The world cracked as the flames embraced the young princess—another victim of greed, hatred and power. But no one stayed to see her ascend to the Seraphic Plain. The queen was the first to depart, followed by her many ladies-in-waiting. Sirio and Annemarie were next, holding each other as they had since they were kids.
It was only when the priestesses left the monastery that Killian dared to take the first step forward.
Walking to what was left of Davinia took all his strength, even that which he didn’t have. He was so consumed with anger and shame that he couldn’t let himself mourn her—he had lost that right a long time ago. The heat of the flames devouring his sister caressed his face, but not even the warmth of the fire brought him comfort.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the monastery. Killian didn’t have to turn around to know to whom they belonged. Those were the footsteps of his brother. One to whom he was bound not by blood, but by something deeper: friendship.
Harg Koller had taken one of the horses to ride to the capital as fast as he could. To be there, next to his commander. He hadn’t made it in time, but for Killian, it was enough.
“Long ride?” Killian asked.
Harg stood beside him. “And too slow a horse. I’m sorry for being late, brother.”
“It’s alright. There’s not much we can do anyway.”
The Chaser said nothing. He understood his prince better than anyone else, and he understood that those words were not born out of the deepest apathy, but out of the feeling of not being enough.
Killian didn’t look away from the fire as he said, “We have failed.”
“We still have time.”
“Death is at our heels and the Dark Twins are still on the loose.”
“Not for long,” Harg reassured him.
“I won’t let my siblings die. The curse is advancing fast, and if we don’t find them soon, it will be the end of everything we know.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to fulfill your wish, Commander.”
The fire turned Davinia Allencort’s body to ashes, ending her existence completely. The whisper of the flames echoed through the monastery, as if the goddesses had finally come to take the princess to safety and listen to the promises they had both made as a serenade of death.
“I will find them, Harg,” Killian swore. “And, when I do, I’ll rip their bloody hearts out of their chests and expose them for weeks for the world to know who their future king is.”
