Page 73 of Embers to Flames

“Oh, I almost forgot.” he says, reaching into the pocket of his pants and pulling out a small black velvet box wrapped in an opal silk ribbon. “My mother would have wanted you to have this.”

I stare at the tiny box. I can feel my heart beating within my chest as I open it with shaky hands. Inside is the most beautiful ring that glimmers in the light, catching every ray and reflecting them in a dazzling display of color. The gems are flawless, a deep emerald centered around smaller more clear stones that seem to dance and flicker with movement.

I gasp as I behold the stunning ring, my eyes widening. “Theo... It’s… beautiful. But this is too much, I can’t possibly accept something so valuable.”

Theo smiles gently. “It’s an heirloom that’s been in my family for generations. My mother always hoped I would give it to the woman I love when the time was right. Please, I want you to have it.”

My heart swells with emotion as he takes the ring and slides it onto my finger. It fits perfectly, as if made just for me.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I will treasure it always. And I love you, with all that I am.”

“With this ring, I pledge myself to you, now and forever,” Theo vows.

Overcome with emotion, I stand on my tiptoes, throwing my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. In this moment, I know that whatever trials await us, we will face them together. Theo is my rock, my light in the darkness. With himby my side, I do have the strength to ascend to the throne and lead our people through the coming war. All our people. Human and Elf alike.

A knock sounds at the door. We break apart as an elven guard enters with an apprehensive look on his face. “Princess, The King requests your presence in the war room.”

My heart sinks.

I take Theo’s hand, gripping it tightly as we make our way through the torch-lit halls. Eulee walks confidently at my side, her presence providing comfort in the dimly lit hallway. She's dressed in a new, custom-made cloak that blends with shadows and a sleek suit of armor designed to enhance her natural grace. It's clear no expense was spared for her safety, and she wears it confidently.

The guards standing outside the heavy oak doors bow deeply before pulling it open. My father stands solemnly over a map etched into the large stone table, surrounded by the Lords of the realm along with the captain of the guard. He glances up, his expression grim.

“There has been an attack near Beetlebark. The village was razed, with no sign of any survivors at this time.” His voice is strained with grief and anger.

Murmurs ripple around the room. Theo squeezes my hand, steadying me. I straighten my posture, lifting my chin. “Ruvyn.” My voice rings out clear and strong.

I scan the grand stone table, my eyes drifting over the empty chairs draped in deep crimson velvet. It hits me like a cold wind—Lenna and Alyndra aren’t here. I hadcompletely forgotten they left the castle yesterday. My gaze shifts to my father, his golden crown catching the flickering light of the chandeliers.

“Father,” I say, my voice barely steady, “Lenna and Alyndra went to retrieve Ava for the coronation ceremony. Have we heard anything from them?” My father’s expression is grave.

“There has been no sign of them yet. If they made it to Beetlebark before the destruction…” He did not need to finish the thought.

“We must send out riders at once to search the road between here and Beetlebark,” I say, my voice ringing with authority. “Organize a rescue faction. I want every inch of ground covered between here and the village.”

I lift my chin, a mask of strength and leadership falling into place, hiding the uncertainty in my heart. I will cling to hope until there is none left. Lenna and Alyndra are survivors. If anyone can make it out of that massacre, it is them.

The King’s eyes glimmer with pride as he slowly nods his head. “We must prepare for war,” he declares, his voice resonating through the room. The regal banners and tapestries seem to tremble with the weight of his words. He stands from his gilded chair at the head of the table. His fingers curl tightly around a small figurine in the shape of a flaming rose. His knuckles turn white as he forcefully slams the figurine onto the map etched out before him.

“The coronation will have to wait. Quillyan needs its warrior queen now.”

Epilogue

Mikyl

As the carriage trundled down the road, I hugged my knees to my chest, the chill of the iron shackles biting into my wrists. The cage that holds me is barely bigger than a coffin, each jostle and bump of the wheels over the uneven road sends jolts of pain through my bruised body.

From between the bars, I can see a sliver of the night sky. It is a cruel sight, beautiful and untouchable. Stars glitter like a thousand tiny pricks of light scattered across the inky black canvas. A painter’s dream, but a prisoner’s despair.

I know this is what I deserve. Rosanhi had no choice but to testify against me. But the thought of spending three years in a cage at the Malone Prison, with no companion but cold iron and my guilt-ridden thoughts… it’s unbearable.

The carriage jerks to a sudden stop and I’m thrown against the hard metal bars. Groaning, I try to steady myself, my heart pounding wildly as the door creaks open. The harsh glare of torchlight momentarily blinding me, and I squint against it, struggling to make out the figure standing in front of me.

“Hello, Mikyl,” came a voice as cold and unfeeling as an icicle. Prince Ruvyn.

His eyes glint in the light of the fire, his mouth twisted into a smirk. A handful of Elves—but not Elves—stand behind him. Hulking monstrosities swallowed whole by shadow except for their gleaming eyes; eyes that hold no humility, only cruelty.

With one swift motion, the prince reaches through the bars and yanks me forward by my chain-linked handcuffs. Pain shoots up my arms as he studies me with an almost bored expression.

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