Page 114 of The Curse of Golden Blood
thirty
A Lover’s Folly
Zydar
Thenumbersdidn'tlie.They never did.
Eighteen noble houses had pledged their allegiance to our cause. Seven more wavered on the edge of commitment, their loyalty a commodity to be bought with promises of power once Ylvena fell. The remaining houses would fight against us, their devotion to the current regime carved in blood and ancient oaths.
I traced my finger across the map, calculating supply lines and strategic positions. Ylvena's stronghold commanded the mountain passes, but her forces were spread thin across three fronts. A coordinated strike from the eastern valleys could split her army in half, but only if we moved before the winter storms made the roads impassable.
The rot might have claimed me before then. The thought sliced through my calculations like a blade through parchment,sharp and inevitable. Each day brought new marks, new pain, new reminders that time was a luxury I couldn't afford.
But if I could end this war before I died, if I could secure Miralyte's safety and destroy the woman who had torn apart my realm, then perhaps my last days would be worth something. Perhaps my death could buy the peace that centuries of fighting had failed to achieve.
The eastern houses would need more convincing. Lord Thaelan controlled the largest army outside Ylvena's personal guard, but his price would be steep. Territory, titles, possibly a marriage alliance with one of my cousins. Politics required sacrifice, and I'd learned long ago that honor was a luxury only the dead could afford.
Soft footsteps approached from behind, too light to be guards, too familiar to be anyone else. I didn't turn, but my body responded before my mind caught up, every nerve ending suddenly aware of her presence like lightning recognizing storm clouds.
Warm lips pressed against the curve of my neck, and the war maps beneath my hands might as well have been blank parchment. All strategic thought evaporated under the simple touch of her mouth against my skin.
I spun in my chair, catching her around the waist and pulling her down onto my lap in one fluid motion. She settled against me with a soft laugh, her golden hair catching the candlelight like spun fire.
"Interrupting important war plans?" she asked, but there was something different in her voice. A brittleness that hadn't been there this morning.
"Always." I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent that had become more necessary than air. "Though I suspect you're not here to discuss military strategy."
"Actually, I wanted to tell you my plans for tonight." She shifted in my arms, and I felt her tension like a living thing. "I'll be in the library. Researching."
"Researching what?"
"My heritage. What I am. How my blood works." The words came too quickly, practiced and smooth. "There has to be something in the old texts that explains it all."
Every instinct I'd honed through centuries of warfare screamed that something was wrong. The way she held herself, the careful distance in her voice despite her physical closeness. She was lying, but about what?
"Miralyte—"
"Don't worry about me," she continued, cutting off whatever protest I'd been forming. "Don't come looking. I need time to think, to understand what all this means."
I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. Those golden eyes that usually held such fire now seemed dimmed, shadowed by secrets I couldn't penetrate.
The thought was so absurd it pulled a dark chuckle from my chest. Here I sat, consumed by strategic planning and military calculations, while my mind wandered to memories of ancient history. But perhaps that history held lessons worth considering, especially now that Miralyte's true nature had been revealed.
Emystra. The former Sun Queen whose legendary beauty and power had once commanded the worship of entire realms. I remembered the stories told in hushed whispers among the courts, tales of her radiant presence that could bring lesser fae to their knees in reverence.
She had possessed everything. Legions of devoted followers. A harem of the most beautiful fae men and women across all realms, each one desperate for even a moment of herattention. They had worshipped her like a living goddess, their devotion absolute and unquestioning.
And perhaps that was exactly what had driven her to seek the forbidden.
The thought amused me more than it should have. When you could have anyone with a mere glance, when beauty and power bent the knee at your approach, what remained to intrigue you? What could possibly satisfy a creature who had tasted every pleasure the realms could offer?
A mortal who refused to bow.
Wulfric. The human soldier from the Driftlands who had treated her not as a deity to be worshipped, but as a woman to be challenged. While her courtiers fell over themselves to please her, he had the audacity to argue with her decisions. While her lovers praised her every word, he dared to speak back with equal fervor.
In a world where everyone said yes, he had been deliciously, thrillingly defiant.
I could understand the appeal, even as I understood the catastrophic consequences. When power isolates you from genuine connection, resistance becomes intoxicating.
