Page 112 of The Blood Crown

“The lesser demons cannot pass under the walls,” Ven added, “but iron does not affect the demon princes so easily.”

Aurelia stifled a shudder at the memory of Maloch—the terrible strength he possessed, his skin seeming to be made of stone.

What would it take to kill not only one prince—but the remaining six?

She’d made enough coins to send each of them back to the Void twice over, but that was only if they could get close enough to use them.

“We need more effective weapons.” Ven’s gaze met Lanthius’ from across the table.

Grim excitement glimmered as Lanthius gave a single nod, his quartz-colored gaze sharpening with focus. “We’ll need use of underground space—and any hands you can spare.”

“You’ll have them,” Ven answered.

Lanthius turned to Aurelia. “Your unique gift may be helpful, Your Majesty—if you’re willing to offer it.”

After her outburst in the Triarchy’s throne room, the power she wielded was no longer a secret. It didn’t serve their purpose to hide what she was from their allies—especially when they were risking their lives to defend Ravenstone—to defend her people.

“Anything,” she answered.

Ravenstone was more than spacious enough to accommodate the battalion of Allokin soldiers that Prince Agius had brought with him. And it had been easy enough to give one of the abandoned wings to Lanthius for his personal use along with his apprentices and the handful of spellmasters that had been brave enough to join him.

It wasn’t until one of the Wraiths asked where the Allokin might be most comfortable that Aurelia realized the question had been directed at her. But the deference with which the Wraith bowed his dark head, awaiting her command, made her feel the weight of the title she now wielded.

Their queen.

Ven had cemented her place here by claiming her, and a step further when he’d placed the crown upon her head. But the mental part of it would take a while longer to catch up.

It still felt surreal giving orders to the Wraiths as they clutched fists to their chests, bowing to her as they silently left to ready the chambers for the Allokin. More reverence than she deserved—but she didn’t dare question it. But something about the action helped move the needle ever so slightly.

It was stranger, still, to show Agius and Lanthius around Ravenstone.

The latter seemed familiar with the place already, though amiable enough to allow her to give him a tour of her home, gracious as always when she showed him where he could set up his laboratory.

Herhome.

The halls were teeming with more life than she’d seen since she first arrived here. True, she wished it could have been under better circumstances, but it bolstered her all the same to see the flurry of activity.

Embra and Lanthius had become fast companions—quickly falling into technical speak that might as well have been a foreign tongue to the rest of them. And a spark had ignited in Lanthius’ frost blue eyes as Embra offered him a tour of her tower. The magick and science involved in her healing tonics and salves piquing his ever-curious mind.

Prince Agius fell in quickly with the Wraiths, and she wondered how two brothers that shared blood could turn out so differently. But if anything, it made her respect him all the more. He’d defied not only his family—but his kings and queen, as well.

She did not take the act lightly. It was treason, royal blood or not, and whatever wrath he might face at his return would be severe.

Lanthius would not be free from punishment either. She wasn’t sure how much control the Triarchy wielded over the Spellmasters, but he certainly wouldn’t receive a warm welcome once he returned—ifhe returned.

The hourglass had been flipped, grains of sand spilling with every step she took now. Every moment, every second she spent on edge, wondering when the forest beyond Ravenstone’s protected walls would flood with the Dark King’s army.

The days left little time for herself, and what hours she could scrounge were spent making more coins and training on the Ledge.

Her nights were spent in the library, pouring over records so old that Seth sometimes needed to translate the writing for her—though it did little to help her understanding of the parables they spoke. More riddle than anything else. Some sheets of parchment falling to pieces at her touch.

Even an empire as old as the Blood Kingdom had its myths and legends. Lore of their evolution long before the kingdom split into two at the dawn of their world.

Ven had spoken of it in passing, that the Blood Folk were the product of dark deities and their dalliances, but none of them led her any closer to a truth that would help her now.

Most nights Ven would find her, another book splayed open in her lap, her lids half-closed next to the roaring fire. And he would wrap an arm around her back, another under her knees, ignoring her weak protests and carrying her back to their chambers.

Even so, sleep never found her at night.

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