The Dark Fairy King
Chapter 44: The Danger In The Room

Chapter 44: The Danger In The Room

They forgot.

They all did.

I’ve played their King for a while now.

But they should remember—

The danger is me.

"Traitor," I said, pointing at Faragonda, my voice cold, deliberate. "You destroyed your fellow Council Elders. You turned on them. And now you’re collecting new allies—just to betray them later."

"Sometimes," she replied nonchalantly, "a small sacrifice is needed for the greater good. I’m just a Love Fairy Elder trying to prevent mass extinction."

"But you murdered them." My finger remained fixed on her.

She grinned. "It’s impossible to make your Majesties see how deluded you are. How incredibly selfish. A new order must rise."

The others whispered among themselves, stepping back as if distance would spare them.

Fools. The real battlefield is not the one you can touch—

It’s the mind. The heart.

That’s where people truly break.

"Stand with me, and you’ll still stand." My voice sliced through the room like a freshly honed blade. "Or fall with her."

"Stand with me," Faragonda countered smoothly, "and see a new dawn. With the rightful King in place."

She kept throwing that name around. This ’new King.’

It was starting to grate on me.

"Who is this new King?" I mocked. "Someone you serve? Someone who inspired mutiny in my land?"

Faragonda rolled her eyes. "It’s pointless talking about things you won’t live to see. But if you must know—it’s our leader. A name you don’t even deserve to read."

So it was time to call my bluff.

"Did you think a few broken wand sigils around the room would really be enough to stop me?" I taunted, each word laced with fire. "I am Veravos Spade, for crying out loud."

Scarlette’s gaze flicked toward me, her eyes wide, glimmering with something dangerously close to admiration.

"There’s Queen Scarlette too," I continued, circling Faragonda like a wolf. "She binds things—people, spells, curses. She is the architect of magic."

The palace workers all stepped back, courage draining from them like ink in water. Slowly, they sank to their knees, heads bowed.

Good. They remembered.

"Ver... let me take a look at something," Scarlette whispered, her breath cool against my ear. Her presence coiled behind me like a serpent waiting to strike.

I pressed forward.

"Deluded and old," I sneered, looming over Faragonda. "Stooping to parlour tricks."

Her jaw clenched as she attempted to summon a ball of red magic—but it fizzled, crumpling in on itself.

"You see, Faragonda," I drawled, savoring this, "your magic doesn’t work here either."

Another step. She retreated.

But then her composure steadied, the fire flickering behind her eyes.

"What will you do to me?" she scoffed. "You have no powers either."

"Just remember—this was your choice," I whispered, my smile slow and sharp. "Come closer. Find out."

"Gladly." She lunged, curved blade in hand.

I dodged easily.

Her tattoo glowed as she swung it toward me, but I caught her wrist and twisted hard.

The wet crack of bone echoed in the silence. The blade clattered to the ground.

I kicked it aside.

"Oops. Too slow," I teased, slamming her into the marble and pinning her in place.

"Bones? Not so magical." I wrenched her down, grinding the glowing sigil from her wrist against her own forehead, forcing her to her knees.

"Help me, you fools! Kill them!" she ordered, but not a single worker moved.

Scarlette glared at them dangerously, gesturing for them to enter.

"That’s what you did to Devyn, isn’t it?" I hissed into Faragonda’s ear. "You trapped him. You stabbed him too, didn’t you?"

Faragonda screamed, her voice cracking against the palace walls.

The other workers froze. Trembling. Pale.

"Now, the rest of you," I called out calmly, ignoring her pain. "Remove the broken wand sigils from the walls. Can you do that?"

Silent nods. Trembling hands.

Good.

They scrambled to work. Scarlette stood guard, arms crossed, her face unreadable—but her eyes glittered with quiet delight.

Slowly, as the sigils came down, the oppressive weight began to lift.

Scarlette’s red mist unfurled like smoke rising from embers.

My shadows returned to me, curling at my feet.

Faragonda snarled beneath me, the last shred of her defiance slipping through her teeth.

"They will come for you," she spat, venom dripping from her voice. "The rest of the mages. You’ve made enemies you can’t even name."

"Good. Let them." I laughed, cold and hollow.

"Were those your last words?" I asked, pressing her head harder against the marble.

She thrashed, but Scarlette stepped forward and slammed the back of her head to the ground with a vicious crack.

"You can’t kill me," Faragonda hissed, her glare burning.

"Want to bet?" Scarlette purred, her voice soft but laced with poison. "Who is your leader? Is it the new King?"

Perfect. The same question that made Richard, that other Love Fairy extremist, explode.

"Don’t make me say it," Faragonda begged, desperation finally cracking her facade. "Please—I served you. I only did this to save everyone..."

"Yes. It is the new King. That’s all I can say. Please... leave it at that." She begged.

"Oh, but I insist," I said, my smile widening, teeth bared.

"Now that magic’s back in the room, we can do all sorts of unimaginable things," Scarlette whispered, her red mist curling like venomous vipers.

"Why not give it a shot?" She blew a thin line of mist into Faragonda’s ear. "Say his name. The new King."

Faragonda resisted, but Scarlette’s persuasion magic was absolute.

"Nathaniel." The name slipped from her lips like a curse.

Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh crap—"

She exploded into a burst of blue light.

Bye, Faragonda.

No one misses you.

Gone just like Richard.

But Nathaniel.

I remembered him.

Their leader.

We would find him.

The palace workers collapsed to their knees, pleading for their lives. "We’ll do anything. Please... we were fools."

Scarlette’s gaze softened, just enough to show she was listening. "Let’s remove the tattoos."

"You know how?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

"Why do you think I was so quiet while you were busy intimidating her?" Scarlette smirked, brushing hair from her face. "I was studying the broken wand sigils. It looked complicated—but it’s not."

"But aren’t tattoos and sigils different? Aren’t they anti-magic?"

"That’s the best part." She grinned. "Anti-magic spells are still magic. They just cancel natural magic. And tattoos? They’re just portable sigils."

She stretched out her hand toward the first palace worker.

"Shall we?"

I nodded. "Let’s."

"Careful now," she warned, as the trembling worker offered their wrist. "This is going to hurt."

The room soon echoed with screams, but Scarlette didn’t flinch. She worked with the cold, merciless precision of a surgeon.

Focused. Calm. Ruthless.

And it struck me—

Scarlette had been the most dangerous one in the room all along.

Someone ought to call her the Professor of Magic.