Chapter Thirteen

Elzira

Hate like I’ve never know before consumes me.

Maddens me.

Transforms me.

The scream ripping from me is worse than all The Damned combined.

Betrayal cuts deep. The ones who say they love us cut the deepest.

Roaring comes up behind me and Danser shoots past me—past his fallen king—to slay the mad ones. Protecting his queen. My battle is before me.

“He poisoned your mind.” Jealous green eyes flare at me. As though this absolves him from his monstrous deed.

“He freed me,” I screech, the snow thickening around us, hiding us in a vortex of revenge, the scene only for the three of us.

“He tricked you,” Cavon says, holding his diamondblade sword out in front of him, Ryke’s blood dripping from it. “He’s a con, Elzira. He can’t love you like I can.”

My eyes drop to the perfect dark king. His blood soaks the white snow. He can heal himself, so why does he remain unmoving?

Don’t die on me now, Volc.

Not after all we’ve been through.

“What have you done?” I demand lowly, ice freezing every inch of my soul with the need for vengeance.

Cavon pulls off his mask to reveal his handsome face. At one time I’d been attracted to him—secretly wished for a life with him. But something, deep down, always warned me off. I thought it was because of his position within my army. No royal blood. That wasn’t it at all. I knew something was off, so the trust was never fully there. Not enough to go further than friends.

“It’s no secret King Bloodsun nearly died of honnin drops poisoning when he was younger and that his father had the plants all destroyed,” Cavon says, his lip curling in a cruel way. He inspects his sword and grins. “Looks like I found some.”

Mazon.

I need to get Ryke to Mazon.

But first…

“This won’t go unpunished, Cavon,” I say in a cold tone. “It’s as if you don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He scowls. “We could have been everything,” he bites out. “I could have been your protector and fathered your children. I could have grown old with you.”

My hatred has manifested into a massive storm swirling around us. I can feel the ice drawing to me like a magnet. Growing, hardening, sharpening. The violence in the air matches that inside my heart.

The traitor has attempted to tear the only good thing from my life.

Tried to poison and destroy it.

A small groan from Ryke has a ripple of hope quaking through me. He can heal himself. The sword is gone, so maybe with Mazon’s help, he can heal.

So help me, Ryke, if you don’t come back from this, I’ll hunt you down in the underworld and drag you back to me.

Another groan.

“You’re weak,” I tell Cavon, laughing at him. “A poor, mistreated, unloved runt. Men like you don’t get to be with women like me. Women like me are too much for you to handle.”

“I can handle you,” he argues. “You don’t think I know how to use my cock, Elzira? I fucked my way through your castle so I’d be good for you. Better than good. The best.”

“You’re pathetic. No matter how good you are in bed, you’ll never have what it takes to be the best. Not like Ryke,” I hiss, lifting my arms in the air.

“What’s that?” Cavon snarls. “I can assure you I have what he has and more. A big cock? I would tear you to pieces with mine, your highness.”

I shake my head at him. “No, Cavon. You don’t have my love. Never will. Love is what makes fucking my king magical.” I sneer at him. “Now bend the knee one last time.”

He starts for me, raising his sword.

Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Cavon pauses, looking down at his front where five fresh diamondblades pierce his chest. Crimson stains his white suit. His green eyes dart to mine, betrayal flashing in them.

Oh, how terrible he must feel.

He makes a choking sound and swings his sword at me. His arm doesn’t make it far before a giant sheet of ice drops from above, slicing through his bicep. The arm and sword fall to the ground, blood spraying an arc across the frigid landscape from his severed appendage.

“Elzira,” he whimpers.

“Kneel,” I scream, pulling the harsh wind toward me.

The gust forces him to fall forward, making him land on his knees.

Trudging forward through the snow, I fist my hand and summon my ice. Rather than five blades, a club of ice forms from my fist and then lurches out into a sharp, large diamondblade. I grip his soaked brown hair and yank his head back so he can see my face.

“You betrayed the wrong queen and you are officially relieved of your duties to me,” I whisper as I slice my arm through the air.

He continues to stare at me in shock, even after his body falls to the ground. I stare at his severed head for a long moment before tossing it outside of the vortex of wind and ice swirling around us.

“Danser!” I cry out. “Come quick!”

I calm the fury inside of me long enough to make the winds die some. Danser is fighting the horde that’s swarming all around us, but I need him to attend to his king more.

“Mazon,” I bark. “Get him to the castle. Have Mazon give him gappenoil. We don’t have time. Make haste!”

Danser slays several more of The Damned before growling at me. “There are too many. I can’t leave you here.”

“As your queen, I command you to take my king back to my castle. Now, Danser,” I order, turning toward the horde. “I’ve got this.”

He pauses to kill another of The Damned before tipping his head. “Of course, my queen.”

I suck in a deep breath and face the enemies that once frightened me. Not now. I am their worst nightmare. I will eradicate them all. With a loud scream, I pour my rage into the storm around us.

I am Queen Whitestone.

Cold Queen.

Creator of diamondblades.

Weather maker.

The Punisher of The Damned.

And I unleash my beast.

Between white and black, I find the dingy, dirty crazed ones. I pull down my fist and make it rain…ice, that is. My weapon is the weather and I command it to obey me. Like sharp arrows made of ice, my weapons fall from the sky with incredible force. A force fueled by fury and vengeance and clarity.

The world is chaos around me, but I see with absolute certainty what must be done. Now, later, always.

I must become my gift.

Become the diamondblade.

Ruin them all.

Twhip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip-thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip!

The sounds of the diamondblades raining down around me with exact precision makes my soul rejoice with happiness.

He knew.

Ryke saw inside me and knew all this was possible.

The only one to believe.

The only one to love the beast, to pet the beast, to coax it out of its cage. The only one to make me see that being powerful was a gift, not a curse.

Ryke didn’t coddle me.

He provoked and maddened me.

He saved me.

He loved me.

All around me The Damned fall. The Eyes of the White and the Volc army press forward, eliminating what they can. I bring down my fist again.

They fall and fall and fall.

We press forward.

They fall.

I keep walking until I’m in front of the men, eliminating The Damned much easier now without the distraction of keeping some alive. The horde crumbles to my feet, slayed on my land, destroyed by The Punisher of The Damned.

I’m scanning the horizon for more when a hand gently touches my shoulder. Whipping around, I extract five diamondblades and have them aimed at the throat of the one sneaking up behind me.

“It’s me, Jorshi,” Jorshi says in a calm voice. “They’re gone. You’ve killed them all.”

His horse snorts behind him.

“I need to see King Bloodsun,” I hiss, still thrumming with rage.

He smiles broadly at me. “And I’ve come to escort you back, your highness.”

Jorshi easily hoists me up on his horse and then climbs on behind me. He kicks the horse into action and we burst along the land that’s covered in the blood of fallen soldiers, but mostly corpses of The Damned. When we pass by a head that looks like it belongs to Cavon, I sit straighter, the hatred icing my veins.

“Easy now, your highness,” Jorshi says from behind me. “He’s already dead and you’re creating another storm. If you want me to make good time getting you back to our king, then I suggest you relax.”

Our king.

I don’t correct him because he is my king, and I his queen.

The castle comes into view as the clouds dissipate. It’s a formidable place. My eyes drift to the tower, where I’ve been locked away in for far too long. The time for weakness and hiding and denial is over.

As we near the front entrance, I slide off the horse and trudge through the snow. Danser meets me, a troubled expression on his face.

“How is he?” I demand as we rush inside.

“He flirts with death sometimes,” Danser grumbles. “I rather wish he didn’t.”

I grip Danser’s arm and smile. “He wouldn’t be that insufferable Volc if he didn’t.”

He smirks at me before guiding me into the room Mazon has commandeered as his healing room. I sober up upon seeing Mazon fussing over Ryke’s lifeless body.

“The gappenoil?” I ask as I rush over to Ryke’s side.

His eyes are closed and his brows are furled together as though he’s in pain. He’s no longer wearing his cape or shirt. The stab wounds are open and angry looking, yellow-tinged blood rolling down his sides.

“He drank the gappenoil. The rest is up to him,” Mazon says.

But it’s not.

It’s up to me.

I summon my ice and run my fingertip along his gash, closing his first wound. Then, I work on the other. The two men in the room remain quiet as I work.

“Roll him on his side so I can do the back,” I bark out. “Quickly now.”

Danser and Mazon move him over and I repeat my action on his back. Once he’s no longer bleeding, they settle him as I take his hand in mine.

“That’s all we can do?” I ask Mazon.

He lets out a sigh. “As his body fights the poison and heals, his fires will come to the surface. We must keep the fever down.”

This, I can do.

“Tend to the other injured men,” I instruct. “I’ll stay with the king.”

Mazon smiles at me before grabbing his bag and leaving. Danser watches me with a curious look.

“He’s safe with me,” I assure him as I press one of my hands to his chest and the other to his forehead.

“Of course he is,” he agrees. “And you’re safe with him.”

I summon my gift and chill his flesh beneath my palms to cool the burn that emanates from him. “Do you have a point you’d like to make, Danser, or are we playing a game? I’ve just slaughtered thousands of The Damned. I’m rather exhausted. Perhaps another time?”

“Perhaps another time,” he says, smirking. “Keep him alive. He’s the son I never had.”

As soon as he’s gone, I focus on Ryke. Beautiful, strong, powerful Ryke. He saved me and brought me back from near death. I’ll do the same for him. After all, it’s what a queen does for her king.