Lotor returned to his chambers and lay down on his bed, talking to himself. "I will ruin their little Halloween feast. If I can’t have a good time, then no one else can."

He frowned deeply. "Allura always looks so happy when she’s in the company of those simpletons, especially Keith," he said, his voice tinged with jealousy. "I wish she could be that way with me. But I only inspire fear on her."

Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and Morgill stepped inside with a carafe and a silver goblet, decorated with black onyx.

Lotor sat up. "Why did you take so long?" he snapped. "Were you pressing the grapes?"

He swallowed nervously. "Forgive me, sire, but on my way back the wine cellar, I took a bad step and fell on my face. I brought you special spiced wine. I know you must be sorely tired from all your efforts today. This will help you sleep." Without pausing, he poured the contents in the goblet and handed it to Lotor.

"I can certainly use this." Indeed, he did need the soothing effects the wine offered if he planned to carry out his revenge. With that in mind, he downed the contents and held it out for refilling.

"Sire, I won’t let anyone bother you. If your father asks for you, I’ll tell him that you left on a recognizance mission."

"Well done, Morgill," he said, wiping a stray drop off his lips. "You’re finally using that peanut-sized brain of yours."

The officer grimaced. "I only want you to be content, Your Highness." He lifted the carafe a little. "More?"

"No, I’m nodding off even now." Lotor glanced at the clock and saw that it was only eight o’clock. A faint smile touched his lips. He used to go to bed at that hour when he was only nine years old. His mother would then come into his room and kissed him goodnight. Sometimes he missed her so much.

Then he closed his eyes and tucked his chin to his chest, and his hair fell over his face like a white cascade. "Leave now. We’ll discuss my attack on Arus tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sire," Morgill said and made a quick exit. Once outside the chamber door, he turned and saw Hagar stepping out of the shadows, with her flea-infested cat in her arms.

"Well?" she asked.

"He drank two goblets of wine," he replied. "And became drowsy."

"Excellent!" She cackled. "Everything is coming along nicely."

The Drule gave her a quizzical look. "Do you mind telling me what this is all about? Why did you switch the wines?"

She chuckled softly, and then lifted her index finger at him. "The less you know, the better, my little simp," she murmured. "I bid you good night then, and be on my way." The parting smile on the witch’s face made Morgill shivered. Maybe she had poisoned the Prince and he would be blamed for it. So he decided to scurry out of reach.

After turning out the lights, Prince Lotor did a shoulder roll onto the soft bed and lay there, sighing with intense relief, arms and legs spread out to the edges.

His white brows puckered into a frown as he suddenly remembered the amusement in Hagar’s voice earlier. In truth, everything about Allura and the Voltron Force made him angry. They were so good that it made him sick. He and his father were the villains, their subjects didn’t love them or respect them; they feared them. The only person who had loved him was his mother, but he had lost her so long ago.

He groaned softly. The wine Morgill had brought him had not helped as he thought it might; it only muddled his thoughts. His insides fluttered with a feeling Lotor could not identify. Moreover, he did not want to know what it was, for he feared it might be the need to be loved, to hear a kind word.

He turned on his left side, cradling his head on one arm. ~There’s nothing I can do to change things,~ he thought as he drifted off into sleep.

Back in her laboratory, Hagar stood before the cauldron where she had prepared the elixir that accompanied the Prince’s wine. She took a quick glance at the opened book, and then, raising her arms into the heavens, said:

"Bubble, cauldron, boil in glee,
Please, do this for me,
Let the Prince travel in time,
So he can be again, a child of nine."