Rune whirled to her, furious. His body scorched, smoke rising off his scales, though he held there, his eyes boring into hers.
His growl rattled the stones.Clever little bird.
Though she heard more than fury in his voice, but in something darker. Something that made her skin prickle. He was not deterred by her actions.
He was fascinated.
The beacons held, but she knew, with a certainty that chilled her bones, that this was not the end.
Then Rune’s glowing eyes fell on her father next, and she moved closer to Laurent protectively. But the dragon retreated backward where the veil of light didn’t touch.
We all must live with our choices, songbird. I cannot spare you from this one.
Alora stared after him, her body tensing with his vague words.
Rising to his full height, the dragon beat his wings, tossing them all back as he leaped into the sky. His roar shook the skies, and he vanished behind the clouds in a gust of wind.
A brief shocked quiet fell over the keep.
Then soldiers erupted with cheers, beating their weapons against their shields. Alora’s heart shook in her chest as she exhaled a shocked breath of relief.
Her plan… truly had worked.
“Alora of Argyle.” Laurent cupped her cheek. For once, he looked upon her with true affection. “You may have the makings of a queen.”
CHAPTER 16
Alora
The streets of Argyle thundered with triumph. Torches blazed in every hand, their light dancing across the kingdom’s colors. Children ran ahead scattering petals, and fireworks split the sky in blooms of green, gold, and blue. The people roared their joy, crying the names of their king and princess, voices rolling like a tide.
Alora forced herself to smile, to raise a hand from the reins as they hailed her. But their jubilation rang hollow in her ears. For every cheer, she heard the memory of screams. For every petal, she tasted the ash of Calveron bodies left to burn on the beach. Pulled behind their procession were covered wagons heavy with Argyle’s dead.
The city rejoiced, while she carried a cargo of waiting grief.
At last, the castle loomed, its gates open wide and torches lining the courtyard. Waiting there stood the Duchess of Stormwatch, straight-backed though her hands twisted in hergown, her daughter beside her. Hope burned too brightly in their eyes, and dread hollowed Alora’s chest.
How would she ever break the news to Theia and her mother?
Laurent dismounted first, marching for them. Alora needn’t hear his words as he spoke, the dreaded truth was in the way the Duchess clutched his arms as though to hold back fate itself.
Her scream rang through the courtyard. The Dutchess fell to her knees, weeping into her hands. Laurent bent beside her, steadying her.
Theia’s denial came in broken gasps. She shook her head, staggered a step back, then fled into the dark castle.
Caelum remained on his horse as if carved from stone, his eyes blank, his face unreadable. He might have been lost in his own grief, but the indifference snapped Alora to her senses.
She quickly climbed down her saddle, cloak catching against the stirrup. Alora’s boots slapped against the stones as she ran after Theia, calling her name.
She lost sight of her but followed the faint echo of Theia’s weeping to the east wing. She found her at last on the window seat, curled in upon herself, her shoulders shaking.
Beyond the glass stretched the sea, its black waters still glowing with the wreckage of burning ships, while above, fireworks burst in radiant blooms, as though the world itself could not decide between grief and celebration.
Alora’s stomach knotted with sorrow and guilt. This victory had not come without cost, and it had fallen on many families tonight.
She crossed the chamber in a rush and sank beside her friend, gathering Theia into her arms. Theia crumpled against her, sobbing, fists clutching Alora’s gown as if to anchor herself.
“I’m here,” Alora whispered, her own eyes burning as she held her tight. “I’m here.”
