A sharp impact struck Vera behind the knee. She pivoted with serpent speed.
The small boy stood with his fists raised, trembling yet defiant.
A slow, cruel smile unfurled across Vera’s lips at the sight. She lifted her hand, fingers poised to smother the boy’s face in death’s cold caress but a force wrenched her backwards, dragging her off balance. A startled scream tore from her throat as she twisted, only to find Gwyneira behind her, eyes blazing with grief-fuelled fury.
‘Eirwen,run!’ the girl cried, voice breaking with desperation.
Enough.
Vera’s patience snapped. She seized the princess by her snowy hair, yanking her brutally to her knees, while her other hand lifted, palm outstretched. With a mere flick, her blood magic snaked through the king’s body, threading like fire through his veins until it burrowed deep into his diseased lungs.
He screamed as crimson streamed from his mouth in wet rivulets, pooling dark and steaming on the snow.
‘Watch,’Vera hissed, her voice a silken knife, meant for him andhim alone.
Vera wrenched the princess’s hair tighter, fury seeping from her like venom as her blood magic writhed its way into Gwyneira’s body. It coiled, constricting, then gathered in the fragile cage of her chest. Bone by bone, she forced the ribs to splinter and tear free, each one slowly rending through skin and sinew until the entire ribcage was wrenched from within, blooming grotesquely outward like a macabre crown of ivory.
King Fannar’s scream ripped through the cold air, raw and unrestrained, a father’s agony echoing into the skies.
Vera, already tiring of his wretched grief, twisted her hand. A single, vicious snap of magic shattered his neck, the crack so brutal it nearly tore the head from his shoulders.
She exhaled slowly, licking her lips as exhaustion and dark satisfaction bled together in her veins. Turning, she fixed her gaze upon the young boy. So small and so breakable, shivering and sobbing under her shadow.
‘Run, little prince,’ she purred, leaning forward to savour the heady scent of his terror. ‘Find your brother and sister, and tell them I am coming for them.’
A smile, sharp as broken glass, curved her lips as she watched Eirwen flee, stumbling and wild-eyed, into the waiting arms of the forest.
There was a reason I lingered in the Kingdom of Darkness all those years. Yes, part of it was to keep watch over Mal Blackburn, to ensure the pieces fell where they must. But long before her shadow ever touched that land…
I was there for him.
I was there to watch over my son.
Tabitha Wysteria
Freya tightened the satchels on her horse in silence, though her blue eyes kept stealing glances at Ylva. The younger valkyrian had not uttered a word since their battle with the witches. No accusations had been thrown, no questions asked about the power Freya had unleashed, no desperate pleas to turn back.
Yet, somehow, her silence screamed louder than any fury.
‘You can’t stay silent forever,’ Freya mumbled, plucking a handful of carrots to feed her horse as they camped in the quiet of a distant forest, far removed from blood and fire. She would take Ylva back to the valkyrian lands, and then…
Well, she no longer knew what she would do.
‘Watch me,’ Ylva retorted, striding past her, her face carved with annoyance, every step edged in defiance.
Freya’spatience frayed. She reached out, catching Ylva’s arm, halting her retreat. ‘We did what had to be done.’
Ylva’s blue eyes flared like tempered steel. ‘So this is what it means to be valkyrian? To flee?’
‘Being valkyrian isn’t only about fighting,’ Freya countered, voice taut. ‘It is about wisdom, knowing when to retreat so you may live to protect more lives another day. We were two against many. We had to put distance between us and them.’
‘I disagree,’ Ylva snapped. ‘It was cowardice.’
‘I—’
‘Why can you…?’ Ylva faltered, struggling to put her thoughts to words. ‘Can all valkyrians wield such power as you did?’
‘No. They cannot.’
