Page 2 of King of Flames and Shadows

They know their quarrel is disallowed by the code of the lords. Still, they disobey me. Did they think I would not learn of their deceit?

“A skirmish,” I murmur, leaning forward just enough to let my shadow fall over the spy’s face. The man flinches, though he does not look away. Good. I want him to see me in all my rage, all my volatility. "How many dead this time?"

"Two hundred, at least, Your Majesty." His voice trembles, but he forces himself to continue. "The fighting escalated to a full battle along the western ridge of the Fjordmarse border. House Caddell’s forces were the aggressors, though House Sturmsen struck back hard. Several smaller settlements in Fort Caddell’s territory were caught in the crossfire."

"Settlements, you say?" My voice softens, a deadly caress.

Settlements are where the human populace of my kingdom lies—the fragile creatures who serve as the bones and blood of this place. They have their uses, more than the warlords seem to understand. A cold, terrible rage rises within me, though I do not let it show. I do not appreciate others breaking what belongs to me.

“Sturmsen and Caddell.” I let their names hang in the air like the bitter aftertaste of poison. These fools, too hungry for their own good, too blind to understand true power lies in patience, in calculation.

Did the cold starve them of blood to spill, that they now waste it so recklessly?

Slowly, I rise from the throne, the creak of leather and metal breaking the silence. My gaze sweeps over the court—the minor lords, sycophants, and bloody-handed aristocrats who watch with wide eyes. In the flickering torchlight, my shadow stretches long and monstrous before me.

"Darian," I say, and my commander stiffens. "Send word to all garrisons north of Estwell. Mobilize the troops. We must show the North what strength looks like."

A murmur ripples through the court. They know what this means. I will not allow the petty squabbling of warlords to tear my father’s legacy apart. No, if Kaldoria burns, it will be because I willed it.

But something more urgent itches beneath the surface of this unrest. A deeper need festers within me, one I can no longer afford to ignore.

"And another thing, Commander," I add, my voice dropping lower, thickening the air with tension. “I will lead a garrison myself, northwest. The time has come once more.”

Darian’s eyes widen, but he nods without hesitation. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

It’s been more than a year since I’ve ventured north to the human settlements beyond the walls of my city. This city, this kingdom beyond it—it is mine. Every stone, every shadow, every life. And yet, I know how fragile that claim truly is. The lords of the noble houses are like caged beasts, restless and savage. Even now, they plot and scheme, seeking any weakness to exploit. They will be upon me the moment I appear vulnerable. They smell blood like sharks.

Without an heir, I am vulnerable to attack. Such will never change, not until I rectify it myself.

My mouth twists with a cold smile. An heir, born of fire and flesh, forged in the crucible of our blood. My kin cannot breed true with our own kind. Our fire is too strong, too fierce.

Only human blood can temper it, can give it form and life. It has been that way for centuries. It will be that wayfor centuries more. Thus far, my journeys out to the human settlements have yielded nothing, and each human woman taken back to my castle has failed to give me my heir. Most have died here, within these walls.

The child will be mine. And this kingdom will be his. But first, I must find her. The one who will bear my bloodline, who will secure the future of House Szallitás.

The reports, scattered and fragmented, speak of a hidden line of women in the northern hills, not far from the Great River, descended from magic itself. Their blood is said to protect them against the dark and destructive magics of my kin. If the whispers are true, such blood is the answer I’ve been seeking.

If not … whichever woman I find there will be disposed of, like all those who disappoint me.

An heir must be born, one strong enough to inherit both my power and the power of such a bloodline. The survival of my house depends on this.

I move toward the tall windows, peering out at the twisted landscape below. The city of Millrath sprawls around the lake, a labyrinth of streets and jagged spires rising like teeth. But beyond, hundreds of miles north, past the misty shores and through miles of desolate forest, lies the distant village of Essenborn. The rumors point there, to that forsaken place, nestled in the deep woods like a secret waiting to be unearthed.

I turn, my decision made.

"Prepare the troops," I say. "We leave at first light."

***

The iron-shod hooves of my warhorse pound against the earth, reverberating like thunder through the narrow streets of the village. Around me, the village smolders in the early light of dawn, smoke curling upward to join the dark clouds that hang heavy above. The air is thick with the acrid scent of burning thatch, the sharp cries of the villagers swallowed by the roar of fire and the clang of steel as my soldiers sweep through the settlement.

I watch from my mount as the square fills with bodies—men forced to their knees, women dragged from their homes, their faces pale with terror. Behind me, my standard flutters in the rising wind, the black and crimson banner of House Szallitás unfurling like a vulture's wing over the devastation.

Darian rides up beside me, his helm tucked under one arm, his expression grim. "The village is secured, Your Majesty. The men are rounding up the women now."

"Good," I say, my voice low, emotionless. My gaze sweeps over the village, taking in the scene of methodical destruction. "Bring them to the square."

As if on cue, I hear the cries—women, young and old, being dragged through the streets by my soldiers, their wrists bound with rough cords.

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