A Pact with the Goddess
The chapel, just as it had been a year ago when I rushed here to save Sylan, stood locked, forgotten, and neglected. It was strange, considering there seemed to be more bogls in the capital now. You’d often spot them while walking through the city. Of course, people still weren’t entirely used to the idea of bogls gradually returning, but the fact that an ordinary human girl—me—had become their queen and married a bogl had shaken our society to its core. It forced everyone to reconsider their old views of bogls as “nightmarish monsters.” And Sylan himself was no longer the brooding figure I’d first encountered in the park. He’d become a strikingly handsome and approachable man. Naturally, under my influence!
I often noticed the intrigued glances thrown his way by court ladies and many other women whenever we strolled together in public. I wasn’t bothered by it, though, because I knew my husband loved me more than anyone else in the world. But the chapel, apparently, held little appeal for the visiting bogls, as there was no sign of activity or change here.
I peered through the window again, the grimy glass sticking to my cheek. Inside, it was pitch black. But I knew of another entrance, the same one I’d used before, and I slipped inside once more—a strange sense of déjà vu washing over me. Climbing the stairs from the basement to the central hall, I looked around. Black columns lined the walls, grotesque statues of fearsome bogl gods loomed in the shadows, and there was the familiar altar where, the last time I was here, a ritual dagger had hovered above a pedestal, glowing brightly.
I walked along the walls, gazing at the nightmarish faces of the gods, their black pupils seeming to follow me with every step. Horned, tailed, winged, fanged, and repulsive—that’s how I’d describe their appearance. Exactly how I used to imagine all bogls before I knew better.
“I can help you, daughter of the Great Mother Leos,” a voice suddenly spoke from behind me, making me jump in surprise.
I spun around and saw an old, hunched bogl with large yellow eyes standing near the altar, wrapped in a long black cloak. Yes, it was the priest Romtij, whom I remembered from our wedding ceremony.
“I know why you’re here,” he said, nodding as if to confirm his words, the magical patterns on his forehead glowing brighter, a vivid red. “But everything comes at a price!”
I wasn’t even surprised that the priest knew the reason for my visit. He was deeply connected to divine forces; during our wedding, the Great Mother Leya herself had spoken through him. I stepped closer and asked, “What price must I pay?”
“In addition to returning the crown, you must kill Chernobog,” he said, baring his teeth, his fangs glinting menacingly in the dim light. “And you must do it all in secret from your husband.”
“What?” I exclaimed, stunned. “Kill Chernobog? But I’m no warrior, no mage. I don’t know how to kill! Besides, isn’t he a god? Isn’t he immortal?”
“This is the command and condition of the Great Mother Leos. Last night, she came to me in a dream and said, ‘Dark times await Cauda: the Black God raises his head, and a great threat looms over the existence of this world. A bogl queen will come seeking a child. I will grant it, but she must destroy the Black God and return my crown to its rightful place. If she succeeds, the curse will be lifted. And no one, not a single soul, must know of this. Not even the bogl king.’”
I stood there, dumbfounded and lost. How? I was supposed to kill an immortal deity? The crown was one thing—I could search for it. If I looked hard enough, sooner or later, I might pick up a trail and even find it. But to kill Chernobog? It was beyond comprehension.
“I… I can’t do it,” I stammered quietly, realizing it was all in vain, that I was doomed to fail from the start.
“Mother Leos believes in you,” the priest said, his eyes flashing. “You fell in love with a bogl. Not everyone can see light and beauty in what appears to be a terrifying nightmare.”
“I fell in love because Sylan isn’t like that, not terrifying at all,” I began to explain, momentarily distracted from the horrifying thoughts of Chernobog. “He’s wonderful, the best in the world…”
And then it hit me, a delayed realization of the second part of Mother Leya’s condition—to keep everything a secret from everyone, including Sylan! It was like a bolt from the blue. Since our marriage, we’d never kept secrets or held back from each other. True, he hadn’t told me about the curse, and I was furious with him for that, but… On the other hand, the fact that I was here in the bogl chapel without Sylan knowing was also something I was hiding from him. I’d snuck away while he was off at some diplomatic meeting with King Cretian. He’d said he’d be back in the evening, and I was glad to have the time to handle my affairs on my own. Oh, had we entered a phase of mutual secrets?
The dark times for Cauda hadn’t even begun, but it seemed they already had for me.
“Have you decided?” Priest Romtij asked, watching my hesitation. “I will remove all the magical spells King Sylan has placed on you, and in return, you will receive what you desire—a child.”
Yes, for the sake of a child, I was ready to do anything! I took a confident step toward the priest, lifted my chin proudly, and declared, “I agree.”
The bogl nodded with satisfaction, as if he’d never doubted my decision, and spoke in a voice that pierced me to the bone, making my entire body tremble with awe. It was the voice of the goddess, Mother Leya: “Do this, Queen. I will watch over you. Take this.”
A bright flame appeared in the bogl’s hand, seemingly not burning his skin. The fire shaped itself into a small, glowing ember that quickly faded, and soon, a shimmering golden moth lay in the priest’s palm. Not quite a butterfly, the insect was more like a moth in size and outline.
I reached out to take the gift from Mother Leya, but the moth suddenly fluttered up from Romtij’s hand, circling in the air before landing on my bare forearm just above the elbow—and it bit me! A sharp pain shot through my arm where the moth burrowed under my skin, because that’s exactly what it did. On the surface, only a small mole remained, shaped like a tiny winged insect.
“This will remove all bogl spells currently on you and any he may place in the future. And the goddess will aid you in dire need through this mark. But only once. Use it only in the most desperate of circumstances,” the priest said, now in his own voice.
I nodded, examining the mark of the goddess. It looked like an ordinary mole; no one would ever guess it was divine protection.
The priest abruptly turned and walked away, disappearing deeper into the chapel, apparently considering his mission complete, having done all that was required.
But then I realized I hadn’t asked him about something else that had been nagging at me after his words.
“Excuse me, Venerable Romtij, but you said bogl spells? Plural? I thought Sylan had only placed a magical block on conception…”
The priest reluctantly turned back and looked at me with a mocking glint in his eye. “There’s also a tracking spell on you. But today, he won’t see that you were in the bogl chapel, for everything must remain secret. The king is watching you, Queen. And he has been for a long time.”
The bogl walked off, and I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to process what I’d just heard. Sylan was tracking me?
Romance
I was as furious with Sylan as a hundred Chernobogs! He was tracking me! Can you believe it? Why? Was he afraid I’d run away? Where to? Maybe to my mother’s house, ha! Of course, along with the irritation came a defensive thought to justify my bogl’s actions—perhaps he was just worried about me? But then again, why worry? I didn’t have any enemies, just the usual number of rivals and envious folks, maybe a bit more than average since I’m a queen, a public figure, so to speak.
We’d already uncovered and neutralized his enemies last time. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Sylan was keeping something from me so I wouldn’t worry.
I returned home and decided that tonight I’d set aside all grudges, troubles, and suspicions to create a grand night of love for Sylan and me. I wanted to seize the moment while his conception-blocking spell was lifted, because, to be honest, I didn’t fully trust Mother Leya’s protection. I’ll be straight with you—I didn’t quite believe in it. Sure, she’s a goddess and all, but… Sylan was an incredibly powerful mage. And this little moth, now a mole on my arm, seemed so small and unconvincing that I lacked the confidence to believe in its power.
But surely a goddess is stronger than a bogl, even a royal one?
Sylan came home in the evening, we had dinner, and I quickly hurried to our room where I’d already laid out a special outfit for our romantic candlelit date. I’d placed lit candles everywhere—I’d read about it in a trendy magazine. It was supposed to create a mysterious and intimate atmosphere.
The atmosphere was indeed very mysterious and intimate—but it reeked of smoke something awful. Maybe I should’ve used different candles? I’d raided Carrasha’s storage closet and grabbed half a box of them. Let’s just say the castle’s candle reserves took a serious hit today. I didn’t want to open the windows, though; it had rained earlier in the evening, and it was quite chilly outside.
Do you think I slipped into a negligee to captivate Sylan with my curves glowing through sheer fabric? No way! I couldn’t stand those things ever since that floozy Sarita had thrown herself at Sylan!
Pants! I pulled on a pair of Sylan’s trousers and one of his shirts over my bare skin, something I found in the wardrobe. Then I hid behind the door, waiting for him to come in to go to bed. I scanned the room carefully: everything looked nice, the candles were burning, and flower petals were scattered artistically across the bed and floor.
Oh, did I not mention that? I’d picked a bunch of flowers, torn off all their petals, and sprinkled them over every surface. That was also in the magazine—“flower petals, as tender as your skin, have an arousing effect on men,” it said. Hmm. It did look a bit messy with all those petals; Granda would have her work cut out for her tomorrow, sweeping them up from everywhere. And then I noticed something was off—disaster! The oranges weren’t sliced. They were just sitting in a bowl on the table. I was supposed to cut them so “the pleasant, exotic, arousing scent would tease your beloved’s senses and make them feel the delight and uniqueness of the moment.” In short, to make the room smell nice.
I rushed over—but there was no knife! I’d forgotten to grab one from the dining room. What a mess! What was I supposed to do? Bite into them or tear them apart with my hands? There was no time to run to the kitchen; I was already in character as a seductive lady. If I bumped into someone on the way, the surprise for Sylan would be ruined. I tried tearing the oranges apart with my hands, at least into halves. Have you ever tried doing that? Give it a go. You’ll struggle just as much as I did. Finally, the oranges were artistically… um… “sliced” into the bowl. My hands were sticky and sweet, and the shirt was a bit stained with orange juice. Oh well—at least the room smelled amazing: a mix of oranges and candle smoke.
The candles burned and smoked, the sliced oranges sat there smelling nice, the petals were scattered around the room—romance! And there I was, barefoot and disheveled behind the door, splattered with orange juice, freezing cold—and Sylan still hadn’t shown up.
Suddenly, the door creaked—Sylan walked in. I could see him looking around, surprised at the array of candles and the chaos in the room.
“Wanda, where are you?” he called, thinking I was in the bathroom, stepping closer to it.
And that’s when I leapt out from behind the door and threw myself at him, wanting to surprise him, to hug and caress him. But he swung his arm—and I went flying back like I’d been mowed down. My hand knocked over a few candles on the table; they fell, and the flames licked at the curtain by the window. It must’ve been highly flammable because it burst into flames instantly. Sylan ignored the curtain and rushed to me.
“Wanda, gods, what happened? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I thought it was a stranger!”
He hadn’t hit me hard, just pushed me away, and I started laughing. Sitting on the floor, I couldn’t calm down.
“I wanted…” I choked through my laughter, “to arrange a romantic evening for you, a surprise… a romantic setting… Romance!”
“So all this is for me?” Sylan said, taking in the lit candles, the sliced oranges, the scattered petals that looked more like trash, and the blazing curtain.
He waved a hand—the fire extinguished itself, and the window swung open on its own, letting in a gust of cool, fresh air. It became easier to breathe with all the smoke in the room.
Then he offered me his hand to help me up, pulled me close, and said with such sincerity and tenderness, “Wanda, my love, how I adore you! I’m so lucky to have you! What other wife would create such a mess in the house for her husband and call it a romantic setting?”
And he pressed his lips to mine, demanding yet gentle, in a way we hadn’t kissed in a long time. We began to kiss each other passionately, his hands roaming over my body, filling me with warmth and desire. Then I felt my favorite tail wrap around my legs, pulling me tighter against Sylan. Oh, I loved playing with it, especially when I wanted to tease him playfully.
But there was no time for teasing now. A deep, all-consuming, genuine passion overtook us, wild and unrestrained… Sylan began to transform, his clothes tearing as his body shifted, and he whispered to me, “I see you’ve worn my pants again? You look incredibly alluring in them,” as he helped me out of them.
Oh, what happened next, you can imagine for yourselves. We were swept away by waves of passion until dawn, and only as morning broke did I fall asleep, happy and utterly spent.
When the sun rose, I opened my eyes and saw that the room had been tidied—Sylan must have used magic to clean it up. On the pillow beside me lay a piece of paper. I unfolded the note and read:
“Wanda, my beloved wife, I must travel north to my bogl relatives for a few weeks. I didn’t want to worry you, so I didn’t mention it yesterday. I know you’d try to convince me to take you along. But it’s very dangerous there, so I didn’t want you to come. Forgive me for being a bit deceptive. We’ll see each other on the last day of the month, the anniversary of our wedding. I hope to be back by then. I’ll write to you. Yours, Sylan.” And there was a postscript: “You’re incredible in my pants!”
If you think I was merely angry, you’re mistaken. I was overcome with a tremendous, monumental, colossal rage! Fury! Irritation!
This… shameless man hadn’t said a word to me! He knew he was leaving me for a long time tomorrow and kept silent! And I wanted to go with him, to convince him to take me along, because I desperately needed to get there!
Oh, so that’s how it is! He didn’t take me?! Didn’t tell me?! Fine, then I’ll go to that distant place on my own, I’ll get there by myself! I needed to find a way to get there anyway, without Sylan knowing. This was the perfect opportunity. I’d tell everyone around that I’m going to stay with my mother for a few weeks while Sylan is away. But secretly, I’d follow him, ensuring no one knew. My mother and sisters would cover for me, I had no doubt. I’d come up with a story for them to tell everyone that I’m staying with them. For the sake of Sylan and me. For the sake of our future child.
And so, angry as a hundred demons, I began to get dressed to head to my mother’s. I needed to arrange a cover for my secret escape from the castle.