Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,37

large diamondblade. I grip his soaked brown hair and yank his head back so he can see my face.

“You betrayed the wrong queen and you are officially relieved of your duties to me,” I whisper as I slice my arm through the air.

He continues to stare at me in shock, even after his body falls to the ground. I stare at his severed head for a long moment before tossing it outside of the vortex of wind and ice swirling around us.

“Danser!” I cry out. “Come quick!”

I calm the fury inside of me long enough to make the winds die some. Danser is fighting the horde that’s swarming all around us, but I need him to attend to his king more.

“Mazon,” I bark. “Get him to the castle. Have Mazon give him gappenoil. We don’t have time. Make haste!”

Danser slays several more of The Damned before growling at me. “There are too many. I can’t leave you here.”

“As your queen, I command you to take my king back to my castle. Now, Danser,” I order, turning toward the horde. “I’ve got this.”

He pauses to kill another of The Damned before tipping his head. “Of course, my queen.”

I suck in a deep breath and face the enemies that once frightened me. Not now. I am their worst nightmare. I will eradicate them all. With a loud scream, I pour my rage into the storm around us.

I am Queen Whitestone.

Cold Queen.

Creator of diamondblades.

Weather maker.

The Punisher of The Damned.

And I unleash my beast.

Between white and black, I find the dingy, dirty crazed ones. I pull down my fist and make it rain…ice, that is. My weapon is the weather and I command it to obey me. Like sharp arrows made of ice, my weapons fall from the sky with incredible force. A force fueled by fury and vengeance and clarity.

The world is chaos around me, but I see with absolute certainty what must be done. Now, later, always.

I must become my gift.

Become the diamondblade.

Ruin them all.

Twhip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip!

The sounds of the diamondblades raining down around me with exact precision makes my soul rejoice with happiness.

He knew.

Ryke saw inside me and knew all this was possible.

The only one to believe.

The only one to love the beast, to pet the beast, to coax it out of its cage. The only one to make me see that being powerful was a gift, not a curse.

Ryke didn’t coddle me.

He provoked and maddened me.

He saved me.

He loved me.

All around me The Damned fall. The Eyes of the White and the Volc army press forward, eliminating what they can. I bring down my fist again.

They fall and fall and fall.

We press forward.

They fall.

I keep walking until I’m in front of the men, eliminating The Damned much easier now without the distraction of keeping some alive. The horde crumbles to my feet, slayed on my land, destroyed by The Punisher of The Damned.

I’m scanning the horizon for more when a hand gently touches my shoulder. Whipping around, I extract five diamondblades and have them aimed at the throat of the one sneaking up behind me.

“It’s me, Jorshi,” Jorshi says in a calm voice. “They’re gone. You’ve killed them all.”

His horse snorts behind him.

“I need to see King Bloodsun,” I hiss, still thrumming with rage.

He smiles broadly at me. “And I’ve come to escort you back, your highness.”

Jorshi easily hoists me up on his horse and then climbs on behind me. He kicks the horse into action and we burst along the land that’s covered in the blood of fallen soldiers, but mostly corpses of The Damned. When we pass by a head that looks like it belongs to Cavon, I sit straighter, the hatred icing my veins.

“Easy now, your highness,” Jorshi says from behind me. “He’s already dead and you’re creating another storm. If you want me to make good time getting you back to our king, then I suggest you relax.”

Our king.

I don’t correct him because he is my king, and I his queen.

The castle comes into view as the clouds dissipate. It’s a formidable place. My eyes drift to the tower, where I’ve been locked away in for far too long. The time for weakness and hiding and denial is over.

As we near the front entrance, I slide off the horse and trudge through the snow. Danser meets me, a troubled expression on his face.

“How is he?” I demand as we rush inside.

“He flirts with death sometimes,” Danser grumbles. “I rather wish he didn’t.”

I grip Danser’s arm and smile. “He

Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,37

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