by K. Webster
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.
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!
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 wouldn’t be that insufferable Volc if he didn’t.”
He smirks at me before guiding me into the room Mazon has commandeered as his healing room. I sober up upon seeing Mazon fussing over Ryke’s lifeless body.
“The gappenoil?” I ask as I rush over to Ryke’s side.
His eyes are closed and his brows are furled together as though he’s in pain. He’s no longer wearing his cape or shirt. The stab wounds are open and angry looking, yellow-tinged blood rolling down his sides.
“He drank the gappenoil. The rest is up to him,” Mazon says.
But it’s not.
It’s up to me.
I summon my ice and run my fingertip along his gash, closing his first wound. Then, I work on the other. The two men in the room remain quiet as I work.
“Roll him on his side so I can do the back,” I bark out. “Quickly now.”
Danser and Mazon move him over and I repeat my action on his back. Once he’s no longer bleeding, they settle him as I take his hand in mine.
“That’s all we can do?” I ask Mazon.
He lets out a sigh. “As his body fights the poison and heals, his fires will come to the surface. We must keep the fever down.”
This, I can do.
“Tend to the other injured men,” I instruct. “I’ll stay with the king.”
Mazon smiles at me before grabbing his bag and leaving. Danser watches me with a curious look.
“He’s safe with me,” I assure him as I press one of my hands to his chest and the other to his forehead.
“Of course he is,” he agrees. “And you’re safe with him.”
I summon my gift and chill his flesh beneath my palms to cool the burn that emanates from him. “Do you have a point you’d like to make, Danser, or are we playing a game? I’ve just slaughtered thousands of The Damned. I’m rather exhausted. Perhaps another time?”
“Perhaps another time,” he says, smirking. “Keep him alive. He’s the son I never had.”
As soon as he’s gone, I focus on Ryke. Beautiful, strong, powerful Ryke. He saved me and brought me back from near death. I’ll do the same for him. After all, it’s what a queen does for her king.
Ryke
I hate him.
Cruel, rotten bastard.
Love is for the weak. At least that’s what my father always told me. And when my mother was caught with another man, desperate for love and affection my father never gave, she was driven from our lands. He wasn’t even man enough to do it himself. Simply had his men pull her from his bed one morning, taken to Equatoria, and forced into madness along with the others who’d wronged him in some way. When he told me, I nearly lost my mind. Spent weeks battling The Damned in search for her. Maybe she’d survived. Maybe she hadn’t succumbed like the rest of them. But then I’d seen her. Her soft, silky brown hair she’d once taught me to braid was stringy. Her loving eyes were vacant. And she was hungry. On a warm day with a broken heart, I had slain my mother because my father was too weak to do it himself.
Mercy.
I showed her the mercy he should have.
With her blood on my hands, I stormed the castle on a hunt for my father.
Each and every man beneath him nodded to me as I passed on my quest to see him. They saw the look in my eyes. The fury. The hate. The thirst for vengeance. And they let me pass because they loved my mother too. She was the sweetness and loving and kind
ness our kingdom always lacked. Without her, we were just another kingdom under the rule of a cruel tyrant.
Not anymore.
As I stare at his sleeping form, I know it must end. It ends with him. I vow to be like my mother, choosing more than just cold killing. A Truth Seeker demands answers, not blood. I will always demand answers. I unsheathe my sword that, until recently, was too heavy. I’m almost a man now, just months shy of my eighteenth birthday, and finally have harnessed my gift. My age is irrelevant, though. I’m the heir to the throne no matter my age, and with my newly discovered powers, I am a force to be reckoned with. I summon my fires, hotter now because of my rage, and light up my sword with flames. Father stirs and I press the tip of my blade on his bare skin over his heart.
“Why?” I demand, waking the man who stole my only sliver of happiness. “Why did you send her away to Equatoria?”
Truth, not blood.
That is my ultimate craving.
His amber eyes open and meet mine. “I always knew it’d eventually come to this. You trying to take my throne.”
I press the tip of the blade into his skin, reveling in the way blood seeps from the new wound I’ve created. Panic briefly flashes in my fierce father’s gaze.
“Answer the question,” I growl. My gift is a raging beast inside me—a beast whom I’ve only sparingly dealt with, but now one I willingly release from its cage.
“She was a whore, boy,” Father sneers. “And pregnant with another man’s baby.”
Pain lances through me. “And you sent her to her death? Knowing she carried my sibling? It could have been yours!”
“A king only needs one heir,” he bites back. “And mine is threatening me with a sword. Imagine if there were more. Chaos.”
“You took away the only thing I ever loved. Why?”
“This wasn’t about you, Ryke. This was about betrayal. And she got what she was owed.”
My rage consumes me as I push down. The wet sound of my sword pushing through his muscle and into his heart is one I’ll never forget. A fire maker can heal himself, but a sword through the heart will kill him. My blade hits its mark because his eyes flicker as life literally bleeds from him.
“You betrayed me, too, Father,” I say in a cold voice. “And you got what you were owed as well.”
I yank his crown off the table and steal his sword that’s sharper and better than mine. On my way out, I find his most trusted man. His eyes are wet with tears, the grief overwhelming him.
“You could have stopped me,” I challenge, raising my sword.
This man could have. Easily. He’s the strongest, quickest fighter in the Volc army.
“Noni wouldn’t have wanted me to.” His eyes burn into mine, flashing with love as he speaks of her. “She always knew you were a good man.”
“She was with child,” I murmur. “Your child, hmmm?”
Hot tears race down his cheeks as he nods.
I clutch his shoulder. “I found her. I put her out of her misery.”
Relief makes him sag. “Thank you.”
He falls to his knee and bows his head. “I pledge my loyalty to you, my king. Your mother would have wanted it that way.”
“Remove my father’s head and burn his body,” I order. “Tonight, we’ll have a coronation feast. Make sure everyone knows it.”
“Yes, my king.” He rises to his feet. “Anything else, your highness?”
“I’m not like him, Danser,” I assure the man. “I’m nothing like him.”
“No, your mother made sure of that.”
I wake in a cold sweat, disoriented and groggy, but alive. It takes a moment for me to understand my surroundings. Walls made of thick ice-covered stone. A chill in the air that cuts to the bone. A sleeping queen at my side.
Last thing I remember was taking a sword through the chest. I’d seen the beautiful hatred in Elzira’s eyes aimed at the one who’d harmed me. Felt it like a punch to the heart. I survived, though. For a bit there, as I lay in the snow, I questioned if I would. I’ve taken many swords into my body over the years and easily healed. This was different. The sword was dipped in something harmful to me.
Looking down at my chest, a small, feminine hand rests over my new pink scars. She must have healed me with her touch. Her body stills as she wakes and then she lifts so she can look at me.
Wide, concerned blue eyes.
Poutiest lips in all the kingdoms.
“Elzira,” I rumble, my voice dry and cracked.
“Shhh,” she croons as she sits up and reaches for a cup on the table beside the bed. “Don’t speak, drink.”
The tenderness with which she brings the cup to my lips makes my heart clench in my chest. That bastard almost took me from her. I swallow a few long sips and then ask the question I need answering the most.
“Is he dead?”
Her expression becomes murderous, the blues in her eyes blazing. “I cut off his head.”
Reaching up, I slide my hand into her blond hair and pull her to me for a kiss. “So fierce,” I say against her lips. “Cruel, beautiful queen.”
“Just protecting my king.”
“How are you feeling?” Danser asks as he enters Elzira’s room.
“It’s been three days,” I gripe. “I’m fine.”
Elzira rolls her eyes at him. “The poison is slow to leave his system. Mazon thinks he should be on bed rest for a week.”
“Why is he on the floor then?” Danser questions, amusement turning the corners of his lips up.
“He’s a stubborn fool,” Elzira explains.
“A stubborn fool who’s strengthening his abdominal muscles,” I bite out at her as I do another curl, sitting up and clenching my abs. “I’ll be ready for battle in two days’ time.”
Elzira rises from her chair by the window and walks over to me. She’s not wearing a dress. In fact, ever since the battle with The Damned, she’s had my tailors make her fitted suits in black. My cock aches each time I get a glimpse of her ass that the material is molded to. The weight she’s putting on looks good on her. Healthy. Strong.
“Battle?” she asks, putting her booted foot on the center of my chest to keep me from sitting up again. “We killed them all. The battle was won.”
I grip her ankle and move it away so I can continue with my exercise. “The battle, yes, but not the war.”
“You still want to go there?” Danser asks. “Even now? Even after…”
He means her.
Elzira.
“I came here with a mission: Invade the Hidden Lands,” I remind them both.
“And to take a princess from a dying queen,” Elzira hisses, fury rippling from her in chilly waves.
I rise to my feet and grip her jaw. “Yes. That is why I came here.”
“I’ll ready the troops to depart in two days’ time,” Danser says coolly, not at all impressed with my answer.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Elzira wrenches from my grip. She stalks away, heading for the window. Her hands grip the ledge and she looks out the window, a slight tremble running through her body. I stalk after her, caging her in.
Outside, my men are camped out and still celebrating our win led by a cruel queen and her army of white.
“In two days, this hiding in a tower with you will end,” I growl. “And you wish to spend that time angry with me?”
Her breath hitches when I reach around to her front to unfasten her trousers. I push them roughly down her thighs and then mimic the action with my own trousers. Once my cock is in my grip, I tease her from behind, rubbing it between her thighs until I feel her need coating my shaft.
“Beg for it, Queen.”
“Never,” she hisses. “You want it so badly, take it.”
I slap her fleshy bottom, loving the shriek that escapes her. “I want it badly,” I agree, my voice a husky rumble. “And I’m going to take it as many times as I can until I ride off toward the Hidden Lands with a bride on my horse with me.”
&nbs
p; Gripping a handful of her hair, I push her down toward the window and enter her with a hard thrust. The air around us swirls with snow. I pound into her hard enough for her forehead to hit the glass. She whimpers but presses her ass back, wanting every long, hard inch I’m offering her.
In two days, everything ends.
She writhes as her orgasm nears.
Poor, poor queen.
I’m so sorry it has to be this way.
Elzira
Two Days Later…
The fairy tale is over.
It’s easy to remain in a world of pretend when you’re locked away in a tower being ravished by a devilishly handsome, ruthless king.
Now it’s back to reality.
I must face the hard parts of my life. The ones I wish I could avoid. Saying goodbye to a chapter in my story.
Pain burns inside me, angry and devastated, but my beast freezes it out and gnashes its teeth. No time for weakness. I’ve spent my entire reign being weak. I am no longer the woman I was. I’m changed.
My crown is heavy on my head, reminding me of my place in this kingdom. When I enter the dining room, Ryke sits at the head of the table, an emotionless expression on his face. The only tell that he feels anything for me is a small tick in his jaw.
“Truth Seeker,” I greet icily.
“Punisher.”
I swallow down my anger and turn my eyes away from him as I wait. “Where is my sister?” I demand.
“On her way,” he assures me, rising to his feet.
The temperature drops a few degrees as I attempt to keep my feelings under control. When I hear Yanna’s voice as she yells at Danser, my heart rate picks up. Her footsteps quicken and I turn in time to catch her in an embrace.
“My sister,” she cries out, squeezing me tight.
“Little sister,” I choke out. “Here you are.”
She pulls away, her hands on my shoulders, and inspects me. “How are you? Has he hurt you?”
So beautiful.
An exact replica of her mother, even down to the way her full breasts nearly spill out of the top of her dress, enticing any male with a working cock. Her lips are stained red and her eyes are lined in black. Her beauty was always something I was envious over.
