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I’d never thought myself small, not by any meaning of the word. But something about standing in front of this man, with all his size and strength and magic, his refinement and knowledge and ego... It made me feel minuscule. A speck of dust floating through a mighty ray of sunshine.
KICKING MY FEET
“First of all,” I clipped, “since you’ve always insisted on the importance of titles, you may refer to me as Your Majesty or my Queen.” His mouth tightened. “Of course. Apologies, my Queen.”
“But rest assured, my Queen, when I do kiss you, there will be no confusion. You will know that I have claimed you—and I won’t have any desire to deny it.”
“I never imagined you to be such a romantic,” I said, offering up a weak smile that he returned, though it was achingly glum on both sides. “There’s much you don’t yet know about me, Your Majesty.” I’m beginning to see that, I mused to myself.
There must be something there that wasnt there before
Despite every reason I had to consider him my enemy, something in me yearned to trust him. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to his glow, even as my wings burned and curled in the intensity of his fire.
Teller would make a fine Warden someday. He had every quality a leader should—a bright intellect, a calm temper, and a compassionate spirit—and I trusted him without reserve. But he was young, and his eyes had not yet taken on the weary shadow of someone who has seen what evil the world contains. I would protect him from that for as long as I could.
Perthe nodded. “When I returned to Lumnos and discovered that the woman who saved my life was the new Queen, I asked Prince Luther if I could serve in your guard. Others who were friends, even family, left me behind to die that night, but you risked your life to rescue me.” He clamped a fist to his chest and bowed low. “It would be my greatest honor to repay that debt.”
“My Queen. A dance?” Luther held out his palm, and my heart thundered. My hand was in his before I could think through the wisdom of so publicly snubbing Aemonn for the man he hated most.
His touch was the changing of the seasons, the dead, cold grey of winter thawing and giving way to the colorful hope of spring. The promise of something new, something exquisitely alive.
“You are my Queen, and I am your sword. Point me at your enemies, and watch them fall. Lead this world, Diem, and I will follow you—into war, into death, into the tundra of hell itself.” He took my palm and set it against his chest, just above the patch of unscarred skin that lay beneath his jacket. “You are the fate my heart was spared for. As long as it beats, you will never fight alone.”
“But the most important lesson my father taught me was courage. He stepped out into battle again and again, even knowing each one might mean his death, because he believed in what he was fighting for. His convictions, his principles of right and wrong, were worth more to him than his own life.”
“I would have walked into the flaming heart of the sun itself,”
“Perhaps, for the right person, we endure the pain, because the torture of never having them at all is the more unbearable fate.”
Though I had walked away from my career, some part of me would always be a healer. Behind all my swagger and threats, it was the drive to repair harm, not create it, that filled my heart with purpose.
If my worthiness was to be judged by my choice of opponent, then let this decision be a reflection of my soul. I would not kill the weak merely because it was easy, nor kill the cruel because it was gratifying. I would kill only the guilty—and only when justice allowed for nothing less.
He spun me around and slammed my back against the tent’s large center pole, one hand gripping me hard by the throat while the point of his sword wedged beneath my jaw. With his broad form curling around me to pin me in and his pale eyes besieged with a torrent of thrashing shadows, he looked like a mighty angel of death, come to lay judgment on my soul.
“Let me do this for you,” he begged. “I could hope for no greater death than this.”
“It’s rude to kiss a man like that and then die, Your Majesty,” Luther panted, his breath hot against my swollen lips. I hummed. “I guess that means I’ll have to live.”
“The true measure of strength is not in the lives we take, but in the lives we save. Rhon Ghislaine, I spare your life today. Take your second chance and use it wisely—do not make me regret my mercy.”
Luther gazed at me like I was the embodiment of hope fulfilled. Like I was the answer to every question he had ever asked, the harmony to every song he’d ever sung. He looked at me like I was the sun and the moon and the stars, all the light in the world, shining a path for him out of the lonely dark.
