Can't Be Yours, King Robert.

A harsh wind overtook the night, and the cries of crickets could be heard from afar. The noise of feet filled the woods, making the night far from safety. The sounds came nearer, revealing the faces of soldiers ordered by the king; each front of the men was a hardened expression; they marched around the kingdom with swords and sticks of firelight searching for witches they had to bring to the King for persecution. The villagers could hear the scream of a dying witch all over the domain, her cries piercing the hearts of people who watched her slowly burn to death.

A few meters away from the palace where the witch burned fiercely on a stake, her torture so great bringing nothing but pain. A young witch stood behind a tree; an intense feeling of fear overtook her as she watched with widened eyes. The moon shone all over the place at its highest peak, making the pain in her rise without caution. She looked away as her eyes couldn't take more of it; her heart raced faster, her face filled with worry and anguish, and an immense feeling of anger began to rise inside of her.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of feet approaching; her heart leaped as her trembling eyes scanned around the woods. With the help of her powers, she smelled humans coming strongly, standing still at her spot, her eyes flickered around. Slowly, she closed her eyes in meditation; a few meters away from her were soldiers approaching violently, some running fiercely on horses.

Her eyes flew wide open in dismay; she gasped at an alarm and ran deep into the woods, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Her hands become sweaty, with fright overwhelming her. She ran faster as she has never done in her life; each step the young girl took felt like she was still running on a spot as the emotion in her couldn't let her think straight.

Quickly, she got to the house where the surviving witches hid far away from human eyes for safety. Opening the door with all her might, she barged into the house panting with sweat trickling down her face as the other witches stared at her looking puzzled.

"Quickly, we have to leave here!" she cried out at the top of her voice, walked towards a direction, picked up a bag, and began to pack a few clothes in it as the other witches watched her in awe.

"We have to leave?" One of the witches asked. An old witch who has lived for hundreds of years; she is the oldest and wisest among them all.

Merga's eyes softened as she turned to them, filled with worry; she walked close to the old witch and held her hands, "We have to leave, mother, the soldiers are approaching with their horses, and they will be here. Anytime." Merga explained, her hands feeling the tenderness of the old witch.

"Don't be silly, child; that's ridiculous. Humans can never find us; we are safe here," Mother Elanor said with flickering eyes.

Merga looked up at the other witches who watched her with panic in their eyes, slowly she turned her face to Mother Elanor, a tense feeling overwhelming the older woman.

"I saw them, mother; I felt their presence; we have to leave immediately, they are on their way here, and they will find us soon if we don't leave." Saying this, Merga left the woman's hand and went back to her bag, placing clothes in it.

The other witches began to pack quickly with fear written on their faces. Each one of them held their children, ordering them to fill as well. Mother Elanor did the same, her bag in her hand. A few minutes later, the sound of running horses came closer to the house. Each witch glanced at the others with panic written on their faces.

"Quickly! We have to leave through the back door!" Merga yelled to the others; she picked up her bag and placed it on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw the one who rode violently. Quickly, Merga ran through the back door as the other witches ordered her to run faster. They got out of the house and ran deeper into the woods, each hand in the other.

The soldiers barged into the house with full force; they searched the whole house but didn't find a soul.

"They have escaped; someone must have warned them about our coming," One of the soldiers announced as he came out of a room.

A huge man stepped into the house; there was a mark underneath his eye which made him look frightening. His broad shoulders added more terror to his look, making him look fearless; he stood, his eyes scanning the room as a hardened expression filled his face.

"They won't have gone far, those witches are lucky this time around, but they won't be forever" he looked at his men, who held swords in their hands.

"Let's go back to the palace; our hunt is over for now," he ordered, went out of the house, and climbed his horse which galloped immediately. The other soldiers did the same; the sound of their horses filled the woods as the cold night echoed with the sound of wild birds.

The sun whistled softly, and it began to set gradually. It was almost winter, which made the atmosphere damp, the sound of birds chirping softly. It is the 18th century in the kingdom of Linerdo, the great land of truce and equivalency. The sounds of galloping horses rode into the realm, heading towards the palace.

They got closer to the palace, their horses ran in order and they galloped into the court; the sound of their feet attracted servants who turned their heads staring at the strangers in dismay. The atmosphere in the palace was filled with life and various activities done by the servants who were seen around, moving from one direction to another in the vast palace.

Among the men who marched into the realm, a hefty black man got down from his horse, glaring around with a stern face. He had an eye patch on one eye which made him look tough and unapproachable. He gazed back at his men, who stood apart waiting for his order. He turned his head, his gaze fixed on the