“Hail, Queen Avina.” He offers her a crooked smile.
A victorious chorus of “Hail King Sigvid!” echoes across the battlefield as he walks his Queen off into the sunrise, his hand splaying over her abdomen. Together, they will embrace their future, be it fate or choice.
EPILOGUE
August 23rd, Year 1, 10th Era
Guardian Mausoleum, Salt Province
Wax melts along the iron candelabra in the Guardian chamber.
The only person who matters to him sits in the cold stone chair he only uses once a year. Her curly hair is cut short for the summer to alleviate the discomfort from her terminally pregnant body.
He grunts, folding his arms over his chest, while she mutters prayers to the gods to protect their child, who is due to be born tomorrow. Avina is healthy, and the Healers have no reason to suspect anything problematic.
He cracks his bruised and bloody knuckles. For the last two weeks, chopping wood has not been enough stress relief, so he has taken to sparring with some regularity.
No, he isn’t nervous about the love of his life possibly dying in childbirth.
The King of Treland is simply preparing to storm theafterlives and personally strangle all six gods if his woman comes out of this in any other state but alive.
He runs a hand down his russet plait, recalling the other pressing matters that keep him up at night.
Sapphire Palace guards caught wind again that King Ceowald is bribing guards in a vain attempt to escape his prison in the dilapidated Queen’s Chambers. The fucker is asking for an early death at his axe. Slode was recently sent to the palace to provide muscle for Bertie, whom he and Avina appointed acting Governor in the Ridge.
Then there are the fucking Manchineels over in Timber. Who knew their family bred like bloody rats? Already, he has fended off two assassination attempts, leading him to appoint Grim as the Governor of Timber to reign in the slimy bastards.
If that is not enough excitement, there is planning for his and Avina’s joint coronation as King and Queen of Treland, which will double as their wedding. And, of course, they welcome their child while raising their two adopted children: Thora and Bjorn Sigvidsson Redwood.
Avina sighs and twists her head up at Sigvid with the steely expression he has grown to know accompanies her increasing stress over their unborn child.
“My little Queen, everything is going to be fine.” He cups her cheeks, nearly covering her face with his large hands. He stares into her beautiful blue eyes, wishing he could take away all of her distress and birth the damn kid himself.
Her hands fly to her extended stomach with a sigh. “My mother died in childbirth. What if my only fate in life is to provide the heir of Treland and honor the prophecy?”
The heir of Redwood will deliver
A child whose line shall live forever.
Uniter of all, she whose blood strengthens them all.
Sigvid pulls her tightly into his arms, kissing her forehead with a chuckle. “The heir to Treland is currently in Blackwood harassing the staff for laughs.”
That earns a snort from Avina. “Thora says she does not wish the role of heirapparent. She only wants control of the Drengr Army one day.”
We shall see about that.
“We should get you back to Blackwood, my little one.” He holds out his hand to help her up. “I will draw you a hot bath and get a pitcher of that strawberry lemonade you enjoy.”
Once he has her to her feet, Sigvid wraps a protective arm around her shoulders. As they turn towards the stone door, it slams shut.
“What the fuck is happening?” He groans.
The candles' flames grow to three times their size. Then, they extinguish except for one.
An ethereal figure materializes next to the small flickering flame. Sigvid pushes Avina behind him and approaches the intruder, but another candle ignites, and a second dark, ghostly figure appears.
Then another and another.
