He was the last warrior of the old gods, she was born with the power of the new. In a war for the soul of a kingdom, two enemies will find their biggest battle is resisting the other.
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Trigger warnings - strong language, violence, sex and re...
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The scent of death carried on the wind, through the fierce shroud of rain, reaching the princess as a perfume of blood and ash and flesh. Her eyes burnt and her stomach heaved with it. Tales of war, the glory of battle, whether sung or slurred, were told in the castle hall as frequently as they sipped wine. But Helia could see no glory in this. Her people were dying - badly, savagely, and all she could do was watch. Her power stretched and dragged under her skin like the living thing it was. Calling to be free. Like her, it wanted to burn them all into dust.
The Nordland army had crept like shadows, racing the dawn sun to attack their defences along the river. They were small in number. Their grand army had attacked their kingdom's capital weeks ago. Under their father's orders, the princess and her two brothers had fled, leaving behind the king and her eldest brother, Athan. They now hid in the ancient city of Clesia. Glorious once when Neo had first risen, and the humans had built this structure of gold and marble in devotion to him. It was humble now, but it should have been a haven for them. They should have been safe here.
She'd watched as her elder brother and their army had marched through the towering iron gates, leaving the safety of the city walls. The walls she now stood on, helpless in the face of such a bloody spectacle. Beside her, Erric rasped, though his face was a stoic mask.
"Our men are dying," she whispered. Tomaz crept to her side. His presence, as always, was a familiar comfort. He turned to her, sorrow seeping into his pale eyes. "He should never have left the city."
He nodded gravely.
"Yes. This enemy defeated your uncle, sent him and his army back to Archid, weakened and disgraced. Your brother was foolish to underestimate them. And they have used that to their advantage, I fear."
"Hold your tongue, old man," Erric hissed.
"He's right. Bronson was foolish. Blinded by ego and vanity. And now our men fall."
All four siblings, all descendents of Neo, could summon the elements. They were called the Chrysos - the golden angels. As it had been for every generation since their rise during the ancient war - always four, never less, never more. Bronson could manipulate water, and watching their rivers bulging with the warships of their enemy had enraged him. She'd pleaded with him to stay, but he'd ignored her warnings. He thought he could attack them in the water, where his powers would all but guarantee their victory, but they hadn't remained on the river. The Nordlings had attacked the moment the army had left the gates.
Helia turned back to the battle, her heart heavy. A solemn ache for her people lost.
The battle raged on. Through the murky curtain of rain, the world ahead, once green and lush, was now a sea of blood and filth. Bodies laid strewn on the ground, broken, not like men but animals.
She could see her brother. Prince Bronson fought with the bravery and skill he was known throughout the kingdom for. His golden armour, so noble and righteous only minutes before, looked garish coated in congealed blood and dirt.
