The Queen
The scent of smoke still clung to the earth, thick and sour even beneath the rising sun. Ash drifted in lazy spirals as I stood on the highest ridge of the keep, my cloak fluttering behind me like a torn banner. I stared down at the half-rebuilt walls, the burned out fields, the pack with hollow eyes and dirt-caked hands.
But it wasn’t the ruin that had me troubled.
It was the silence.
The kind of silence that came after the last breath before a scream.
There was something off here.
Something deeper than rogue attacks and shattered gates. Something more dangerous than fear.
And it had everything to do with that child.
The one growing quietly beneath that girl's ribs—moon-blessed, spirit-touched, bloodline-crossed.
The child every prophecy had whispered about.
And yet...
