Part 4: A Kiss Worth Dying For
Freya had experienced several unpleasant surprises in her life.
Discovering that her first sweetheart had been sleeping with the miller’s daughter ranked fairly highly.
Finding a dead mouse in her breakfast porridge had been memorable.
Being informed that she had apparently ordered her own execution before she could walk was an entirely new level of nonsense.
She clawed at the silver magic tightening around her throat.
“That’s…” she gasped, “…ridiculous.”
Seraphine smiled.
“Is it?”
“I was a baby.”
“An exceptionally powerful baby.”
“Most babies…” Freya wheezed, “…are talented at screaming and soiling themselves.”
The queen’s smile vanished.
“Your blood carries the power of the First Flame. A power older than dragons. Older than kingdoms.”
Freya’s vision blurred.
Seraphine moved closer.
“When you were born, I used your magic to forge a royal command. Your fire made the decree binding. Tairn’s stolen memories ensured he would never remember the truth.”
She stroked Freya’s cheek.
“The perfect crime. The Dragon King blamed for murdering a child, while the child herself supplied the magic.”
Freya tried to speak.
Seraphine tightened her grip.
“Your mother ruined everything by escaping with you.”
A terrible anger rose inside Freya.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Anger.
Her mother had spent twenty-seven years hiding from a monster.
And that monster was standing in front of her wearing enough jewellery to feed a village.
Freya closed her eyes.
She reached for the fire.
Not the flames in the torches.
Not the heat in the walls.
Something deeper.
The magic holding her throat.
She seized it.
Seraphine screamed.
Silver light poured into Freya’s hands, twisting into brilliant gold.
The queen stumbled backwards.
“What are you?”
Freya drew a breath.
“Currently? Extremely annoyed.”
She threw out her hands.
The entire chamber exploded.
Glass shattered.
Hundreds of stolen memories burst into the air like fireflies.
Freya saw battles, deaths, ancient cities and the faces of people long forgotten.
Then the memories rushed towards the door.
Towards their owner.
Tairn was halfway across the palace when the first memory struck.
He collapsed against a pillar.
A battle beneath a red moon.
His brother dying in his arms.
Seraphine laughing over a broken crown.
Another memory.
His wedding.
Not a celebration, but a treaty signed beneath threat of war.
Another.
Seraphine standing over a silver basin, drawing flames from his chest.
And another.
Elara Vex, bloodied and terrified, placing a newborn baby into his arms.
Please. She’s the last of them.
Tairn roared.
Fire tore through the corridor.
The stone walls cracked.
Guards fled.
He remembered.
Everything.
The stolen years.
The false death.
The woman he’d once called his queen.
And the child he’d sworn to protect.
Freya.
His heart stopped.
Seraphine had found her.
He could feel it.
The strange golden connection between them was burning.
He ran.
Freya was on her knees when Tairn reached the chamber.
Seraphine stood above her, holding a blade of silver light.
“One more step,” the queen warned, “and she dies.”
Tairn stopped.
His face was terrible.
Not because of the fire.
Because of the expression beneath it.
Pure, murderous fury.
“Release her.”
Seraphine laughed.
“Still giving orders, husband?”
“We were never husband and wife in anything but law.”
“You belonged to me.”
“No.”
His voice shook the chamber.
“You stole my life.”
Seraphine pressed the blade against Freya’s throat.
“And now I’ll take hers.”
Tairn’s fire surged.
Freya felt the heat rolling towards her.
She also felt something else.
His fear.
Not of Seraphine.
Of losing her.
He could destroy the queen in an instant.
But the blast would kill Freya too.
She looked at him.
And understood.
The Dragon King, who could conquer kingdoms, was helpless before the possibility of hurting one woman.
Her.
“Tairn,” she whispered.
His eyes found hers.
“Trust me.”
“No.”
“That’s a very disappointing answer.”
“Freya, don’t.”
She smiled faintly.
“You’re really quite bossy, aren’t you?”
Then she grabbed Seraphine’s wrist.
And stole everything.
The queen screamed.
Magic rushed through Freya.
Silver.
Gold.
Black.
A thousand stolen memories.
A hundred years of curses.
The weight of two centuries of cruelty.
Freya felt her body breaking beneath it.
Her veins glowed.
Her bones burned.
Seraphine collapsed, suddenly ancient, her beauty crumbling like ash.
But the stolen magic was too much.
Freya couldn’t contain it.
She fell.
Tairn caught her.
“Freya!”
She looked up at him.
His face blurred.
“Well,” she whispered, “that could have gone better.”
His hands trembled against her cheeks.
“Stay with me.”
“You’re shouting.”
“Freya.”
“Very rude.”
A tear fell onto her face.
She blinked.
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
“Terrible liar.”
He pressed his forehead against hers.
“I remember everything.”
“Good.”
“I remember your mother. I remember the promise.”
Freya tried to smile.
“Then you know you’re not my father.”
His eyes widened.
For one heartbeat, he looked so utterly horrified that she almost laughed.
“Gods, Freya. Of course I’m not your father.”
“Good. Because that would make this next bit exceptionally awkward.”
Before he could ask what she meant, she pulled him towards her.
And kissed him.
The Dragon King’s fire erupted.
Not in violence.
Not in destruction.
In a brilliant circle of gold.
For one impossible moment, the chamber vanished around them.
Freya felt his heartbeat.
His memories.
His loneliness.
And something else.
Love.
Not a spell.
Not a command.
Not an ancient prophecy.
A choice.
His lips moved against hers.
Careful at first.
Then with a desperation that made her forget the pain.
She had never been kissed like that.
As though she were both the beginning and end of the world.
When they finally separated, Tairn looked stunned.
Freya managed a weak smile.
“Well. That’s one way to avoid an execution.”
Then her eyes closed.
And the golden light beneath her skin went dark.
Tairn shook her.
“Freya?”
Nothing.
“Freya!”
Her heart had stopped.
Behind him, Seraphine began to laugh.
Weakly.
Triumphantly.
“You foolish creature,” she whispered.
Tairn turned.
“What have you done?”
The queen smiled through bloodied teeth.
“She stole my magic. All of it.”
“Then why is she dying?”
“Because the First Flame cannot live inside a mortal body.”
Tairn looked down at Freya.
Seraphine’s laughter grew louder.
“There’s only one way to save her.”
He went still.
“What way?”
The queen leaned closer.
“You must give her your dragon.”
