Page 304 of Burn of the Everflame

Teller’s godstone concoction, though valuable, also cost us precious time applying it to the army before we left. It was a gamble—if the godstone wore off before battle, we didn’t have enough to reapply, but with Ophiucae’s aura continuing to grow nearer and stronger, the risk of an ambush was too great to ignore.

The arrival of the Emarion Army ships we’d called in were more than the small Lumnos port could handle, which also added unexpected delays. In the end, it was late morning when my legion finally gathered in the full shine of the sanguine sun.

Luther led two horses through the crowded lawn, his own massive black beast and the dappled grey mare he’d gifted me at my Challenging. At some point this morning, he’d changed into a set of dark blue armored leathers embroidered with thorny black vines and edged in gleaming silver thread. His hair was pulled back tightly, his beard shaven away, and the Sword of Corbois’s jeweled handle glittered over his shoulder. Though I’d been very fond of the rugged, unbound version of him these past few months, seeing him like this—so clean-cut and regal, the indomitable Prince I’d first loved—had my stomach fluttering.

“Your horse, my Queen,” he said, offering the reins.

I took the mare and stroked a hand down her cream-white mane. “Feels like the morning of the Challenging all over again.”

She’d been wild and untrusting that day, and she hadn’t calmed much since. Today, though, she was eerily docile, except for an anxious twitch of her head each time her dark, glossy eyes turned up toward the sky.

“You were the victor that day,” Luther said. “You’ll be so again when this is over.”

Our eyes locked, and his confidence blazed within them. I was a messy knot of doubt, tied with fraying rope; Luther was a column of steel. I wondered if he truly believed our success was assured, or if this was another of his carefully crafted masks for my benefit. I searched our bond for an answer, and I found the one constant that never wavered—his reverent faith in me.

“Luther,” I said softly, “if things go badly today, I want you to know how much I⁠—”

He curled an arm around my waist and drew me against him, silencing me with a kiss. He paused just long enough to murmur against my lips, “Tell me later,” then devoured me again with fierce resolve.

I put my hands on his chest and eased him back. “I want to tell you now. Just in case.”

“When I was dying of godstone, I wrote notes to everyone I loved in case I never got to say goodbye. Taran told me you wouldn’t read yours. You told him to burn it. You refused my goodbye, so now I’m refusing yours.” He placed his hand on top of mine where it lay on his heart. “We don’t have a goodbye anymore. Whatever you have to say, tell me later. Whenever later comes.”

He kissed me again, and I lost my will to fight it, the touch of his lips a refuge I needed too much. His hands looped around my waist and tightened in a bold, possessive grip, and I knew it was a message to the gods: I belonged to him, not to fate.

“Don’t mind us,” a voice said dryly. “It’s not like we’re in the middle of war or anything.”

I was already smirking when I turned to see my brother, nose wrinkled, the godstone mixture in his hands. “If you two are finished being gross,” he said, holding up the bowl, “it’s your turn.”

“You better kiss Lily like that before the battle starts,” I teased.

“I’d rather he not,” Luther grumbled.

Teller wisely didn’t answer. Instead, he led us toward a firepit with a large cauldron of melted wax. Luther stepped forward first, and the guard in charge turned a ghastly shade of white.

“This, uh, this might sting a bit, Your Highn—I mean, um, Your Majesty, King Luther, sir,” he stammered.

“King Consort,” Luther corrected, sitting in a chair beside him.

The man’s hand trembled as he dipped a long wooden paddle into the cauldron and wobbled it toward Luther’s face. When the wax touched his skin, Luther grunted, and the guard’s shield blinked into place.

I pressed my lips together to hide my smile and glanced at the soldiers milling about with stripes of glittering black across their eyes. “There’s a nice side effect of your invention,” I said to Teller. “My army looks terrifying.”

“Maybe we’ll scare the other side into running away,” he joked.

My smile faltered. Ophiucae had the power to make them fight against their will, and he’d already proved he’d use it. This war would only end with his surrender or his death.

Or with mine.

“What did you and Lily do this morning?” Teller asked.

“She helped me prepare some, uh, medicines.” I rubbed at a bandage hidden beneath my sleeve. “Just in case my army needs them.”

He frowned. “I don’t like that she’s coming with us to Fortos. Any chance I can convince you to make her stay?”

“Can I convince you to stay?”

“I’m a guard. Lily’s not. She doesn’t belong on a battlefield.”