CHAPTER 320: THE WITCH IN COURT-II

As expected, the ministers didn’t open the letters right away. They seemed to know better. If they did, everyone present would likely see what was written. Renard had told them explicitly to wait until they reached the court. The instruction was vague, yet clear enough, it meant Cassius had a plan, and it might already be in motion.

As Arabella entered the court alongside Helena, John, and Paul, she noticed the change in the atmosphere. The eyes watching her now were wary. People seemed to know who she was, or what she might be, and they feared it. But she held her head high, spine straight, refusing to let even the slightest crack show. No matter how much her nerves clawed at her, she would not let them win.

"Good," Helena murmured beside her, smiling. "Keep your back straight and your chin high. Those who come after you expect you to break. If you want to win against them, remain unbothered."

Arabella’s gaze drifted to Helena. The woman, with her ruby red eyes and quiet strength, had an ageless kind of beauty: elegant, composed, and untouched by time. She looked perhaps twenty years older, yet there was something enduring about her presence, something almost... regal.

"How long have you known Cassius?" Arabella asked, her voice low.

Helena grinned, her expression softening. "Since he was this tall." She gestured around her hip. "Such a proud boy, even back then. So firm, so stubborn, it was as if he’d already lived a life before this one."

Arabella chuckled lightly. It was true, Cassius’s fearlessness often bordered on eerie. To some, it might even seem prophetic, like he had lived a second life and returned with all its memories intact.

Then Helena tilted her head and asked suddenly, "Are you really a witch?"

The boldness of it surprised Arabella, but she didn’t flinch. She met Helena’s eyes steadily and offered a soft smile. "What do you think, Lady Helena? Do I look like a witch to you?"

Helena’s grin widened, a hum of intrigue leaving her lips as she considered. "I’m not too sure," she admitted at last. "I’ve never seen a witch with my own two eyes before. But if you are—" she slowed her steps, pausing just eight steps from the entrance to the court, "—wouldn’t that be so nice?"

"It’s nice if I am a witch?" Arabella asked, tilting her head ever so slightly toward Helena, who responded with a confident nod.

Helena leaned in, and Arabella instinctively allowed her voice to slip close to her ear like a secret meant only for her. "A child who holds the power of a demon, partnered with a witch... now, isn’t that the most formidable pair of conspirators?"

Startled, Arabella turned to look at her, only to see Helena flash her a sly wink.

So... she knew. Helena knew about Cassius’s secret. But how?

Before she could find the words to ask, Helena’s hand reached out, fingers wrapping gently around Arabella’s in a brief, warm squeeze. She leaned even closer, her whisper quieter, more sincere. "I have always been an ally. So if you truly are a witch, how could I not rejoice at the revelation? Finally, there will be someone strong at His Highness’s side, someone who could protect him when others cannot. His mother would have been so pleased... if she were still alive."

That single line told Arabella everything.

It wasn’t just about loyalty. It was love and admiration, deep, old, and unwavering. Helena hadn’t simply served the former Queen. She had cherished her. Perhaps even mourned her in silence all these years. Arabella could now see it: Helena’s faith in Cassius was not born from politics or ambition. It came from the woman who had once worn the crown.

Arabella answered with a soft, grateful smile. She still didn’t confirm whether she was a witch, but the silence between them was understood.

Helena didn’t appear offended. She seemed to respect the hesitation, as though she’d expected it. Trust was a luxury not easily afforded in a court where secrets cut deeper than swords, and names were etched on daggers rather than marble.

Arabella knew that if she ever confirmed what she was, it wouldn’t only affect her, it would place Cassius in a dangerous light. After all, they would demand to know whether she was the one behind the potion that had shaken the vampires to their core.

They moved together through the hall, steps soft and deliberate, until they passed the entrance to the court. Arabella could feel John’s watchful gaze lingering on her. She turned her head just enough to acknowledge him with a subtle bow before parting ways with the ministers, who veered off toward their designated seats.

With Renard and Karnala flanking her, Arabella’s steps grew more certain.

"So this is what the court looks like now," a familiar voice chimed in beside her.

She turned, surprised, and found herself staring into the same bright blue eyes, but with hair now as black as pitch, dyed by her own spell. Atlas.

"I thought you said you didn’t want to step foot in the court," she whispered, cautious yet curious.

Atlas gave a nod, thoughtful. "At first, I didn’t. This place..." he trailed off, glancing toward the towering ceilings and gleaming marble, "...this is where I’ve spilled the blood of my own siblings. Every time I enter, I feel their shadows watching."

Arabella stilled for a beat.

"Then why are you here?" her eyes asked more than her lips could.

But Atlas only smiled and gave a soft chuckle. "Because I thought you might need me. And when someone extends you kindness, especially the kind that saves your soul, you repay it. So here I am, at your side, benefactor. Ready to lend my strength... and perhaps look a little dramatic while doing so."

He puffed his chest, mock pride brimming in his voice. Despite the dread curling in her stomach, Arabella laughed, quiet and short, but real.

And for the first time since she entered the court, her fear didn’t feel quite so heavy.

"Your siblings, were all of them so desperate for the throne?" Arabella inquired while Atlas noticed Morgana who had entered the court with her shoulders puffed high and her lips painted in purple spread wide in a smile.

She had even worn red, a color only used by the King as though saying that from now on she was the reigning Queen.

"Well," Atlas muttered, plopping his chin on his arm, "Most of them didn’t want the throne because they wanted to be the King. Some were just pawn, pawns from their own families."