Chapter 13

King Foltest ruled his kingdom with a tyrant's iron fist. Towards his people he gave only the taste of cold steel. 

Unbeknownst to all but a handful, a treacherous and terrible stain hung over this heartless ruler.

By night Foltest's screams echoed in the halls of his mighty castle. Even his most trusted servants were forbidden to approach his chambers after nightfall. 

Many men sought desperately to forget the deeds of their past. Foltest was a man with unbridled ambition; to obtain his seat that surveyed all before him he had committed unspeakable acts of evil. These acts numbered too many to count.

The mountains of lives that had been slaughtered under his cold command did not bother Foltest. Before turning in for the night he would often wander the torture chambers beneath his castle and whisper mockingly at those who would've sought to harm him. 

Power was seductive. Its arms beckoned without regard for age or wealth. 

A farmer's son might plunge a pitchfork through his father's neck for just a few acers of barren farmland. Atop Foltest's head rested a crown adorned with gems which held value beyond what any commoner could ever believe; this afforded him dominion over entire swathes of the continent.

Foltest considered the whole of Temeria as his own, his personal property to wield as he so desired. 

Rarely could darkness could accompany the light. Foltest's court was as rotten as his heart. 

Yet as the noble king lay there sleeping, draped in velvet pillows and treasured furs, his face was whiter than a ghost's. Beads of sweet oozed down his neck, causing the sheet beneath him to cling on like a beastly embrace. 

Every few moments his limbs would convulse violently and his back would arch as a piercing and agonized wail escaped from his bloodied lips. 

Were it not for the sorceress's spells that allowed him a scarce few hours of sleep induced by powerful magic and herbs, madness might've already consumed Foltest's mind. 

Hours later the king of a country was roused to waking. 

"I didn't do it!" 

The scream was hoarse and guttural. Foltest's shaking hands clutched searchingly at the sheets on either side and his heart thumped so painfully that it seemed to be clawing its way out from his chest. 

Miles away, in a decrepit and neglected manor, the rattling of chains resounded hauntingly. Icy winds blew through broken windows and tattered curtains swung as if possessed by some otherworldly spirit. 

The manor had no owner. Nor any servants to sweep the floors or tidy the beds. Dust blanketed every surface with a thick grey hue. 

But scattered through the halls, in dimly lit spots where the light could not reach, the blanket of grey was disturbed by footprints. 

The footsteps were spaced bizarrely. The unique gait haunting in a way separate to anything a human could leave behind. Between each step, long and jagged faint grey marks were carved into the once grandiose slabs. 

"I didn't do it." Foltest's voice was quietened to a whisper as he spoke. 

Although his lofty pride would never allow his weaknesses to be shared with the world, Foltest could not evade the prying eyes of magic.

In frontal combat his archers and pikemen could drag any sorcerer to their undoing, a wave of his scepter could change the fate of thousands on his whims. 

Foltest's royal status afforded him dozens of layers of protection. Unfortunately all of these precautions were meaningless when he had willingly invited his enemy into his own castle. 

Triss observed the king assigned to her by Aretuza with an emotionless gaze. He was just like any other monarch, his blackened soul staining the kingdom over which he presided. 

Foltest's deeply fatigued features, despite having woken from sleep just moments ago, were reflected in a shimmering pool of silver liquid at Triss' feet. Through this spell, cunningly engraved on a protective amulet that hung invariably around Foltest's neck, she kept watch of his every move. 

"Foolish kings, all your gold and gilded halls and still all you can think of is your greed." Triss giggled and splashed her delicate legs in the silver waters. 

"At least this one receives some comeuppance." 

Stretching languidly by the dawn's morning light Triss allowed the sun to frame the curves of her hips and shoulders.

Triss was a sorceress blessed by chaos. Her talent was as breathtaking as her beauty.

To her dissapointment, most listed her beauty first and her accomplishments second.

Being publicly regarded as one of the most beautiful women on the continent was an honour that countless women would sell their souls for.

But for all things, where there was gain, there was loss.

Beauty without the power to protect it was akin to a gleaming treasure with no guardian.

Triss saw the greed and lust in the eyes of Foltest and his foul cabinet when they looked at her.

Fear of a fireball carving it's way towards their wretched groins held them in check.

The sorceress scoffed and spat out a word venomously, "Pigs."

Alighting from the reclining couch on which she rested, Triss grabbed a beautiful silken robe yellow from her cupboards. Before she could fully put it on, she paused suddenly.

The back of a tall and masculine figure appeared uncontrollably in her mind.

"Geralt." The honeyed word slipped from her lips without concious thought.

Triss shook her head, sending droplets of water flying across the room from her long crimson hair.

This seemingly mundane scene would've captured the hearts of countless passionate young men.

Such was the allure of beauty.

While Triss selected various trinkets and charms to amplify the demeanour of a powerful sorceress and silence the pestering doubts of her abilities cast by Foltest's goons, the king of a nation seated himself at a table stacked to the brim with steaming copper plates of decadent dishes.

Peasants lay starving in their dilapidated huts, struggling for every breath and watering the harsh and dry ground with their tears.

Meanwhile their king feasted.

Such was the consequences of power.