**Prequel to The Shadowed Throne Chronicles**
In a kingdom cursed with the ashes of an ancient war, love's tender grasp transforms into a malevolent blade, while the seductive allure of forbidden magic ensnares all who dare to indulge.
Burdened by t...
The elf queen reached down and planted her fingers into the chest of a fallen soldier. Black blood flowed from the wound as she wrenched the poison-tipped arrow from the burly elf's flesh. Her hands now bore the burden of another of her men's lives.
A tear crystallized and arched to her chin—a sign of her silent mourning for the nameless knight.
She turned from the dead and held the silver arrowhead in her thin fingers. The weapon glistened under the glaring sun as she twisted it back and forth. Though speckled with stagnant blood, the metal couldn't resist reflecting her immortal beauty.
Flowing ebony hair draped around her, desperately reaching for her ankles. Her long, sharp-tipped ears protruded elegantly between wild strands of obsidian and were decorated with silver metallic earrings of amethyst rhinestones—a symbol of purity and longevity, and also her mark of queenship.
Her momentary focus on the carved wedge lifted, and she gazed across the field of warring soldiers. Death cries filled the air and then muffled beneath the deafening roars of bloodthirsty warlords, keen on relishing their kill count.
Not even this land was safe from the purging of King Arioch, the notorious human ruler who was driven by an insatiable desire to conquer and rule over all.
The elves were losing this war.
The queen dropped the arrowhead into the discolored grass and rose to her feet, standing tall and thin in her flowing black gown. She was no fighter—she preferred to heal and care for the injured. But her people were dying quickly, and though she had eternal life, she didn't have the power to revive the dead.
"Nadia!" a voice called from within the chaos.
Her ears twitched as she turned her attention to the scrawny, winged creature dodging the slashing of blades. When he approached her, they exchanged bows of acknowledgment and respect.
"King Elias," Nadia said, lifting an eyebrow. "What brings you to my side, while our men are dying as we regrettably speak?"
The fairy king was breathless as he hovered there, wings lowering him to the ground. "They've got us cornered, my queen. I don't know how they did it. The humans shouldn't have stood a chance, but... This magic they possess is just..."
A scream ripped through Nadia's left ear and she turned her head to the sound. Another of her men had been speared and was teetering on unstable knees, about to collapse at any moment. But the light of life still glistened in his dark green eyes. He was still saveable.
She rushed to the soldier, the fairy king following nervously behind.
Nadia knelt next to him, the damp ground seeping through the soft fabric of her dress.
"What is your name?" she asked sweetly, holding her arm out for the elf to take.
"Beuton," he said in a raspy voice. He shakily took her hand in his. "Qor Beuton."
Nadia smiled as he held her. She lowered him gently into the dirt after clearing a few stones from where his head would lay.
"You have a name that would make kings envious, Qor," the queen cooed. Her hand gently brushed along the side of the soldier's muddy face, tracing his square jawline with her knuckles.
"Nadia," the fairy king whispered urgently. "This is no time to be saving our people. We must run."
The elf queen's jaw tightened. She did not look at the fairy king; instead, she swept her blotchy hand over the death wound, willing her endless magical energy into her fingers. Warmth stretched from within her chest and expanded outward to her hand, where it tingled for a second. Then, a glowing ball of light manifested from her fingertips. She lowered the healing magic into the wound, watching with relief as the wound sealed itself and smoothed the breath of the soldier.
They were losing, but at least one of her soldiers would live to tell the tale.
Finally, Nadia turned to the fairy king, whose small, wretched face was morphed with concern.
"We will not run. Not after we've lost so many," Nadia said, her voice tight.
"My queen, you do not understand. That is the reason why we must leave. Now. Or all of our people will—"
Suddenly, the sharp, jagged claws of a Yaratik plunged through the fairy's chest, grabbed the poor creature's heart, and ripped its hand back through the other side. His torso collapsed in on itself—a mess of skin and bones, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.
Nadia scrambled to her feet in horror, her eyes widening and unable to shed a single tear. The shock overwhelmed her, made her usually graceful knees wobbly, and brought swaths of hot blood to her head. Her thoughts muddied with this reality—that what the fairy king had said was true all along.
They were suffering a devastating defeat. Hope had long since left them.
She looked around at the bodies of her men in disbelief. As she continued walking, her bare feet nearly slipped on the many sweaty and bloodied limbs that littered the field with death.
Queen Nadia was a goddess of sorts—a being blessed with immortality. Though she was weak physically, her magic kept her alive, allowing her to care for her people, to teach them the ways of magic. Through her, all elves could become one with the forest that she'd been born from and grew to love. But even with her endless existence, Nadia was not invulnerable.
Her knees gave out beneath her, sending her body to the hard ground. The warm, sticky residue beneath her both horrified and calmed her. If she were to pass away, her people would despair, but the kingdom would be united under one ruler at last, definitively asserting humanity's dominance over every creature and beast.
The Yaratik flapped its wings as it towered above her, claws wet with fairy blood. She glanced up at it, then realized the monster wasn't wild—it had a rider whose silhouette masked the sun.
The beast has been tamed.
Its master slid from the large saddle, then approached her. The man's face was dark and cold, speckled with long, red facial hair. His eyes were black like soot and his skin was scarred from cuts and bruised from battle.
King Arioch.
He smiled at her with a grin that resembled the waning moon, his eyes reflecting what he saw in her: power. Then he dipped down with a thick, muscly arm, and flung her onto the spiny back of the Yaratik.
Nadia should've escaped. She should've run away, using her magic to hide herself and the fairy king. So why hadn't she?
The king strapped her body tightly to the beast—paying no mind to the scales that punctured her supple skin—and forced the Yaratik into the air.
As they flew over the battlefield riddled with gore-covered men, her heart sank to her stomach and her eyes bled fresh tears.
She'd abandoned her people. She couldn't save them.
They lost this war.
And now she'd have to pay the cost.
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