Chapter 20
The night air shimmered with warmth, heavy with enchantment as the stars blinked lazily above the newly claimed Lustwood Grove. A thick mist of Zephyr’s influence still lingered in the grass, the trees, and even the air. What began as a chaotic escape had turned into a slow-burning revolution—one that the Queens of Arindel were now part of.
Inside the opulent tent draped in silk and held aloft by silverwood beams, the two Queens sat together. One regal and poised, the other feral and proud.
Queen Avelyne of Arindel wore a sapphire-lined robe, though loosely draped, revealing creamy skin marred by small crimson markssigns of earlier indulgence. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders in waves as she sipped from a goblet filled with Lustwine.
Beside her sat Zahra, the desert-born Queen of Flames, her crimson eyes smoldering in the tent’s golden glow. The burnished bronze of her skin shimmered beneath a shawl of sheer black fabric. Her sword rested beside her—always near.
There was silence between them, but it wasn’t hostile. It was the heavy pause between warriors who had fought—and survived—together. Their gazes locked, not in judgment, but in acknowledgment.
"You love him," Zahra said at last, her voice low, almost growling.
Avelyne turned slowly, swirling her wine. "Love? No. That word feels too mortal. I... need him. As if his very presence unravels the chains I forged around my heart."
Zahra chuckled. "Chains? You were a Queen. A nation bent to your will."
"A puppet throne, Zahra," Avelyne whispered. "Until Zephyr seduced my will and reminded me I still had one."
Zahra leaned in closer. "He made me feel again. And when we fought together in the forest, when he covered my wounds with lips instead of poultices, I wanted nothing more than to burn the world for him."
Avelyne gave a sly smirk. "Then we are bound by flame and charm. Tell me, desert Queen, what will you do when others come for him?"
Zahra smirked back. "Slaughter them."