Did you confiscate the spellbook? Could you glean anything from its words?” the queen asked.

Dame Tabitha shook her head. “I moved to, but I blinked my eyes for just a moment and it was gone, leaving only the scroll. I know not what foul magic was performed to do such a thing but it was as though the book was never there at all. I must wonder if the sorcerer was in the room with me during that time… but they were not brave enough to show themself and face my blade. And so I left, and returned the scroll to the chapel.

“I didn’t tell Sister Rebecca the details for security reasons, but she was sure that one of the initiates must have taken it to read. I was left wondering if what I had seen was real. That was a detailed spellbook, not the practice of a mere initiate. I’m certain I saw it beside the scroll. Certain. Most likely they planned to copy the scroll into their book. And after consideration, I fetched Sister Leah and came to speak to you, Your Majesty.”

“I believe you, my knight,” Queen Melody said. “Do you know what the spell contained on the scroll was?”

“One to cure inflammation of the lungs. I dread to think what it could do if corrupted by Her Below.”

“Awful…” the queen murmured.

Dame Tabitha nodded. “Indeed. While I don’t know who the traitor is, I do know that they alone are not strong enough to defeat all of us, or turn us to darkness. We know that there is a traitor now, and they may not realize that we’re hot on their trail. Tomorrow, I’ll be vetting each and every one of my knights once over. Then I’ll move on to the advisors, even the priestesses. I’d like you with me for all that. We’ll root out the darkness together. You do know how to recognize a dark sorcerer, don’t you?”

Mel thought for a moment, recalling what she had learned during her education leading up to her coronation. The details returned to her one by one.

“Dark sorcery corrupts the body and mind,” Mel said. “Not warts or wrinkles or sores, but a twisting of the self into the image of Her Below. One of Her pawns is surrounded by an aura of darkness that dims even the brightest light. Their features appear to merge with shadow, slinking through it effortlessly. Their eyes glow a bright violet, signaling that She is watching through them.” The queen shivered. “But if all that is true, would we not be able to recognize them right away?”

“If only it were that easy,” Dame Tabitha grumbled. “Their illusions are powerful enough to fool even the strongest of wills. It would not be so obvious on a surface level if they’re careful. And it must be kept in mind… dark sorcerers have the ability to bend minds to their will, even to erase memories. We must consider that Sister Iris may be a victim of such vile magic, that she may have been given commands to carry out later without her knowledge. And certainly to forget the appearance of her assailant. Rooting them out may not be so easy as it sounds. But those telltale signs are best kept in mind.”

Mel shuddered. The mind was the most sacred of temples to the Goddess of Light. To touch another’s thoughts without consent was one of the greatest offenses against Her that one could make. The queen dreaded to imagine what sort of evil person would practice magic like that, what would drive them to it… a lust for absolute power, she supposed. But to what end? Harmony among all citizens of the kingdom was paramount, couldn’t they see? And it would win out in the end. Queen Melody was sure of it.

“Thank you, my knight. I won’t allow this sorcerer to have the best of us. We will root them out,” she said. And her knight smiled, nodded sagely.

But they were both wrong.

Dame Genevieve, brave and strong knight, personal guard of Queen Melody of Valora, was exhausted after a long day of work.

A knight’s life was a busy and regimented one. Awakening at the crack of dawn to Dame Tabitha’s call, dining in the mess hall with her fellows, morning prayers to the Goddess of Light in the palace chapel, training with sword and shield against Dame Gloria, standing by Her Majesty’s side and staying vigilant while a thousand civilians poured into the palace, coordinating with Dame Tabitha and others of her fellows to carry out Her Majesty’s decrees, horseback training with Dame Ruby in the evening, dinner with her fellows in the mess hall, followed by an early bedtime.

Genevieve had chosen all this, of course. She had wanted to be one of the queen’s knights since she was a little girl, battling imaginary monsters with her sister in the fields outside her home village. She was 26 now, and her training had made her strong, fast, fit, vigilant, and beautiful — average height, light skin, long red hair that she kept in a braid while on duty, and a wide and muscular frame. But Dame Tabitha ran a tight ship, and Genevieve was absolutely exhausted after every day that passed, and she thought she’d fall right asleep.

But even a brave and strong knight such as herself couldn’t resist the need to relieve herself.

Genevieve lit a candle and left the barracks located in an annex within the palace’s outer walls, unarmored, dressed in a loose cloth top and leggings. Dame Gloria always advised that a knight never be unarmed, so she took a small dagger along as well, knowing she almost certainly wouldn’t need it.

It could be eerie walking the palace grounds at night, even knowing that it was probably the safest place in the kingdom. It was so much quieter than the wilds outside her village, located in the forested hills of the eastern province where common beasts such as wolves and bears were known to prowl. Those hills were never quiet, and it had scared Genevieve as a little girl, but by adulthood it had become a comfort. She sometimes missed that here, though the other knights’ snoring was able to bring her peace. Out here, in the tended gardens of the palace grounds, she didn’t have that comfort. There were night guards on the watchtowers of course, but they were far above her, far out of sight.

Into the outhouse the young knight went. Her business was done quickly, but while she was sitting she thought she heard a thumping sound. A piece of the old palace walls crumbling maybe, or a night guard tripping over themself. It didn’t help her anxiety, though.

When Genevieve exited the outhouse, she had much more to be anxious about, and she was glad she had brought her dagger.

No, nothing much had changed about the environment. But there was an evil presence in the air, the kind that Genevieve had been taught to stand against since she began her knight training. She hadn’t known she’d be able to sense a presence like this; like most knights, she had no magical skill. But it was palpable throughout the air, like a fog, clouding her senses, and it made her hair stand on end.

There was no doubt that there was a dark sorcerer nearby, and a powerful one at that.

And she didn’t have to wonder where they were for long. Brandishing her dagger, Genevieve stepped back as darkness streaked down from the eastern wall, the closest, descending to the ground in almost the shape of a person. But the shape was vague, distorted. All that the knight could really make out was their striking violet eyes. That was the sort of fountain of evil that Sister Alia had warned Genevieve and her fellows of when she taught them protection against these magics.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here, little knight? Snooping around past your bedtime?” the presence asked. Their voice was feminine, slightly sultry, but distorted — Genevieve couldn’t recognize it, though she did think it sounded familiar. Someone she had only rarely spoken with, but familiar yes, so familiar…

“Step back, servant of Her Below,” she said, pointing her dagger in the sorcerer’s direction, her heart pumping fast as she gathered all the resolve she could. “Leave this place, or you will be expelled at swordpoint. Leave this kingdom, or we will hunt you until every hint of your corruption is purged.”

The dark figure laughed, amused by the idea, doubling over. “You think you can threaten me? How adorable.”

“There are dozens of knights within these walls. You made a mistake ever coming here.” The knight stepped toward the darkness, not intending to lose ground.

“But they can’t see or hear us, little knight,” the figure said, their shadows looming over Genevieve like an overcast sky. “Not within my shroud.” Genevieve looked around and realized that the presence was likely right. She could barely see the walls any more, even the outhouse behind her nearly out of view within this choking shadow. It was truly an all-consuming darkness.

“Hmmm… but imagine this, finding an unarmed and unarmored knight alone in the courtyard like this,” the figure continued. “And you’re one of the queen’s personal guards, aren’t you? You could be such a useful servant. Maybe I’ll do more than simply erase your memory. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I am Dame Genevieve,” the knight said with a grimace, her dagger holding true. “Sworn knight protector of Queen Melody of Valora, scion of the Goddess of Light. I could never become a servant to evil like yours, sorcerer!”

The figure simply laughed again, moving closer to Dame Genevieve, seeming to encircle the knight with their shadow. She turned her head, looking through the darkness, but no matter where she looked, those bright purple eyes stared right back at her.

But that meant the sorcerer was close by, surely. Dame Genevieve, sworn knight protector of Queen Melody of Valora, had to make her move now. She reached out, stabbing with her dagger, sure it would strike true against the figure before her…

And fell face first onto the dewy grass, her face caked in a bit of dirt.

Then she was lifted up by the shadows themselves, no longer on the ground, no longer on anything at all other than this choking black cloud, a thing of evil, corrupting magic. A thing of Her Below.

“Could never become a servant of evil,” the sorcerer mocked, Dame Genevieve no longer able to ascertain the origin of their voice. “How adorable. And yet you fail to see through such simple illusions. If you can’t even find me, how will you ever stop me?”

Dame Genevieve swung her dagger around fruitlessly, unable to see, feel anything. It was all shrouded in darkness, endless darkness… she feared now what awaited her. She realized now that she needed to be saved. The fight, her fight at least, had probably been lost.

“I’ll… I’ll find a way!” the knight screamed, writhing every which way, touching ground for a moment, rolling away, crawling, trying to get herself to her feet. The darkness was all around, but she managed to run a few meters, the faint shadow of the outer walls visible to her now, nearly escaped from the shroud at least.

And dark tendrils reached out from behind, dragging her back, pulling the brave young knight as she clawed and clawed at the dirt, her dagger falling to the ground as she shouted for help, help that would not come.

She was propped back into the cloud, laid back with the tendrils still restraining her, the darkness all around once again, nothing else visible.

“So feisty!” the sorcerer teased, their darkness bearing down hard on Dame Genevieve once again. “You really will make a useful servant. I didn’t even plan to make inroads with your order so quickly, you know. This is quite fortuitous.”

“Don’t think yourself so great, sorcerer,” Dame Genevieve spat. “You’re just a pawn yourself. Whatever you’re planning, it won’t even be fulfilling. You’ll always be bound to Her Below. She’ll reap the benefits while you are left to suffer with the rest of us, scarred by darkness.” Sister Alia, Dame Tabitha, and Dame Gloria had all taught the knight that many times. The false Goddess was self-defeating in that way, unable to bring true fulfillment to even Her most fervent adherents.

But the sorcerer simply laughed once again from somewhere in the impenetrable shroud. “Don’t believe everything you were taught by those self-righteous pricks. It’s not so simple as I being Her servant. We are partners, pactmakers.”

“Say what you like, sorcerer,” Dame Genevieve said. “What you are is a coward, unwilling to even show your face—”

“I’m not so foolish as to show my face to someone who hasn’t been taught to see things my way, little knight,” the sorcerer said, violet eyes drawing closer. “But I really ought to stop toying with you, it’s true. Why don’t you just take a look at this instead?”

The sorcerer seemed to move further from Dame Genevieve, leaving her respite even within the darkness for a fleeting moment. But just a second later, the knight heard them speak an incantation in the foul ceremonial language of the false Goddess, and a light appeared in the darkness. It was vague at first, incoherent. Violet, like the sorcerer’s dread eyes. Then the violet began to grow more vivid, lengthening and expanding until a twisting spiral was etched in the darkness, turning slowly.

“What… what is that?” Dame Genevieve asked. There was something sinister about it, something horrible, but also horribly enticing. Even though it was surely a deadly kind of dark magic, it was almost pretty, and the knight didn’t really want to look away… did she?

“Don’t act so surprised!” the sorcerer said with a laugh. “They don’t even teach you about the most simple of hypnosis spells in knight school? Won’t that make this easy…”

Dame Genevieve struggled and reeled, but she was unable to pull herself away from the spiral. Closing her eyes would mean giving in to darkness, leaving herself even more vulnerable than she already was tangled up by tendrils of shadow, but as long as they opened, that horrible twisting spell remained before her. A hypnosis spell… just the sort of mind-bending magic that She Below was so rightly detested for. The knight had indeed not been taught of this form specifically — this type of sorcery could take many forms. But all of it was corrupting, evil, serving to make one an unwilling servant of the caster. And from the way that this simple spiral seemed to draw her in, she believed she understood how it was meant to work…

But what was she to do? The spiral remained there in her field of vision no matter where her head turned, the shadows swallowing up everything else. She felt so cold and alone, knowing that this agent of darkness was likely right, that no one would be coming to save her. In a moment like this, the one light she could see was a comfort, even though it was a sinister one, dark in its own way, twisting and turning and making her worse, draining her will away.

“I… will… never surrender to you!” Dame Genevieve shouted, struggling and squirming and grabbing at tendrils to no avail. She closed her eyes, needing respite from the corrupting force glowing at her, but as soon as she did she regretted it, regretted it so deeply, she needed to see it again, it was her only comfort…

“Hah… so pathetic, little knight,” the sorcerer teased from beyond the spiral. “Ultimately you’re going to open your eyes and stare at the pretty spiral. Why wait? You’ll feel so much better once I fill your silly little head with commands. They do teach knights to be very loyal, don’t they? That kind of bond is so easily exploited. Just keep staring, my darling. When you give in to darkness, I will show you the fulfillment that serving Her can bring. That serving me can bring.”

And as the sorcerer spoke, Dame Genevieve had been staring at the violet spiral, eyes wide as she observed its mind-melting curves, staring into the center for longer and longer. She was losing herself, slowly realizing that the spell seemed to be projecting thoughts into her mind that shouldn’t have been there… thoughts of submission, of a perverse desire for her captor, of being consumed by the darkness in her own heart. And she was feeling so exhausted. The whole day of training and attending to the queen had come and gone… every muscle in her body ached, even more so after she had been dragged around by the sorcerer’s shadows, and the spell seemed to be accelerating her desire to sleep. Yes… she had learned of the sinister power of hypnotic magic from Sister Alia, and she knew what effects it would have on her. The sorcerer was right… it really would be easier to give in.

But… but she couldn’t give up that easily… she twitched her arm, slowly sliding it, trying to free it even as the spell continued to corrupt her mind…

“My, my, still struggling?” the sorcerer asked. “You must realize that it’s easier to calm yourself. To listen to me, stare at the pretty spiral, and to submit.”

They chanted another spell, a smaller one this time, and the spiral suddenly increased in size, in brightness. It completely filled the knight’s vision now, unable to be ignored. Even when she thought to close her eyes for a brief moment, Dame Genevieve still saw the spiral as it burned its way into her psyche.

“There you go. There’s a good girl,” the sorcerer said, their pretty feminine voice suddenly quite a lot closer, seeming to whisper into the knight’s right ear. “You’ve worked so hard to protect your queen. Don’t you think you deserve a good night’s sleep? And you simply cannot resist it any longer. My magic is utterly irresistible to a will as weak as yours, and I’ve got all the time in the world to break you down, my pathetic little knight. I’d just rather not waste so much of it on you. You should be groveling at my feet already.”

The sorcerer was right, Dame Genevieve realized. They were right, so right! The pretty twisting spiral had broken down her will completely and she was so receptive to the thoughts that the sorcerer was putting into her head now, good thoughts, correct thoughts, divine guidance as though from the Goddess Herself. It was OK to rest now. It was… OK… to lose herself to darkness… to betray her queen…

The sorcerer began cackling with glee as the knight’s head drooped, her eyes still pathetically trained on the spiral as the last of her conscious thoughts slipped away.

“There you go. A pathetic, obedient, hypnotized good girl for your Mistress Illuria,” the sorcerer said, finally letting her name slip as she let herself get caught up in the moment. Despite what she had told her victim, she was acutely aware that another guard could appear at any moment and sense something was amiss if she was unlucky — she knew that even ordinary folk could sense magic like hers in the air. She’d taken out the guards up on the outer wall before even noticing the little knight, of course. Best not to get caught in the act.

“Lost in trance now, hearing only your Mistress’ voice,” Illuria said. “Declare your fealty to me, knight.”

“I obey, Mistress Illuria,” the pathetic, obedient, hypnotized good girl said. “I swear myself to You as knight and protector. For as long as I live, I will not allow You to come to harm.” In all the haze and shadow and dark magic, Genevieve could never forget the oath she had made to the queen she served. It was easy to repeat for She who demanded it of her.

The dark sorcerer Illuria laughed to herself, lowering the shroud and spiral as she knew her sinister work was complete. A knight, all to herself, and so easily too. What a useful spy to have — she still couldn’t believe her luck, so she simply reached down and petted the pretty knight’s head as she kneeled for the dark sorcerer, no longer interested in peering up at her.

And Illuria had even more delicious plans in mind for Queen Melody, of course. The good queen’s fall was so close she could taste it, and the dark sorcerer would savor every bite.