“Ye shall never win,” she told him softly. Calibex stormed across the few feet that separated them, his robe flying about his thin frame. “I have all ready won , little queen,” he hissed in anger. “I be now merely picking up the broken pieces of yer reign.”

The small smile was still upon her face and she looked back at him with confidence in her words. “Ye shall never sit the throne of the Westerlands while I remain alive,” she said.

“Indeed,” Calibex said and backed a few steps away from her. “Then I shall simply have to remedy that problem.” He raised his right hand and pointed his index finger at her, while the red stone within the ring began to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Francis put up a hand of her own in a futile attempt to block the spell and opened her mouth to cry out, but suddenly found herself immobile, hand half raised and mouth half open. She tried to get up from her chair, but the muscles of her body refused to respond. The only thing capable of movement seemed to be her eyes, which were now wide with fright.

As the stone slowed its pulsing, Calibex lowered his arm. “Ahh, the perfect woman,” he said as he moved over and stroked her dark hair, “still and silent. Would they all be so perfect.” He saw the muscles in her neck tensing, so stood in front of her that she could see him. “Do not struggle, little queen,” he said, his cold fingers reaching up to lightly touch her cheek. “The more ye fight, the tighter the spell becomes.” He dropped his hand from her face and saw the anger and hatred in her wild eyes. The wizard laughed aloud at her plight and removed a small pouch from a pocket within his robe.

“If ye remain calm, the spell will lessen enough for yer hand to drop and yer pretty mouth to eventually close,” he told her as he untied the opening of the pouch. He reached inside the leather bag and removed a pinch of yellow powder, which he tossed into the air over her head. There was a small flash in the air and grey ash drifted down to settle on the queen’s head and shoulders. “Should ye live long enough, that is,” the wizard told her and put away the pouch.

Calibex then mumbled a quiet incantation over the frozen queen and moved his hands in a series of swift gestures, while his prisoner’s eyes grew even wider in fright. Finished, he stepped back and smiled, even though the wizard knew Francis would not be able to appreciate his gesture. “The next time we meet, little queen, I be sure ye will treat me with more respect.”