Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,17

You won’t let me see her. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s sick. Her tonics are what keep her alive!”

I shove her away, fury burning hot through my veins. “You sent him to her? Alone? You’re not a queen yet, Princess. How dare you command my army to do your bidding!”

A strangled sob escapes her. “Please,” she begs. “Don’t hurt me. I only want to help my sister. I swear to you, I’ll do whatever you want. Take me right here if that’s what you want. I’ll marry you by nightfall. Just please don’t hurt us. My sister doesn’t deserve to die a painful death all alone. Give us this and then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Enraged, I turn on my heel, no longer interested in talking with this woman. “No one goes in or out,” I roar to Danser. “No one.”

He hisses out a curse word and then the door slams behind him once he’s inside with her. I storm through the castle, my anger threatening to explode from me like one of our many volcanoes. My men stay out of my way, wisely pressed against the walls, allowing me passage. When I reach the top of the tower, I burst into the room, ready to rip that traitorous vermin from the queen.

Instead, I find a beautiful sight.

Elzira, in all her powerful Punisher glory, seems to glow with rage. Gorten, with his back to me, sobs as he cradles his bloody arm. His hand is gone. By the sadistic glint in Elzira’s eyes, I’d say she had something to do with it.

“He touched my sister,” she hisses as though this explains it all.

“But I did it for you!” he cries out.

Heat burns at me, desperately needing a release. He must sense my malevolence burning at his back, because he turns his wide, terrified eyes on me.

“Your highness—”

“No!” I bark out, cutting him off. “You’ve committed the biggest sin against your king. You’re a traitor. You chose sides because you wanted your fingers in a little princess. Where are your fingers now?”

He sobs, his whole body trembling.

Elzira rounds the bed, thrumming with energy. Her blue eyes blaze brighter than I’ve ever seen them. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Gone,” she snarls, waving her hand and ejecting five sharp diamondblades. She makes a motion through the air. “And now they’re keeping me warm.” Her head nods in the direction of the fireplace.

“On your knees,” I bark out to Gorten. “Bow to your king.”

He falls quickly, holding his bleeding hand to his chest. “I’m so sorry. Please.”

Walking up to him, I place my palms on either side of his head that’s drenched with sweat. I grip him tight, tilting his head so he’s forced to look at me.

“No. One. Betrays. Me.” I summon my fires, my eyes locking into his. His screams are otherworldly as I send heat into his skull. Cooked flesh and hair fills the room. I watch with glee as his head turns red from the heat. When his hair catches fire, I take a step back to admire my work. He’s already dead, but he remains upright on his knees. Eyeballs melt from their sockets and slide down his cheeks before rolling onto the floor. Hissing and popping can be heard as the heat cooks what little brain he had in his head. Eventually, gravity takes over and he falls to the floor.

I’m not sure how long I stare at his cooked head, but eventually, I seek out Elzira. I want to ask how she was able to tap into her gift. I’ve always called her weather maker—because that is what her lineage is and I know she’s capable of it—but she’s also a blade maker. I find her sitting by the window, tapping as she stares out.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. And tap.

Over and over again. I walk over to her. In her lap she cradles three vials.

Her sister did all this to get these tonics to her. The princess is every bit as vicious as the cruel queen herself. I’ve underestimated their ability to work as a team.

“Sisterly love,” she says, a small smile on her face. “Not even a fire king can stand in the way.” Her head lolls to the side and it’s then I see the diamondblades have broken off, sitting in a pile next to her on the chair. The vials are empty.

“Elzira,” I growl, kneeling beside her.

Her eyelids flutter. “Mmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

Watery eyes meet mine. “You know what’s wrong, Volc. I’m dying.