The night surrounded the embracing girls on a wide bed with a caring veil. The candles burned out, the words were all spoken, the tears dried out. It's time for parting. The shocked experience is still too vivid in their memory, but holding back, with a lump in their chest, they try to cheer each other up.

“I will write a letter to my mother,” Eleanna began in an intermittent voice, “I will ask you to receive you ... I will say that I sent you away myself, as I already got settled and my future spouse gave me new maids,” her voice is trembling — she is afraid, will she be strict mother, if she hears her request to give Greta her freedom, would not life for a faithful friend of her mother, who was only a slave by the standards of her mother, be worse than the one that the king threatened?

Greta does not need to hear the thoughts of the princess, her head is full of her own dark forebodings. What awaits her now? She is no longer the personal servant of the lady ... She no longer has a position, the highest among the domestic slaves, everyone has the right to do anything with her. Trying not to betray her own despair, so as not to upset the princess even more, she pretends that she believes she will be glad to return home, to serve again at the royal couple, to see Herman ... But does he need her now? Marry something already will not be called ...

An hour later, a letter watered with unwelcome tears was written, a canvas bag with few maidservant's things collected, and one of the loyal soldiers of the royal guards of the Twilight kingdom who had brought the princess to Arundell waited at the door to take Greta back. Eleana pulls a leather bag out of a jewel box and pulls it to her friend. She twists her head, retreats, refusing to accept the only money that the princess had.

“Take it,” Eleana insists, “why do they need me?” My fate is decided. I will give birth to the king of his desired heir, and he will leave me alone. They will provide me with everything, - the voice sounds terrifyingly calm and indifferent - there are no feelings left, only a dull, aching pain somewhere deep inside - and money will be useful to you, perhaps they will allow you to start a new life, - she continues in a strange tone, as if trying to put in words a different, secret meaning.

“My princess,” Greta whispers, accepting money, “I don’t know how to thank you ...”

“And do not thank,” in the tone of Eleanes, the inherent inborn proud authority that comes to her again appears, “go and be happy,” she extends her hand for the last kiss and turns away, letting go. Greta silently touches the warm lips of her white hand and leaves. Near the door, she turns around once more to capture the image of an adored lady - the back is perfectly straight, her head is turned up - no one would guess that her heart is shed with bloody tears, and her soul is torn to pieces by pain ...

Eleana remains alone. Loneliness, like an iron ring, binds her whole being. Outside the window, illuminated by the faint light of the nascent month, the waters of the dark lake wave. For a moment, the thought arises that it would be so good to sink into their icy depth and forget everything ... But the vision is discarded as unworthy. She is the daughter of a great king and knows what her duty is. Knows what her responsibility. And he knows that he certainly has to pay for weakness, and the cost of sometimes exorbitantly high - the pain of loved ones.

In exhaustion, the princess falls into a large, deep chair in front of the balcony door. It is already late, but I don’t want to think about going to bed, who witnessed recent happiness and the ensuing drama.Thoughts are confused with fatigue, the images that have receded, start to curl again on the surface of her memory, like steam over cold water: a dark-haired man, a crucified girl, with a changed face from enjoying her face, his eyes glowing with passion, a purple mantle pricking her face, the feeling of a hot rod in the throat, an old magician, a tower, a lake - visions are feverishly replacing each other, taking possession of it, when it is no longer clear where reality ends and sleep begins ... And is it a dream? She does not want it to be a dream. It clings to fragmentary memories, like the only solid thing in this unsteady world, dissolves in them, disintegrates like smoke, rises into the air, feeling with delight the incredible flow of freedom, and flies ...

Eleana wakes up in a round room at the top of the tower from her sleep. Her consciousness is surprisingly clear, that would not hold him back - she no longer has power over her. The girl looks around - not far from her, on a high chair near the table littered with scrolls, sits the old wizard Vixenius and looks at her with a wary, surprised look. He had not yet called her, although he planned to meet her tonight. But the hour has not come yet. During the day, he only gently supported the magical thread connecting their minds, only slightly touching to feel it, feed it with energy, plunge into its feelings. He did not expect that she herself would use this connection to come to him - it means her strength does not sleep as deep as he expected. It bothered him - she could be a far stronger source than he could handle ...

The princess has no fear, only relief at the sight of an old mage - it was not a dream, she did not go mad. Running up to him, she kneels with a groan and frantically pushes the folds of his mantle. Without letting him come to his senses in surprise with her courage, he looks for and finds his faded manhood and with reverence takes it in his mouth, looking desperately into his eyes, watching with delight at his change. And now, in front of her, a dark-haired man dreams of her, his long member habitually rests against her throat, and her black eyes tear her down. With relief, Eleanu begins to shake, and a hoarse sob escapes from her throat, soon growing into a squeezed cry.

She is lifted from the floor and seated on her knees, wrapped in the mantle floor, rocked like a child, giving a cry.

“Today you are just doing what you cry, my little queen,” she hears through the sobs in a slightly mocking, but caring voice of a man, “so soon all your eyes will cry out and you will become disgustingly ugly, right under me,” he jokes.

She lifts her face to him, and he realizes that she is far from this - tears, like pearls glide over her face, reddened eyes become only brighter, and swollen lips attract him like a magnet. Her face is distorted by misery.

“I’m sorry for your girlfriend,” he hears with astonishment of his own voice.

“It’s my fault,” Eleaná explains hoarsely, burying his shoulder, her hot breath burns, “if I hadn’t, nothing would have happened.”

Her pain is so tangible that he wants to take his magic staff and burn it out with fire, clean it. But he does not dare. Instead, he gets up and, raising her along with him, puts her on her feet.

“Yes, it is your fault,” slowly, with a set-up, he says, “your incontinence entailed misfortune,” she shudders, crushed, smitten, the waterfall of her energy falls silent. Vixenius, without losing time, makes a magical pass with his hands, and a trembling cloud of magic that slipped from his palms covers it with a submissive spell.

- In addition, you allowed another man today to touch you, look at you where you belong only to me! - he adds the accuser.

“Yes, my lord,” the girl says softly — her will again is absolutely obedient to him, all she wants is to please him.

“You will bear the punishment for your depraved nature,” he announces the sentence, “in pain you will find salvation from her.”

“Yeah,” as if the rustle of the breeze breaks away from her lips.

Eleana hangs, chained by old chains to an iron lattice - her hands are raised high above her head, her legs are wide apart, a hard leather collar clasps her throat, pulling her head back. The naked breast, with nipples strained from cold, painfully rests against iron rods. Vixenius stands behind, not hurrying to begin the execution, enjoying her anticipation and fear ....