The sky fell.
A thousand arrows screamed through the air, their silver tips gleaming in the pale light of the moon. It was not a volley meant to frighten. It was meant to end.
Aria's lungs seized, her body trapped between two fates—the Frostlands King bleeding in the snow at her knees, and the Verdant King standing before her like a wall of green flame.
The world slowed to the pull of bowstrings.
And she chose.
Her body flung itself forward without thought. Not toward safety. Not toward herself. But over the Frostlands King.
She threw herself down, pressing her body against his armored chest. The smell of iron—his blood, his breath—filled her senses. Her arms spread wide as if her mortal frame could shield him from death.
It was madness. It was instinct. It was love in its most reckless, terrifying seed.
The first arrows struck.
Steel rang as the Verdant King's sword blurred into motion. He spun the blade in a dazzling arc, green fire blooming around him, forming a fragile shield of light. Arrows shattered against it, sparks bursting like meteors in the night.
But too many still came.
The ground shook with the thud of shafts piercing stone. Snow exploded as arrows dug deep. One sliced past Aria's cheek, burning a line of fire across her skin. Another buried itself in the Frostlands King's armor, inches from her shoulder.
She clung to him tighter, her heartbeat pounding against his ribs.
If death was to claim them, it would claim them together.
The Frostlands King's voice rasped beneath her. "Fool… girl…"
But there was something in his tone that was not rebuke. It was something closer to wonder, raw and dangerous.
Another arrow struck near his head, shattering stone. His hand, trembling and bloodied, lifted to her back. Not to push her away—
To hold her closer.
The Verdant King roared, slamming his sword into the ground. A circle of green fire erupted outward, consuming dozens of arrows mid-flight. The courtyard lit as if dawn had arrived, the brilliance blinding.
The volley ended as suddenly as it had begun.
Aria dared to lift her head.
The archers on the rooftops were already gone, their silhouettes melting into the darkness. Only silence remained, broken by the crackle of fire from the Verdant King's blade.
But the silence was wrong. Too heavy. Too waiting.
This was not the end.
Aria tried to rise, but the Frostlands King groaned beneath her, the sound tearing at her chest. His blood soaked through her dress, warm against her skin.
"We have to move him!" she cried, looking to the Verdant King. "He'll die if we leave him here!"
The Verdant King's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to the rooftops, to the shadows beyond. "We may all die if we don't move now."
"Then help me!"
For a moment, he didn't move. His emerald eyes burned, locked on her where she knelt over the Frostlands King. Jealousy flickered there, naked and unhidden, as though her choice to shield the wounded king had cut him deeper than any arrow.
But then he dropped to one knee, sliding his sword into the snow. His strong hands hooked under the Frostlands King's shoulders.
Together, they lifted him.
The Frostlands King hissed in pain, his blood spilling faster. "Leave me," he growled.
"Shut up," Aria snapped.
His icy eyes flicked to her, startled by her defiance. But she didn't falter. She pressed her hand harder against his wound, ignoring the blood that slicked her fingers.
"I won't let you die," she whispered fiercely. "Not like this. Not tonight."
Something passed across his face—an emotion too fragile for a man of frost to bear. He turned his head away.
They staggered toward the archway at the edge of the courtyard, dragging his weight between them. The snow crunched beneath their boots, stained with red.
Every step felt like betrayal.
Aria's heart pounded not only from fear of pursuit, but from the heat that burned at her back. The Verdant King's presence was wildfire—consuming, jealous, too close. His hand brushed hers as they carried the Frostlands King together, and even in the chaos, her breath caught.
She could feel the war brewing between them.
And she was its cause.
The palace doors loomed ahead. Safety.
Or so she thought.
The shadows moved before they reached it.
A tall figure stepped into the moonlight, his cloak black as night, his eyes glowing faintly with a violet hue. He carried no sword, no bow—only a staff crowned with a shard of crystal that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The assassins had been soldiers.
This was their master.
The Verdant King stiffened. "Sorcerer."
The word was spat like venom.
The Frostlands King coughed blood, forcing his head up. His icy gaze narrowed. "Not… possible."
Aria's knees weakened. She didn't understand, not fully, but she saw the truth in their faces. Whoever this man was, he was no common enemy.
The sorcerer smiled. His voice was smooth, honeyed, carrying easily across the ruined courtyard.
"Three hearts, bound in one fate. The prophecies whisper truer than I dared hope."
Aria froze. His eyes were on her. Only her.
The Verdant King snarled, releasing the Frostlands King's arm to draw his blade again. Green fire surged, spilling across the stones. "You won't touch her."
The sorcerer chuckled. "I already have."
His staff pulsed, and Aria's body convulsed. A searing pain tore through her chest, as if invisible fingers had wrapped around her heart.
She collapsed to her knees, gasping, her vision swimming.
The Frostlands King's hand shot to her shoulder, his strength faltering but his touch fierce. "Fight it," he rasped. "Do not let him in."
But she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The sorcerer's voice slithered through her mind.
"Ten kings. Ten kingdoms. All will kneel, because of you."
Her scream shattered the night.
The Verdant King launched forward, his blade a streak of emerald fire. He swung for the sorcerer's throat—
The staff lifted lazily.
The sword struck the crystal.
And shattered.
Emerald shards rained across the snow. The Verdant King staggered back, shock breaking across his face. His weapon—his soul—forged in fire and oath—was nothing but fragments now.
Aria's heart clenched, her body seizing in terror. If he could break a king's blade with ease, what chance did any of them have?
The sorcerer stepped closer.
"You belong to me."
Aria tried to rise, but her body betrayed her. She was caught between two kings and a shadow greater than either.
The Frostlands King tried to lift his sword, but blood loss dragged him down. The Verdant King stood weaponless, fury and despair clashing in his eyes.
And the sorcerer extended his hand.
Her body moved against her will, rising to her feet. Her legs walked without command. Each step carried her closer to him, her fingers trembling as if reaching for the darkness that bound her.
"No—!" the Verdant King cried, his voice breaking.
Her heart beat once. Twice.
And then—
The world exploded in light.
The palace gates burst open, shattering from within.
A new voice thundered into the night, deeper and stronger than any she had heard yet.
"Release her, or face my wrath."
A figure strode through the smoke, a crown gleaming like firelight on his head, his armor black and crimson. His presence filled the courtyard, demanding, commanding.
Another king had arrived.
Aria's breath caught as she recognized him. The Crimson King of the Emberlands—the one said to burn his enemies to ash with a word. His gaze locked on her, not the sorcerer, and his voice dripped with possession.
"She is mine."