Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,36
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Elzira
Hate like I’ve never know before consumes me.
Maddens me.
Transforms me.
The scream ripping from me is worse than all The Damned combined.
Betrayal cuts deep. The ones who say they love us cut the deepest.
Roaring comes up behind me and Danser shoots past me—past his fallen king—to slay the mad ones. Protecting his queen. My battle is before me.
“He poisoned your mind.” Jealous green eyes flare at me. As though this absolves him from his monstrous deed.
“He freed me,” I screech, the snow thickening around us, hiding us in a vortex of revenge, the scene only for the three of us.
“He tricked you,” Cavon says, holding his diamondblade sword out in front of him, Ryke’s blood dripping from it. “He’s a con, Elzira. He can’t love you like I can.”
My eyes drop to the perfect dark king. His blood soaks the white snow. He can heal himself, so why does he remain unmoving?
Don’t die on me now, Volc.
Not after all we’ve been through.
“What have you done?” I demand lowly, ice freezing every inch of my soul with the need for vengeance.
Cavon pulls off his mask to reveal his handsome face. At one time I’d been attracted to him—secretly wished for a life with him. But something, deep down, always warned me off. I thought it was because of his position within my army. No royal blood. That wasn’t it at all. I knew something was off, so the trust was never fully there. Not enough to go further than friends.
“It’s no secret King Bloodsun nearly died of honnin drops poisoning when he was younger and that his father had the plants all destroyed,” Cavon says, his lip curling in a cruel way. He inspects his sword and grins. “Looks like I found some.”
Mazon.
I need to get Ryke to Mazon.
But first…
“This won’t go unpunished, Cavon,” I say in a cold tone. “It’s as if you don’t even know who I am anymore.”
He scowls. “We could have been everything,” he bites out. “I could have been your protector and fathered your children. I could have grown old with you.”
My hatred has manifested into a massive storm swirling around us. I can feel the ice drawing to me like a magnet. Growing, hardening, sharpening. The violence in the air matches that inside my heart.
The traitor has attempted to tear the only good thing from my life.
Tried to poison and destroy it.
A small groan from Ryke has a ripple of hope quaking through me. He can heal himself. The sword is gone, so maybe with Mazon’s help, he can heal.
So help me, Ryke, if you don’t come back from this, I’ll hunt you down in the underworld and drag you back to me.
Another groan.
“You’re weak,” I tell Cavon, laughing at him. “A poor, mistreated, unloved runt. Men like you don’t get to be with women like me. Women like me are too much for you to handle.”
“I can handle you,” he argues. “You don’t think I know how to use my cock, Elzira? I fucked my way through your castle so I’d be good for you. Better than good. The best.”
“You’re pathetic. No matter how good you are in bed, you’ll never have what it takes to be the best. Not like Ryke,” I hiss, lifting my arms in the air.
“What’s that?” Cavon snarls. “I can assure you I have what he has and more. A big cock? I would tear you to pieces with mine, your highness.”
I shake my head at him. “No, Cavon. You don’t have my love. Never will. Love is what makes fucking my king magical.” I sneer at him. “Now bend the knee one last time.”
He starts for me, raising his sword.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish.
Cavon pauses, looking down at his front where five fresh diamondblades pierce his chest. Crimson stains his white suit. His green eyes dart to mine, betrayal flashing in them.
Oh, how terrible he must feel.
He makes a choking sound and swings his sword at me. His arm doesn’t make it far before a giant sheet of ice drops from above, slicing through his bicep. The arm and sword fall to the ground, blood spraying an arc across the frigid landscape from his severed appendage.
“Elzira,” he whimpers.
“Kneel,” I scream, pulling the harsh wind toward me.
The gust forces him to fall forward, making him land on his knees.
Trudging forward through the snow, I fist my hand and summon my ice. Rather than five blades, a club of ice forms from my fist and then lurches out into a sharp,