Chapter 104 The Scarlet Witch
Daevir POV
In times like this, the library is my sanctuary.
That was what I had always told myself, long before the crown. Now I came here to dig out solutions to my burdens.
The walls rose high and solemn around me, shelves groaning beneath the weight of centuries. Sacred texts. Forbidden tomes. Records of wars won and kingdoms erased. The smell of parchment and old ink hung thick in the air, grounding, familiar.
Tonight, it did nothing to steady me.
I sat at the long oak table, candlelight flickering over open pages written in a script so old it hurt my eyes to follow. The words blurred anyway. I had read the same passage three times and retained none of it.
I could find those ominous words in it.
Scarlet Witch.
The name had been whispered through the Kingdom like a sickness. Villages burned. Children vanished. Some were found dead, drained of something unnamed. Others were never found at all. Mothers wailed. Fathers sharpened blades that would do them no good.
I turned another page, jaw tight.
Nothing.
No clear origin. No single truth. Just fragments, half-legends and superstitions stitched together by fear. A woman in red. A curse with a heartbeat. A mother's wrath made flesh. A ghost
I exhaled sharply and leaned back in my chair, dragging a hand down my face. For all my power, all my armies, all the titles stitched to my name, I felt unbearably helpless.
"I am an emperor," I muttered to the empty room. "And I cannot protect children from a ghost."
The candle flared as if mocking me.
Then,
A Thud.
The sound was small and soft.
I didn't look up.
I already knew.
Another thud followed, accompanied by the unmistakable scrape of something being dragged across stone. Then a delighted, breathy giggle so pure and bright and utterly out of place among the dead languages and grim prophecies.
Ares.
I closed my eyes briefly, the tension in my chest loosening despite myself.
"Of course," I murmured.
More noise followed, books shifting, something toppling over. I finally lifted my head just in time to see a heavy volume slide off the lower shelf and land with a dull thump on the floor.
And there he was.
Six months old and already determined to bring ruin to everything I owned.
Ares sat in the middle of the aisle, plump legs splayed, one chubby hand gripping the corner of an ancient manuscript. He had somehow managed to get the edge into his mouth, gnawing at it with enthusiasm like it was the finest delicacy the palace had to offer.
Drool slicked the gold-etched cover.
My breath caught with something dangerously close to laughter.
"By the gods," I said softly, towering over the little monster. "That book is older than the throne."
Ares looked up at the sound of my voice.
His amber eyes lit up instantly.
"Ba!" he squealed, abandoning the book entirely. He clapped his hands once, off-balance, then crawled toward me with reckless speed, knocking over another stack in his path.
I dropped to one knee and opened my arms.
"Come here, my little conqueror."
He made a triumphant noise and lunged forward, nearly face-planting before I caught him and lifted him. His laughter rang through the library, bright and unafraid, as I brought him against my chest.
The weight of him, solid, warm, alive, settled something deep inside me.
Ares reached immediately for my crown, fingers curling into the metal with surprising strength.
"No," I chuckled. "That stays on my head."
He tugged harder, offended by my refusal, then grinned like he'd won some private joke. His other hand smacked my cheek lightly.
Behind me, hurried footsteps echoed.
"Your Majesty…!"
The nurse burst into the library, breathless and pale with panic. "I am so sorry…we turned our backs for only a moment…he crawls so fast now…"
She stopped short when she saw him in my arms, unharmed and laughing.
Relief flooded her face, followed by immediate guilt.
"I will take him back at once," she quickly said, reaching forward.
"No," I said without thinking.
She froze.
I adjusted Ares on my hip, his small hand still tangled in the chain of my crown. "It's fine. Truly."
"But the library…" she looked around.
"I've survived worse damage," I said dryly, glancing at the scattered books. "He can stay."
Ares rewarded my defense of him by grabbing a fistful of my hair.
I winced. "Easy."
The nurse smiled despite herself, curtsying. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
She lingered, though, hesitation flickering across her face.
I felt it immediately.
"What is it?" I asked.
She swallowed. "Nothing, sire. I only… he's been… a bit unwell these past few days. Fussy. Warm. We thought it was nothing."
The words landed too heavily.
My smile faded.
"Unwell how?"
She hesitated again, and something cold twisted in my chest.
"We've tried remedies," she continued carefully. "Herbs. Baths. The physicians can't trace the illness. He still eats, still plays, but…"
"But?" I pressed.
"But sometimes he cries like he's in pain," she whispered. "And his skin… It's cold one moment, burning the next."
Ares gurgled happily, utterly unaware of the fear tightening my grip around him.
I looked down at his face, so innocent, so trusting, and something old and vicious stirred in my chest.
The Scarlet Witch!
The thoughts I had tried to bury clawed their way back to the surface.
"No one touches him without my permission," I said quietly and firmly. "No one."
The nurse nodded quickly. "Of course."
She retreated, leaving us alone again.
Ares yawned, resting his head against my shoulder.
I closed my eyes.
I had found him in the river six months ago, wrapped in soaked cloth, crying with a strength that defied death itself. No crest. No name.
I had named him Ares because he had survived.
Because he had fought.
Because I needed to believe that something born of chaos could still grow into something good.
My fingers tightened in his soft tunic.
"No one will hurt you," I whispered, more vow than comfort. "Not while I breathe."
A memory rose unbidden.
A tower. A woman screaming my name. Blood on stone.
Amarien.
The child we never held.
Pain flared sharp and sudden, stealing my breath. For a fleeting, treacherous moment, a thought crossed my mind, dark and unholy.
Could it be her?
The Scarlet Witch.
I recoiled from the idea instantly.
"No," I said aloud, shaking my head. "No."
The last I had heard, Amarien ruled the South as Luna. Queen among wolves.
I genuinely hoped that she was happy.
That she had found peace where I had failed her.
Still… a part of me ached with a longing I could never speak. A grief that had no language.
Ares stirred, babbling softly, and I forced myself back into the present.
Whatever haunted the Kingdom, whatever wore scarlet and fed on fear, it would not have my son.
Not this child.
Not again.
I carried him to the window, watching the moon climb higher into the sky, silver and watchful.
My heart, however, would not be still.
The fear had returned.
And this time, it wore my child's face.