Descendants Of Fire

CHAPTER ONE

Lounging comfortably atop the intricately carved marble throne sat the Dark Queen, assessing her long black-polished nails with disinterest.

"You have one task. One. Attain the locations of all three keys and return." The last of her words were clipped with what could only be described as sheer earnestness.

Fenra bowed her head low, showing utmost respect as it was customary when dealing with the Queen of Doranelle. Even she, Princess of Doranelle--Heir to the Throne-- was not exempt from such etiquette.

At once, her delicately constructed plait slipped over one shoulder, the dark leather tie coming to lightly rest upon her smooth pale cheek as she quietly murmured.

"Yes, mother."

"Your Majesty," The Queen growled in endless frustration, dainty fingers coming up to knead the soft spot on either side of her crowned head .

She was annoyed as usual.

Likely at the fact Fenra--coincidentally--always managed to slip up and remind the queen of what her title actually was.

The Fae Princess masked her sneer by intently staring at the spot of crusted mud--possibly blood--on her boots.

Mother.

Such a normal word.

Used by many daughters and sons of Erilea. But never, in the 19 years Fenra had walked this realm, had Meave allowed such a warm thing to prosper in her daughter's mind or heart.

The Dark Queen bore her, yes, but never took to her like a mother would her precious child. Fenra was a pawn; a weapon--she mentally corrected. A chess piece in a very large game of war.

Raised to slaughter Maeve's enemies without a bat of her thick-lashed eyes and--most importantly--above all else, to die before submitting.

Fenra was being given her first real task that would forever define the next step in her future.

And she would not screw it up.

Everything before was in preparation for this moment. The years of training with Maeve's Blood sworn, fighting alongside the male warriors for days on end till her bones ached and sleep deprivation taunted her sight.

It had all been for this.

Maeve gracefully rose from her throne to pat at the invisible dust on her thighs, jewel adorned gown flowing soundlessly behind her as she rolled her neck to either side.

Fenra's attention caught on the soft lace swirling around the dress like ebony waves, lapping at her mother's heels.

A small thought tugged at the back of her mind, wondering if she would have to wear such ridiculous things when she became queen. The princess wasn't sure she could pull such elegance off, let alone fight with slippers on.

Violet eyes cut her way, holding Fenra with such intensity she felt the urge to bare her fangs in defiance.

"If you can not even follow such simple commands, then perhaps you are not ready for this."

"It will not happen again, Your Majesty," Fenra murmured. Rising to her full height as she spoke, her own lilac eyes meeting their maker.

A challenge and a silent promise tainting the very air they breathed.

It would most certainly happen again.

The princess enjoyed pissing her mother off far too much to actually listen.

She watched Maeve nod once, waving a lazy hand in Fenra's direction as she strode from the room; silky voice trailing after.

"Be done with it. You have till the end of Winter."

She was dismissed.

Fenra turned to regard the throne with a scowl.

Mine.

She would be queen. She didn't give a shit how long Mae--

"Oh, and Fenra?"

The Dark Queen rested against a marble pillar, her darkness swallowing the hallway whole as she studied her daughter closely through slits.

"If you fail me... Do not bother coming back," Then she was gone, drifting further down the narrow passage till even her shadow vanished.

The words she spoke held no warmth, nothing but malice and annoyance.