The Luna Queen Is Reborn

Loudest No

The snow in Authorn had always been white, pure, and portrayed the picture of happiness on the faces of our pups.The young ones loved to mold and throw snow until their fingers stiffened. Then, they would go searching for the warmth of their mother's embrace.

But today, it was silent. Their symphony of joy had died under the boots of the Lycan army, staining the pure white with a horrific, steaming crimson where my warriors fell.They had stayed to protect their land and loved ones.

I stood on the balcony of the Frost Palace, my chest now bore the weight my head used to. My parents had raised me to be a statue- immovable, unbreakable, cold. As the gates buckled, I realized they had succeeded. I felt nothing for the crown I was losing, only a hollow, freezing regret that I had never truly lived before I was asked to die.

I shouldn't die this way. I hadn't even begun to enjoyed the life that I was forced to protect. My perseverance should count for something.

My eyes hardened as the silence is the throne room was invaded by confident rhythmic thrums of egoistic boots on stones-two warrior sent to collect the prize. He didn't deem me worthy of his majestic presence. As they made to lay their hands on my shoulders, my left hand darted out from the long flared sleeve that hid the sharp knife saddled in between by middle and index finger.

Blood flowed, mouth gurgled as they fought to keep the slit like wound on their neck close. The disbelief of their faces a little satisfaction of the ache in my chest. They staggered backwards before collapsing in a boneless heap on the floor.

They want to take the Queen, then I'll wash my throne room with the blood of my enemies.

I ducked in preparation of more approaching footfalls but before I could take action, something tightened around my neck and instinctively I placed my free hand on it- a collar lace with the weakness of every werewolves, wolfsbane. The knife in my hand clattered to the floor, the energy I had just mustered to fight drained like lakes in spring.

They have stoop so low.

Chains clattered as they pulled at it to drag me out of the throne. I stumbled forward, my gown, once a fit for a Queen was now a tangle of silk that tripped my every steps.

They pulled me down the hallways and the twist and turns of the castle they seemed to have mapped out. As I staggered out of the palace walls my dress had become rag, and auburn hair was out of the binds that kept it prim.

They had camped in front of my palace, started a fire and roasting their shares of games. They were celebrating their success.

My enemies howled in exhilaration once they caught the sight of me.

I was no longer the Queen their King sought for, I was a fugitive.

They were high on my pain.

A hot flush of hatred burned out of my heart, down to the stomach, then every smallest part of me. Tremors wracked my body soft. Humiliation made me dizzy.

This is what the rejection cost me. The loudest 'No' in history.

I a Queen of a Kingdom reduced to a prize on display.

A red haired warrior matched towards me in vengeance, but another interrupted him.

"Move, Dan. She killed Killan", He jabbed his middle finger my way. He shoved the one standing in front of me, his jaw locked in place.

"Gabe, she needs to be delivered alive, King's order", Gabe chest heaved heavily, he shot me a hateful look before bouncing off.

Delivered? As a prize that I was?

So, he wanted to see me in this state. A low sardonic scoff left my mouth then it morph into a closed mouth giggles and before long it became a full blown laughter.

The noises around me died down, and silence became a much needed companion.

Was he going to gloat. What I didn't give, he could take.

Good. He could loot, but it would never be useful for him.

From the strap of one of the warriors pulling me, I pulled out a long dagger. Shiny and easy to carry. He must have loved his dagger.

It was made for use-use it I would. His dagger would be talked about in history. The one that took the life of Queen Winter Snow Authorn.

I was not merciful to myself, I buried it till my neck touched the hilt. There was no way I would give them the chance to remedy it.

Pain gripped me, but I welcomed the self-afflicted relief with open arms. I might have lived as a statue, but I refuse to be someone's shelved prize.

Slimy blood sputtered out of my mouth and that of the neck flowed like Authorn lakes.in thaw. My knees hit the stone not in a bow- but in a final rest.

And like the blood of my warriors, mine have also stained the purity of our land. A satisfied smile graced my lips.

I wasn't alone; I was going with them.

Miles away in the dining room of a majestic castle, a man sat at the head of a table, his legs bouncing in nervousness. Where were they, his sharp brows angled in thought.

They should be here anytime soon. His eyes a reflection of molten honey deepened in excitement.

Quickly he scanned the varieties of dishes on the table- meals made in her heritage. Would she like them.

Again he open the box to reveal a diamond ring, a symbol of his love for her.

What was taking them so long. His thumb pressed against his lips and he tried to seize the frantic beating of his heart.

What if she hated him for this. He could promise to give her anything if she agree to stay by his side. He would give anything for her to reciprocate his love.

He envisioned the way anger would flash in her blue eyes if she discovered that she had been deceived.

Would her pale skin flush red in trepidation?

Her slender shoulders that never relaxed, and her back always straightened- she would never have to put up the facade of the perfect statue, with him around she could be whatever she wanted.

He gulped from the glass of water before him to ease his anxiety.

A sudden jagged agony radiated from his chest as though the same blade that severed the arteries of her neck had been driven into his heart and twisted. Zallic gasped, his hand flying to his heart as if trying contain the agony.

He bit down on his tongue, and his eyes widened in fear. His knees buckled and he finds himself propped against the mahogany table.

This wasn't just pain- it was severance.

The thin cord of bond he had hoped to work on had been snapped with a force of a whip.

The connection had become a void, a cold one spreading rapidly from his heart.

"No", he stammered

"How", she had chosen death over been with him?

Zallic collapsed onto the warm floor of his palace.

The gold-rimmed plates and the elaborate spread of Authorn delicacies—dishes he had spent weeks perfecting with the finest chefs to ensure she felt at home—now looked like a mockery.

They were his peace offering; to Winter it would have been a thief's spoil.

Zallic's breath hitched in his throat, ragged and fits of broken sobs escaped his thin lips. He curled into himself like a babe.

"I just wanted to love you", He whispered into the empty air hopeful that she could hear him. His voice crackled like baked coal that refuse to bring warmth to the cold void in his chest.

He just wanted to love her.

"I would have given you anything. I would have given you the world", the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

But she didn't want his world. She only wanted her dignity, and she had paid for it with the only thing he couldn't take back.

He wanted her, and now he has gotten a cold body. He thought his 'No' was ultimatum, her refusal was final.