Later that night, Derrick paced in his chambers, his mind racing. Mona watched him, her expression unreadable.
"You're doing the right thing," she said softly, but her words felt like daggers. "Trust me. When you return, you'll be unstoppable."
He stopped and looked at her. "And what about you? Will you wait for me? Or will you grow comfortable on the throne while I rot in exile?"
Mona's lips curled into a sly smile. "You doubt me, my love? I'm doing this for us.
You'll return stronger than ever. No one will stand in your way."
Derrick wanted to believe her. But the seeds of doubt had already taken root.
The next morning, Katherina gathered them all in a darkened chamber.
The old witches stood in a circle, chanting softly. Katherina turned to Derrick.
"When the moon is high tonight, you will leave. The spell will bind you to exile. Break it, and death will follow."
Derrick nodded. "I understand."
