tightly to him.
“I don’t know what happened,” I whisper. “I thought you were here, but it was me, Ryke. I had fire. Somehow, I had fire.”
His hand finds my stomach. “Seems you had a little help from our fire maker.”
I gasp as I clutch my belly. My baby. My baby protected me when I needed it most. Hot tears well in my eyes. “They were bad men,” I whisper, finding Ryke’s lips with mine.
“They’re all gone now.”
Jorshi walks into the room and takes in the scene around us. “They’re all gone, my king and queen.” His gaze settles on the two women cowering in the corner. “What about them?”
“I’ll take them to camp and get them settled,” Valari says, tugging on the rest of her clothing. “You’re safe with us now,” she tells the women. “When you serve the Bloodstones, you’ll be safe and protected.”
When the women seem unsure, Valari chuckles.
“You think The Untouchables or The Damned are a match against a queen who is fire and ice?” Valari asks.
The women both smile at me with hope in their eyes.
“You are safe,” I assure them. “Danser, Jorshi, escort Valari and any innocents you find.”
As soon as they’re gone, Ryke grins down at me. “So I’m just kindling, I suppose? Something to keep the all-powerful queen warm at night?”
I kiss his handsome mouth. “Everyone has their duty. I’m glad you found what yours is.”
He smirks. “You’re a cruel queen.”
“You chose me,” I sass.
His thumb brushes across my lip. “I’d choose you again and again. I love you, Elzira.”
“I love you too, Volc.”
Ryke
Fourteen years later…
“Please, Father,” my eldest son and heir to the crown begs.
“Soren, begging is beneath you.”
Soren scowls at me, his black crown heavy on his head. His black hair curls out from under the metal, reminding me of when he was still a baby suckling on his mother’s tit. Nothing about the way his icy blue eyes burn with fury is childish, though. My son is becoming a man.
“Tell me, son, do you wish to visit the Easta Waterways because you want to fight with the Bloodstones in the War of Wars or is it because you’re following a girl there?” I smirk when his frown deepens.
“I follow no one,” he stubbornly replies, but his gaze tracks her.
Aylin sits beside her father Danser—not her real father, but no one speaks of it—and her mother Valari in the grand dining room where all our most trusted men and women eat together. As though she senses the young prince’s stare, she lifts her brown eyes and flashes him the briefest of smiles, softening her usually hardened features.
Where Soren was raised to be a prince, fierce and strong to protect his people, Aylin was raised as a warrior. To find the wicked before they find us. We may have eventually won the Moral War after years of scouring the Hidden Lands, but the War of Wars continues. One day, the Easta and Westa kingdoms will also belong to the Bloodstones. Aylin’s recently become of age that Danser takes her with him on missions. Soon, she’ll be every bit as fierce as her father. People without gifts must rely on skill. She most certainly has skill for her age.
Soren flicks out his wrist, absently rolling a ball of blue fire around in the palm of his hand, his stare locked on her. Of my eight children, he is the only one to present signs that he has both gifts of fire and ice. Mazon thinks it happened in the womb when his mother needed access to his gift to protect herself. He believes in that moment, they traded gift for gift, but never really gave them back. My queen never lost her fire making abilities. She remains the most powerful person I’ve ever encountered.
And with two gifts, my son will need extra training to hone them both. For one day, when his parents are long gone, he will rule over the two remaining kingdoms—the Easta and the Westa—along with the ones already under the Bloodstone reign.
“Papa!”
I turn in time to catch Farren as she launches herself into my arms. She’s my little wanderer. Loves to run around and cause mischief. Her icy blond hair and amber eyes makes her a breathtaking sight. It’s easy to forgive her naughtiness when she grins at me.
“Little Farren,” I chide. “You shouldn’t be running off alone. Where are your siblings and your mother?”
“They’re slow, Papa.” She pouts.
Atarah rushes into the room, her amber eyes on fire with