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unworthy of his kingdom.
He’d stand—he’d stay here until they cut
him down.
Thousands of men charged past him, eyes
wide with terror. Morath gave chase, their
Valg princes smiling as they awaited the
feasting sure to come.
Done. It was done, here on this unnamed
field before Perranth.
Then a call went across the breaking lines.
The fleeing men began to pause. To turn
toward the direction of the news.
Aedion skewered a Morath soldier on his
sword before he fully understood the words.
The queen has come. The queen is at the
front line.
For a foolish heartbeat, he scanned the sky
for a blast of flame.
None came.
Dread settled into his heart, fear deeper