Witch's Daughter And The Devil's Son Chapter 1: The Infamous Witchs Daughter

Clank!

Shliing!

The instant those noises echoed, 'Swords?' crossed my mind, and right after, the harsh truth struck: 'War?'

Two armies of soldiers faced off, one dressed in red armor, the other in blue. It seemed my spirit had been flung straight into a savage bloodbath. The warriors rushed forward, battling fiercely with their blades without mercy.

Under the vivid moonlight, every detail stood clear, yet before I could grasp what was happening, one soldier advanced on me, clearly aiming to strike me down.

Does he see me at all? Panic surged through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut instinctively.

From afar, in my bedchamber window, my actual body clutched my gown tightly, bracing for the sword's bite with lids firmly closed. Yet just before the blade could touch, another sword sliced through the air.

The soldier's agonized cry made me peek open my eyes, revealing a towering figure in a sleek black robe positioned protectively before me. His wide, powerful back blocked my view as his blade plunged through the attacker's gut, emerging from the other side in a deadly thrust.

Withdrawing his sword from the corpse effortlessly, the tall warrior prepared to fell more foes. Shoving the body away, he seized the fallen blade and resumed his rampage, wielding dual swords with deadly accuracy.

Watching from behind, I sensed he was no common fighter. His tailored black robe bore intricate gold embroidery forming a regal emblem, and his lengthy hair was bound in a ponytail secured by a golden ornament at the crown.

My gaze lingered on the left side of his neck, exposed whenever he shifted angle slightly.

'A tattoo... a serpent maybe?'

I couldn't make it out sharply. His speed blurred even a glimpse of his profile.

My eyes tracked his every motion—the swift steps, the masterful bladework—as his bound locks swayed wildly before me. It appeared he shielded me by slaying the enemies closing in, sparking my burning curiosity about this mystery man.

'No way that's possible.' I squinted at his form. 'How could he guard me when my body isn't here and he's blind to my presence?'

'I need to see his face... ahh... why won't he just turn once?' Despite my efforts, it proved futile. No matter how I trailed him, only his backside filled my vision.

Even though he couldn't perceive me, desperation made me call out, 'Who are you?'

As though my words reached him, he halted his killing spree and went rigid.

It shocked me. 'Did he actually hear that?'

He began to pivot...

'My lady, time for bed.'

The vision shattered the second a voice intruded, vanishing the man from sight. Disappointment washed over me as I faced the gray-haired middle-aged woman who had stepped into my bedchamber, interrupting my remote viewing.

'Soon, Martha,' I answered, lingering by the window.

I directed my inner sight back to the distant mountain peaks, bathed in silvery moonlight. The gentle night wind tousled my long reddish-brown tresses, fluttering the sheer veil masking my lower face while my flowing blue gown swirled gracefully.

To my frustration, the battlefield refused to reappear, drawing a heavy sigh from my lips.

I am Seren, the notorious witch's offspring, the realm's most reviled sight. Though a princess by birth, none accept me due to the tainted blood of a demonic being in my veins.

Confined to the remotest tower of Abetha's Royal Palace, isolated from the grand halls and festivities, I resided aloft, forbidden to all because the witch's child dwelled within.

Beyond my heritage, a curse afflicted me too. Yet viewed differently, these curses blessed more than burdened, for any who sought my harm met swift calamity.

'My lady, your bed awaits,' Martha summoned, approaching me.

'Hmm,' I gave a faint nod.

Martha joined me at the window. 'Might I inquire what captures my lady's gaze?'

'If I share, will you dismiss it as always?' I shot back.

'What do you see?' Martha pressed, peering in the same direction.

'Over there,' I gestured to the distant ranges, 'beyond those peaks, warriors clash in battle.'

Martha offered no remark. 'Understood. Now, to sleep.'

Her response didn't faze me; I sighed, 'Good night, Martha.'

Saying no more, I headed to bed as Martha eyed the mountains.

Martha huffed in disapproval, shut the window, and drew the drapes.

I knew Martha believed my words but pretended otherwise, her habit. Any odd claim from me prompted her to urge distance from it.

For seventeen years, this tower—shunned by all, even servants—held only me and my nanny Martha. She was my world: sibling, mother, companion. True kin.

Martha guided my tempers and shielded me from threats. She forbade tears, shouts, or rage, lest disaster strike from my doomed fate.

'Tomorrow we venture to the palace,' Martha noted, feeding logs to the fire.

'The King's birthday? Queen's? Or someone worse?' I queried.

From memory, the King's last birthday marked my prior outing amid the palace throng. Annually, only mandates forced my appearances.

Ah, right—I bore Abetha's royal name in title, compelling their allowance.

'Neither. It's the Second Princess's betrothal,' Martha clarified.

'Won't the witch's kin bring ill fortune?' I quipped dryly. 'What if I torch the couple?'

Martha eyed me steadily. 'Rather, I hope my lady smiles, letting blooms flourish across the land.'

'Misery can't be mine alone,' I replied, settling into bed.

Since I ceased smiling, flowers scarce bloomed in the realm; they imported them elsewhere. No joy warranted grins, so blame lay elsewhere.

Truthfully, this curse ranked my favorite, stripping their floral splendor. Curses wrecked my existence, yet I'd adapted long ago.

'No such dawn exists.'

With eyes shut, I heard Martha retreat to her adjacent chamber.

Though nanny, her quarters neighbored mine—a perk for tending the witch's heir.

Drifting to sleep, thoughts swirled of the enigmatic warrior from my vision, dreading tomorrow's palace irritants.