The High Seer crashed through the council room doors like a mouse trying to outrun a cat. The council members stopped their discussion and fell silent.

"My, my, you're looking worse for wear, Balthazaar." Lord Moraxes trailed an eye over the High Seer's sweaty face, stained robes, and disheveled hair. Moraxes's dark hair was slicked back, and he wore an impeccable green brocade suit.

"Your Majesty, I need your urgent council," Balthazaar wheezed.

Lord Undine's lip curled. "Could this not have waited till we finished the meeting? Where are the guards?" He wore a silky aquamarine suit that had coral cufflinks.

"I sent them away because you didn't want anyone to overhear your proposal to raise healer taxes in the Undine Islands." Damon arched a brow, the sun glinting over the diamond buttons on his forest green suit.

There was an awful pause where Lord Undine glanced between the High Seer and Damon. His eyes narrowed, knowing full well that the prince had just outed his plans to the High Seer. Balthazaar was trustworthy but still ... Lord Undine took the wisest course of action and chose to remain silent. Instead, he added Balthazaar's name to the proposal which had been drafted on flattened coral. After this meeting he'd make sure Balthazaar would keep silent about it.

"Go on, Balthazaar." Erik waved a hand, eyes still on the proposal in front of him. His gold crown glinted, like the gold pin on his velvet maroon suit.

Balthazaar's belly squirmed as the lords gave him a look that told him he was an inconvenience. Once upon a time he'd been important just like them. He used to be invited to council meetings like this one. He used to sit in this ridiculously opulent room with its rich furniture and its sapphire chandelier. Balthazaar's voice mattered once, but after the war, the High Seer had been edged out of the council. Apparently, he was too old, and his mind wasn't as sharp as it used to be. He felt as unwelcome and as insignificant as a sprite.

"Majesty, it is best if we discuss this matter in private." Balthazaar's knobby hands shook.

"Why?"

"I've had a vision."

The king glanced up and stared at Balthazaar for one long moment, then he placed the proposal down. "Council members, we'll recommence this meeting tomorrow."

Chairs scraped back as everyone stood up and took copies of the proposal with them.

Lord Moraxes gave the High Seer a shrewd look and planned to get the information out of him later. Moraxes would get it, one way or the other, either through bribery or blackmail. He knew it had been many years since Balthazaar had a vision, and that whatever it was would be of great value.

Damon walked past the High Seer, features blank, trained from an early age to conceal his emotions. If the vision was important, his father would notify him.

Once everyone left, a thick quiet enveloped the room.

"Your Majesty I've had a vision about the grimoire," Balthazaar began, voice as brittle as a dry twig.

"What of it?"

"It's disappeared. It's not in the vault anymore."

The king was as still as if he were carved from ice. "Valerio," his voice was smooth and deadly like a cobra weaving through the grass.

Valerio stepped out of a bookcase's shadow, looking neat and polished in his black uniform. He bowed. "Your Majesty."

Balthazaar hid his surprise. He'd forgotten that sometimes the Spy Captain trailed the king like an invisible guard.

"Check if the grimoire is still in the vault."

"Of course." He bowed, then disappeared back into the bookcase's shadow.

After a few minutes Valerio appeared again, jaw tense. "The grimoire is missing, Your Majesty."

The king's fists clenched.

"I have my spies searching the castle for intruders. The guards at the doors swore they saw nothing."

"Get Captain Flynn and my son and tell them to meet me at the vaults."

"Of course, Majesty." Valerio bowed and disappeared back into the shadow.

The High Seer collapsed into a chair, looking like he'd aged another thousand years.

"Who took the grimoire?" Erik hissed.

"I don't know. I can't see who it was. It's as if the grimoire has a mind of its own and just disappeared itself."

Erik gritted his teeth.

"It's the beginning of our downfall." Balthazaar gave the king a heavy look.

There was an awful pause where the king's mouth twisted, then he slammed a fist onto the table, crushing it to splinters with his earth magic.

The High Seer jumped.

Erik stormed out of the room and headed towards the vaults. Two guards trailed him, their march a uniformed clanking.

But all Erik could hear was his mother's harsh whispers, The Golah's are the rightful rulers of Elysia. It's why we're born with two elements. It's why we're the strongest. She'd been dead a long time, but her vicious words still haunted him.

Obtaining strength was a mindset that had been belted into Erik since he was a faeling. It was something he was born into as a Golah. It was his right, destiny, and legacy. When he was a faeling of twelve years old, he learned the cost of being weak. His father, Mavos Golah once took him into the dungeons and showed him a witch that he'd imprisoned. She'd been driven mad and had cursed a fae into murdering her own children. Erik remembered the witch's eyes the most because they still made him shiver to this day. Those eyes were like a pit of evil where good went to die and were so dark it was as if they devoured the light. The witch could see all his thoughts, all his secrets, and could pick through them as if she were searching for the choicest meat amongst half eaten bones.

The witch paced the dank cell, where old water leaked onto stone, and moss grew on the walls. Most of her face had been hidden beneath a mop of dark hair and she wore a black gown that was dirty and stale. Her fingers and chin were coated in dried blood because she'd done a curse that required her to eat the heart of a human. Her eyes were locked on Erik, as if she were going to devour his heart next.

Mavos glanced coolly at the witch, a silver crown on his long platinum hair. His eyes were a pale sapphire, and he wore a fine suit the color of blue steel. He smelled of fresh moonflowers.

"Kill the witch with your earth magic," Mavos's command was like a sword unsheathing in the dark.

"What?" A young Erik had stammered. He wrapped his arms around himself. His thin, silky, tunic had been useless against the chill in the dungeons. His father had dragged him away from his lessons for this?

"She murdered a fae, so the witches handed her to us for punishment. She is to be executed for her crimes. Kill her."

"But father ..." Erik glanced at the witch.

She sneered, showing bloody teeth.

He flinched. "Why do I have to do it? Isn't it an executioner's job to do that?" His voice was small, weak.

"This is a rite of passage each Golah Heir must take. It will steel your heart, because when you're king you'll have to make tough decisions. Deciding what is right and wrong, and maintaining the order of things will be your duty. If you're soft hearted, you won't be able to make the hard choices and necessary sacrifices to do what is good for all."

The witch stopped pacing and stared at Erik. Her head was cocked to the side, waiting for his decision.

Erik's bladder failed him and whatever dignity he had trickled down his legs. Tears ran down his cheeks.

Mavos's lip curled. "She'll meet the executioner's axe tomorrow because of your frailty!" Then he sent a sniveling Erik back to his lessons.

The following morning the witch had broken out of her cell and killed several guards. She also killed Mavos who'd been in his study at the time. It was Lucrecia, Erik's mother, who'd killed the witch by setting her on fire when she'd heard the screams and commotion. Lucrecia was a beautiful fae, with golden hair, and icy eyes. When she'd found out her son hadn't killed the witch that murdered her husband, she'd beaten Erik senseless. "It's your fault your father's dead! If you'd had the strength to kill that witch, he'd still be alive!"

Erik had lain on the study floor and cried, his ribs and cheekbone were broken. Blood had dripped out of his mouth, and his stomach was sore from where his mother had kicked him.

Ever since that day, he'd vowed never to be weak, and to never let a witch get the best of him.