I crossed the room without a second thought.
The king uttered a grunt of dissatisfaction at being abandoned by his reluctant ally, but I paid him no mind. I came here to defend the king at Seren’s request, but his life was nothing compared to hers.
White marble had gone red with blood and black with ash. The air was a haze of smoke, too thick in my lungs. I summoned a gust of cleansing wind, breathing deeply. With a great burst of energy, I sent that gale toward the princess.
Ayla toppled off of Seren’s prone form, flames jumping then extinguishing as she skidded across sullied tile.
Seren's eyes were closed, burned arms cradled against her chest which heaved with breaths that were too shallow, too fast. A low whine emitted from the back of her throat.
I fell to my knees beside her, palms cradling her face. “Ren?”
Her eyes fluttered and squeezed shut once more. My name was a rasping whisper. “Harkin.”
“I’m here. You’re okay.” I took a moment to inspect the damage to her arms. The skin on her forearms was red and blistering. Blood oozed forth, soaking into her tunic. The marks were angry, and I knew they would scar unless I could find a healer willing to use their life mágik to soothe the dying flesh.
Ayla regained her feet then, stalking toward us once more. She raised her hands, yellow-orange swallowing her fingers as she approached.
“I suggest you quench those flames, Princess,” I growled, moving to stand protectively over Seren. My mágik flared as I reached for Ayla’s emotions, but she fought against me, our wills almost equally matched.
“I can’t,” Ayla ground out, eyes flashing between anger and hurt. Her jaw flexed as we fought a mental battle.
“You must,” I insisted, shaping my mágik into a barrier between Ayla and Seren. I breathed in deeply as I puppeted currents in the air and threads of emotion.
Ayla pushed against both, frustratingly.
“If your father wins this battle, he’s going to want her alive. She has always been at the center of his plan. And, if we win…” I paused. My expression turned menacing. “If you place so much as a single finger upon Seren again, andwewin, I’ll remove your hands from your body.”
Seren pushed herself up to a sitting position, drawing in slow breaths as she managed the pain. I fought the urge to help her, knowing my effort was of better use holding Ayla at bay.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Ayla. I still do not wish any harm upon you,” Seren implored. Her expression was so open, her eyes a window to her emotions, so far changed from the closed off girl I had met all those weeks ago.
I could not fight the hint of a smile which graced my lips. I was so damned proud of her. “Right. Ren doesn’t want to hurt you, but I have no such qualms. As I see it, you have two options. You can make the right choice by listening to your cousin and joining our side, or you make the wrong choice by remaining ever your father’s sheep. Which will it be?”
Ayla’s gaze found her father from across the room. Her eyes met his then landed on Seren where they remained, locked in an expression of doubt. I took the opportunity to slide past her defenses more subtly this time, turning up the volume of her unsurety.
“Prince Claudian will be the end of Acsilla unless we put a stop to him. He has committed unforgivable acts, he murdered the woman who raised you, and he means to kill me. He will put you on the throne, not as the queen, but as his puppet. I think we both deserve better than that, don’t you?” Seren was pleading now, desperately willing the other woman to understand.
A shuddering crash directed our attention back across the room where the guards had wrestled Prince Claudian to the ground, finally deigning to take a stance. He tried to lash out with his fire mágik,but they bound his hands in thick metal cuffs. He winced as the steel heated, singeing his skin.
King Tarquin stood over him, weary and beaten. His breaths were heavy, and blood dripped down his face from the wound at his temple. His crown lay discarded at the base of the throne.
The room was silent for a moment, the sound of the fighting still ringing in my ears.
The princess was the first to move, my mágik still carefully wrapped around her mind. I ramped up her anger and fear and desperation as I once had with Seren.
Ayla kept her eyes on Seren until she turned, striding for her father with a look of hesitant determination. She stopped before him, Claudian on his knees. Ayla twisted her hands together.
“Free me,” the prince demanded, pulling against the guards which held him down. “Now, Daughter.”
“Is it true?”
“This is no time for your nonsense, Ayla. Your claim to the throne depends on this. Onme.” Claudian wielded his words like a weapon.
Ayla stepped closer, features hardening. “Is it true, what you said? Did you kill my mother?”
Claudian scoffed, eyes rolling as if the question were insignificant, beneath him. “Katalin was not your mother.Ágneswas your mother, and Tarquin let her die. As a part of my plan for justice… Yes, I did kill Katalin.”
“Shewasmy mother,” Ayla cried, pressing a hand to her mouth. “She might not have birthed me, but she did raise me. She loved me. She may have been the only one who ever did.” Ayla turned away, her skin tinged with a green hue as if she might be sick. She turned back. Tears ran down her face but her voice rang clear. “When I amqueen, will I be free to make my own choices? Or do you intend to make them for me?”
