Relief flowed through her body as he bowed and gave his acquiescence to her command. She hated doing it, she hated having for even a moment becoming anything like those other Queens. But this was her position and her title demanded that she make harsh decisions and direct in ways she may not enjoy. As she calmed so to did her Grey. At first, the rumbles of it turned to the feeling of a softer, light rain storm before finally dissipating. Once again the power clung tightly around her body.

Fatima's lower lip trembled and her pale, white-gold eyes began to fill with tears. She flung her arms around Lucivar's neck and nuzzled her face against the morning's stubble on his cheek. "I was so afraid you would leave me. I am so sorry I had to ask this of you. Thank you, thank you," she whispered tearfully against the shell of his ear. She pulled back, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and smiled a tearful little smile for him. "You are a good man, Prince Lucivar." She stroked his cheeks momentarily before letting him go and returning her attention to the rest of the group.

She was just in time to see Vaclav gagging on the coffee and she giggled through her tears. "Maybe Gen would be so kind as to allow me to make up something better?" She nervously toyed with her curls, hoping none of the men would be too angry at her outburst and demands. So Far Vaclav had handled the news shocking well. Perhaps she would not be judged too harshly.

---

Gen snarled as Mikhail spoke so casually of Faeril's caste. One that was best left hidden for Black Widows were outlawed in most, if not all, of the Terriellean Courts. The penalty of being one was to be forced to serve a Queen, hunted and killed, or broken. Gen was not sure if any of those options were better than the others, but he was not going to make Faeril choose. "You speak out of turn revealing such." He could hardly deny it after snarling and calling in his Eyrien warblade, a wicked sword made specifically for Eyrien warriors. Still this breaking of trust had to be answered, and he could feel his brothers at war with staying away with their busy work as the Queen 'suggested' and coming out to aid him. Rage snapping in his eyes.

"That... is... enough." The faint voice came from the front room, and turning one could see Faeril gripping the doorframe, her icy eyes narrowed on Gen as sweat beaded her brow.

Casting a worried look at the proprieter of the house, Gen Vanished the Warblade to take a step towards the shaking woman. "Ashke! You should be resting, you've been out for-" He took a look at the ticking clock as it's pendulum checked off the seconds in the day. "The better part of an hour and a half." His tone was far from pleased as he hedged at how exactly to get Faeril back to bed without causing some serious damage to her or inflicting her snake tooth upon himself.

"I shall when your boiling tempers stop shaking the webs I have woven about the entire house. I may be at the Blood Opal but I can still feel them." The woman stated tartly as she cast a warning look at the man who was her escort and self proclaimed protector, even if the foe he was protecting her from was himself. Turning that slightly unfocused gaze on Fatima the woman grumbled in a utterly grouchy voice, "And I see that we have more 'guests'. Lovely." The Black Widow-Healer groused. "Does no one listen to a thing I say?"

"Not particularly." Andressa stated polietly. "What do you know of...?" She gave a pointed glance to the proclaimed Black Widow. A caste that made the woman worry as they were a powerful, and quite literally venomous, set of witches. Many of the Queen in Dene Nehele didn't trust them and whispered of them being unnatural.

---

Seated in a large chair upon a raised dais in a opulent residence, the dark skinned and golden eyed woman studied the twelve males before her. A gleam in those eyes that promised nothing good and a cruel little smile upon her lips as she considered who to send upon this mission. At her feet was a thirteenth, a Purple-Dusk Prince, who had come running from that sheep town Eldan with a interesting whisper upon his lips. Hefan had felt the pull to the young Tabithi years ago, but fear of what might happen if he left and the Court of Fatima hunted him down had held him back. The man had played his part as a loyal servant for years and had been believed. Kissing the slippered foot of his new Queen he was eager to please this woman as he looked up into those soft golden eyes that held so much compassion.

"So that bitch-queen Fatima of the Grey Jewel fled to Askavi? And you know not where?" Tabithi asked with a tremble in her voice. Hefan thought it was fear, Tabithi knew it as laughter.

Eager to assure his new Queen that this Grey Jeweled Queen was not going to come looking for him, Hefan eagerly nodded unaware of the amused and hate filled looks of the Court behind him. "She went to seek out a Black Widow. There was rumor or two and Fatima was certain she could seek the witch out. Beneth and Jassen came back looking like they had walked through Hell and without her. Though I do remember them mentioning something about the 'Winged Pig'..." He felt happiness rise up inside of him as the Tiger-eye Queen smiled. It was like walking into a warm room with good friends and wine.

But the fool never saw the blow coming, as a hulking brute stepped up behind the man and brought his club down upon the skull of the Prince. Tabithi studied the slippers and her gold pressed gown, both now splattered with blood as the body slumped off the side of the dias as it was nudged thus by the club wielding Warlord Prince. Letting herself prop her head up via a fist to her chin, Tabithi smiled sweetly at her court. "Thank you Prince Tyrron. Now I think I know of the Winged Pig. Or rather that you might?" Her golden eyes met the Sapphire Warlord Prince's eyes with a wicked smile that was a sweet poison to her Court. While Tyrron was the strongest male and Eyrien at that, the rest were not slouches in the ways of fighting. In fact Tabithi made it a sport to 'hunt' with her little pack of hounds. They got the females they caught and she got the studs for her stables.

Looking out the glass window she gestured sharply with a snap of her fingers and smiled as ten men left taking the body with them. The two men with her remaining as they ought. She was the Queen after all.

---

---

---

---

Lucivar's eyes widened for a moment when he felt Fatima's arms wrap around him. He wanted to say something to console her, but before he could, he saw Gen summon his blade and Faeril enter the room. His lips pressed together as he looked around, but this was a damn right mess, and the appearance of Faeril brought back the Dea Al Mon's mention of a Black Widow and turned his head toward the proprietress. He didn't know if the Dea Al Mon was talking about Faeril and it would be foolish to jump to that conclusion. But a simple witch bringing them all together as she had with, as of yet, an unknown purpose did seem rather odd.

It brought some comfort knowing that Andress was going to look into her. Lucivar patted his Queen on the arm while his eyes were still trained on Faeril. "And what exactly did you expect bringing strangers in your home with no explanation, Faeril?" He asked, "Unless you explain exactly what we're all doing here, bloodshed will be inevitable. I'll give the benefit of doubt to my new court, but unless you start explaining, Witch, I'll have no choice but to assume everyone in here is an agent of Dorothea and act accordingly."

---

---

Mikhail was still surprised both on the way Fatima handled the situation (including sitting on his lap) and by her power, that immediately made the others calm down. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge her as being harmless... She definitely knew how to handle the situation. He would be sure to keep an eye out for her for the duration of his stay. She was undoubtedly a kind woman, as it became evident for Mikhail just a few seconds after her 'outburst'. Fatima herself apparently didn't liked to act like that. Mikhail couldn't help but to silently wonder how Fatima, such a kind and sweet woman kept those who lived in that house in control.

But despite Fatima's efforts, the peace she had created soon vanished once more when Gen turned to Mikhail, snarling to him after he replied to Lucivar's question. The second Gen summoned his warblade, Mikhail's hand instinctively grasped the hilt of one of the twin daggers while getting ready to use his threads. There was no room to discussion anymore. It was the second time someone had shown a weapon in his presence and his instincts were speaking too loud for him to ignore.

Mikhail's eyes were cold and penetrating, showing an almost unsettling calm as he stood up from the chair, his muscles immediately tensing up. Deep down inside, Mikhail was almost feeling guilty for Fatima and all the effort she had wasted in order to keep things calm, but in his own defense, he was simply reacting to the changes in the atmosphere, as he not even once had displayed hostility to any other of those in the room and instead, was the one who was clearly being threatened.

Fortunately for all those present, Mikhail's previous question regarding how Fatima was able to live in that house would be answered in just a moment as Faeril arrived on the kitchen, looking to Gen with an icy stare that was incredibly similar to Mikhail's own stare, immediately making Gen unsummon his blade and proceeded to scold her for waking up too soon. Despite Faeril's faint and obviously tired voice, the moment she opened her mouth again, Gen immediately stopped speaking, quietly listening to Faeril.

Surprisingly enough, the one that Mikhail could understand better on that house was the one that the others described as being the most dangerous. Despite Fatima's kindness and sweetness, Mikhail still couldn't understand her actions. But he could clearly understand how Faeril acted. She might be dangerous, but maybe it was exactly because of that fact that Mikhail could understand her actions to some extent. So far, she shown herself to be highly professional, including not asking any questions about Mikhail's past. Not only that but he had been extremely vulnerable when she was treating him and yet, she shown herself to be trustworthy.

"Fatima, once again, I'm grateful for your hospitality and your kindness. I had honestly almost forgotten how sweet the word 'friend' sounds. I must also apologize myself. My presence here apparently caused quite a... commotion." Mikhail said, with a smile and a discreet bow towards Fatima, apologizing himself to her despite the fact that he did nothing nor spoke anything wrong.

"Faeril, as we discussed previously, I always keep my word and I will repay for the treatment in any way I can." Mikhail said, looking to Faeril and nodding respectfully towards her, silently telling her that he would return and she didn't need to be worried about him simply disappearing before he turned to the rest.

"That being said, even though I would definitely like to stay a bit more, I'm afraid I must leave. Just as Lucivar said, Bloodshed is indeed unavoidable if things continue like this." Mikhail said, with cold, penetrating eyes looking to the Eyriens in particular.

"I highly advise against trying to stop me. Weapons have already been drawn two times in my presence and pointed towards me despite my clearly non-hostile intentions. I came here only to have my 'condition' treated and nothing more. There is no need for unnecessary bloodshed." Mikhail continued, with clear predatory eyes as he walked towards the door.

Oh no. It was all going sideways again. She tensed up, her fingers gripping her hair as she watched the scene before her. Everything was breaking apart, unraveling at the seams. She wanted to scream out again, put a stop to it. But this was Faeril's show now. This was her house, Faeril got to be in charge. The tiny Queen watched and listened with horror apparent on her bronzed features.

When Mikhail bowed to her, sharing his intention to leave, her heart broke. She reached out a hand without thinking to grab his arm, his sleeve, something. But he slipped easily past her fingers and she let her hands hang at her sides. She didn't realize it but tears were starting to form and then drip down her face. "Don't go," she whispered. The quiet sound was unlikely to be heard by the others as the arguments progressed.

Fatima wrapped her arms around herself. She had envisioned that when her Court finally got together they would be happy and there would be a sense of togetherness. Everything would go just right. She could never have imagined it as this callous, cold, and broken thing. It needed desperate fixing before it had even begun. She just didn't know what to do. All of the knowledge of what a Queen was supposed to do was there in her head. However, her grief and surprise kept her from doing as she should.

Ashkevron Residence in Askavi:

Just as Vaclav thought the room had calmed down, Gen had to snarl at Mikhail about him calling Faeril a Black Widow. When he had originally heard the statement, Vaclav’s curiosity was piqued but figured it wasn’t a good time considering Fatima was trying to get everyone back on friendly terms. He couldn’t help but tense once again when the Eyrien called upon his warblade. Vaclav stood at the ready in case anything was to happen though he did not draw his own weapon. Couldn’t everyone just converse normally without tempers flying?

He relaxed a little when a woman walked in chiding Gen enough to vanish his warblade. Vaclav assumed that this was Faeril by how she was acting. Despite him being glade that she showed up when she did, he definitely though by her pallor that she shouldn’t be up right now.

As tensions grew in the room once again, Vaclav remained quiet; he did not want to provoke anyone more than they already were, especially Mikhail who seemed to be the most unstable. While he feel bad for Fatima, who tried her best to calm everyone down, he did have to agree with Lucivar. In this day and age, too many strangers in one room will result in confrontation eventually. No one trusted anyone anymore.



Ashkevron Residence in Askavi:

Artemis added one last herb to her mix to finish it up. Though she hated intruding in someone else’s kitchen, Gen had yet to start a pot of water so she decided to boil it herself. She was putting the kettle on the stove when tension rose again as the Eyrien got angered that Mikhail had revealed Faeril’s true caste. It was different being in the room rather than off to a corner. Artemis could feel the anger rolling off in waves from Gen as he called on his warblade and as Mikhail placed his hands on his daggers in retaliation.

Not wanting to get caught in the middle, Artemis slid back to where Andressa sat to wait for the water to boil. “Not much…” she responded to Andressa. Artemis knew that the Black Widows had a wicked reputation and were distrusted by many. She had never met one as most were in hiding or working for Dorothea. Though she wanted to give Faeril the benefit of the doubt, to say that Artemis wasn’t wary would be a lie. “She needs to lay down though…” Whenever Artemis didn’t know what to do, she went back to what was natural to her, healing. Though they were on opposite sides of the room, she could tell that the woman needed more rest; her posture gave away her exhaustion.

---

The sky beyond the windows that let the murky light into the eyrie matched the mood of the fledgling Court within. Folding her hands, gloved as they often were, Faeril studied the flow of tempers and declarations that were being thrown about the room. It wasn't uncommon for personalities to clash, but for a Court it was problematic and made worse by Fatima not stepping up the line. The girl was young and most likely used to being the 'darling' of the room from what Faeril had gathered from her brief stint in the minds of Queen's former Court. Grimacing Faeril drew the gloves from her slim fingers with a casual slowness as she turned her attention to the truly dangerous male in her home. The only thing that leashed the Warlord Prince seemed to be the Queen perched on him as though he was a great throne. Pointing with an imperial gesture at Mikhail with a nail that was long and carefully painted a dark green to hide the hint of the Black Widow's natural snake-tooth beneath. "Sit down Prince. You came here for your treatment and because I can quite clearly see the threads of the webs I spun twined about you. Brothers, go and make sure we will not be interrupted by any more guests." The order was snapped out with a tartness and a pointed look at the Grey Jeweled Queen.

Gen heard his brothers flee for the backdoor lest they witness the bloodbath between a Black Widow and Warlord Prince. As much as they wanted to defend Faeril, getting involve would cost them body parts in the end. Giving a rumbling sigh, the Healer-Black Widow's escort pulled back a chair and plopped himself in it. "If you wish me to leave, then move me. We both know you barely made it here and only have enough power left to stop from burning yourself out." The Warlord stated coldly, matching the little witch's temper with his own. Her wings were drooping to the side and there were wrinkles in her usually immaculate dress. Both of which spoke to the weariness that Ashkevron was in. As tempted as he was to hoist her over his shoulder and carry her back to the bed, the fact she had removed those gloves put that particular idea to a sudden halt.

With a tsk of her tongue, the Black Widow turned her gaze back to the most irritating of the lot in the room. "Irritating males." The woman flexed her right ring finger with a practiced motion, a thin snake like fang sliding out to be revealed in open air. Pulling a cup of coffee that had been sitting on the table, the fang hovered over it and dropped a single tear of the poison Faeril's body naturally made with the power of the Red into the mix. Flexing her finger again, the snake-tooth slid back into it's channel beneath her finger. "I am Faeril Ashkevron, a Healer and Black Widow. This house has been in my family for generations as has the Craft of the Hourglass Coven." The woman stated in a solemn voice. The Hourglass was the coven by which the Black Widows owed their allegiance though very few outside the actual Caste knew more. It was a symbol now outlawed in Terrielle, and it was a warning. "I spun my tangled webs to draw to me a Queen who would be able to cut the rot from Terrielle and stop the spread into Kaeleer. I spun to draw a Court to protect this Queen, and I dreamed. I saw a land covered with the web of Dorothea's influence, and her fingers poised to crush it all in her grip. I have waited centuries for a Queen to come, but this time I am certain. More than that, I do not have time to wait any longer. Dorothea nearly has all of Terrielle in her grasp and the rot will spread."

Black Widows were a mystery to those in Terrielle, though those from Kaeleer. Mikhail would get a echo from his past. A Black Widow working her Craft to ease a child's dreams, weaving a web to find something lost and pulling the memories of wood as they tried to discover what had happened in one of the rooms in a city that matching nothing he had seen in Terrielle. A place that was made of trees and houses wrapped about their mighty trunks.

Still Faeril continued with a pointed look as she chastened the Queen. "You should step to the line Grey Queen. Or do you fear they will turn away? This is a time where males not recognize the ties to Queen as those ties have been so badly abused of late." The icy gaze flickered over to Mikhail and then to Vaclav. "You wish me to explain exactly why you are all here? Because you belong to Lady Fatima. You are part of her Court. If you would open yourself to your power, you would feel that pull that you have been taught to deny by the twisted pets of Dorothea. Risking that tie to one of them was too much, but no longer need it be so." Sliding the poisoned mug to Gen, the Widow snapped. "Burn it. And Prince Lucivar? If you try to splatter my walls with this 'bloodshed', I'll kick your ass from on end of this Realm to the other. In each of the Realms, so help me."

Gen stared as the mug made it less than three inches towards him. The poisoned coffee threatening to spill over the sides. Using a touch of witchfire, the Warlord made sure the mug and coffee within burned lest some of that poison accidentally kill someone. "It seems everyone has a problem with my brewing coffee." The Eyrien warrior drawled with part annoyance as he raised a brow at Vaclav.

"My poison would hardly make it words." The Black Widow sneered down the table, though her hands had folded into her lap to stop their trembling.