Chapter 33: The Soirée Invitation

Taking slow steps over the dark wooden floor that creaked every now and then with every step he took. But one look at the sight of the cottage brought him to an abrupt stop. Lowly lit candles at the far corner of the hall. Visible, scary creepers creeping on the corners of the walls and floors. Statues of weird figures stood in random places. Their gaze seemed to have set on him. He felt like they were looking at him and his actions.

The slight fog in the air had him turn his eyes wide and vigilant as he gazed at his surroundings cautiously.

"Oh, my dear Alfonzo." He heard the seductive voice come from behind him. "King Alfonzo..." Alfonzo clenched his teeth with irritation as he felt the familiar touch on his neck. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "How long have I been waiting for you, my darling?"

"Damn it, Evanora! Take your fucking filthy hands off me," he yanked away from her and turned around, locking his hand around the long, slender neck of the witch and having her take in her breath sharply. The foggy air cleared the atmosphere in a mini second. The witch gazed into the king's eyes with a smirk playing on her lips. She seemed unfazed by the king's intimidating aura.

"Oh, love, how I miss you throttle me. Do you miss me too?"

"Shut the damn fuck and tell me why you keep ravishing the little towns unwantedly."

"Huh, I have no idea what you're talking about, my darling." She still managed to speak with her hand curled around her neck, choking her life out.

Furious, Alfonzo slammed her onto the nearby wall, digging his poisoned nails into her scaly skin. The witch hissed at the reaction of the poison on her skin.

"Keep diverting, and you'll see no light forever."

"You wouldn't dare do that." A similar voice to that of the witch in front of him came from behind. He snapped his head at the source as soon as he realized that he'd been deceived by an illusion of her tricks.

"The little soccer game with those useless creatures living nearby the woods was pretty awesome, you know." She walked around the large pot, running her pale, slender fingers over the rims of it, screeching her black nails over the muddy pot.

"Have I not told you not to meddle with those people?" Rage boiled in Alfonzo. He fisted his palms tightly as he glared at her.

"Calm down, my king. Why not have a seat, and we'll speak over a hot, delicious soup?" She questioned as she stirred the so-called soup, which looked dirty and disgusting in green, in one hand and twirled her curly black hair strands from her gypsy braided hair with the other hand of hers.

"I'd rather die than drink that socks water," the king remarked as he sat on the wooden chair that stood right in front of a dead seagull's statue.

"Ha ha ha!" The witch faked her laugh.

"What do you plan on killing those human beings for?" He questioned her with a deadly look.

"Consider it to be a surprise for you, my king. I do not wish to ruin it, but I assure you, you'd love the results of it." She gazed at Alfonzo seductively, a smirk playing on her black-tainted lips.

"Whatever, don't put my people in trouble," said the king, sighing tiredly and waving his hand at her. The witch walked toward the king, swaying her hips as she saw the lust-filled eyes of the king.

"You seem to look so tired, don't you, my king?" Came the fake worry. She neared the king and stood beside him as she ran her fingers over the black mane of his. Muttering inaudible spells under her breath, she ran her fingers soothingly through the soft, silky hair and brought them down his forehead, closing his eyelids. Soon, the king fell into a deep slumber under her spells.

A wide smile broadened her lips as she saw the result of her planned work.

Under a dimly lit lamp, in the peaceful surroundings with none to disturb, Christon had his head rested on the back of the chair, caught up in a deep thought. His eyes gazed nowhere in particular as several speculations clouded his mind.

A light tap on the closed door had him snap out of his thoughts. "Enter," he allowed, still unmoved. He heard the faint click-clacks on the carpeted floor as the person entered the room, walked toward him, and stopped a few distances away from him.

"What is it?"

"There's a grand soiree arranged by the Sulkins, and His Highness demands your presence at the soiree," said the man in a black suit with his head bowed.

A loud sigh left Christon's lips. He turned his gaze toward the man lazily.

"Can't I just ditch it like any other day, Mazen?"

"I'm afraid the order was strictly sent from His Majesty, Your Highness." Fear was perceptible in his voice.

"Which means I'll have to see through it," he said as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Get the path clear, Maze. I'll be leaving soon."

"Yes, Your High- Sir!" The man's eyes widened as soon as he realized his mistake, but he was quick enough to stutter out the right word. He soon bowed his head and left the spot immediately.

Christon unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and grabbed his coat before he left his cabin, putting on a charming smile. His ruffled hair and pale complexion, along with his hypnotizing smile, made his female colleagues who passed by blush and shy away at his charm.

Who knew under those thick facades of beautiful smiles was a tensed man who had been trying to get rid of the guilt in him?

The portion that Adrien had given did prove to them that there were witches involved in the case, but as a doctor who was always true to himself and didn't like to risk his patient's life, he could not accept what he had done.

He knew that the patient's life depended on them. Diego was barely holding onto his life, but the portion had had him quicken it all. It was all a matter of time, and everything would soon come to an end.

How cruel was this fate, was it not?