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Dhara didn't bother wondering how the queen-who-wasn't-Edna could reach into her shield and take Malachi: there was simply no time for that. She threw a bolt of energy at the being, and her shadow whip, which had lifted Malachi high in the air, dropped him.
Dhara's heart skipped a beat, just as the power whispered, trust. She focused, maintaining her shield, and watched Malachi fall to his death.
She had no idea how he did it: one moment he was falling, gravity seeming to pull him faster than normal; the next, he flipped midair, and landed on his sword, which had turned into a board, and flew toward the queen.
It all happened in the space of seconds: Malachi neared the queen's chest just as her shadows reached to grab him; he fell off the board and reached out a hand to snatch it from the air just as it turned back to a sword. With a mighty swing, he slashed the queen's chest.
Her roar shook the foundations of the palace. Bits of ceiling shook loose and pelted those standing on the floor. People screamed, ran, and cowered as the giant queen bellowed and shrunk, the entity that in her fleeing at the cut of the sword.
Dhara's magic surged and shot up, cocooning Malachi and bringing him back to her shield. She threw out a hand, and the magic pulsed, spreading over the people, protecting them from the falling ceiling pieces.
Soon enough, it was just the queen lying on the floor, keening from the pain of her wound. The palace stopped shaking, and it was safe enough for Dhara to remove the protective barrier. The people crept forward, looking on in fear and awe and wonder.
Dhara stepped out of her shield, the cloud of magic dissipating. The hall went quiet as she walked toward the queen, her hair still a mass of white curls, her eyes shining like stars. Power visibly thrummed her, and the queen tried to shy away, her movements weak from pain and blood loss.
Dhara stopped in front of her, looking down at her, expression unreadable. Then she stretched out her hand, and a wisp of magic flowed out of her, twining around the queen. Her breathing became easier, and she straightened, her pain gone.
"Malachi," Dhara called. He stepped from behind her to her side, still in full warrior mage mode, his eyes glowing neon green.
"Forlorn," he called in turn, and the wraith appeared, paler than a shadow. He looked at the queen, and the wraith put a hand on her head. They disappeared.
"Where have you taken our mother?" the oldest princess asked haughtily.
"And where is our brother?" the others followed.
"They are safe, awaiting judgment for their crimes," Malachi growled. Even though they were far enough, they still moved back, threatened. Dhara turned her gaze on them, and they shrank even more.
"Which one of you takes the throne now?"
The oldest princess stuck out her chin. "I do."
Dhara looked her over dispassionately.
"No. You will not do," she dismissed her, turning to look at her siblings. "None of you will do. I guess I'll have to do this myself."
"How dare you..."
"I am Dhara Roshani Torner, first-born daughter of Dorian Zegemule, and I am the new queen of Sansia. Is there any here who seeks to refute my claim?"
As one, everyone in the hall went down on one knee, including Malachi and the princesses.
"Good."
Dhara collapsed in a dead faint.
YOU ARE READING
Against the Crown
FantasyDhara's life was turned upside down once before, and she had recovered nicely from it, thank you very much. Then the king dies, which is enough cause for worry, and the reason for all the past upheaval in her life walks in through the front door wit...
