Don't dream it - Be it

The father awoke as the boom of thunder crashed across the sky. In the flash of the lightning that followed, he saw his young daughter stir before beginning to wail. Walking to her side, he began stroking her back comfortingly as her violet eyes blinked up at him.

“It’s only thunder, Love,” he whispered, tucking the blankets tight around her tiny frame. “Do you need a story to drift back off?”

The solemn child's eyes, still damp with tears, nodded. With a deep breath, the father began, the cadence of his voice pushing back the darkness and the storm.

“Once upon a time, there lived a queen who gave magic to her people to protect them from the dark days. It required a sacrifice so selfless it could only be forged out of the greatest love. It’s time I tell you this story, My Dear, you are old enough to hear.”

On the night the magic was born, the queen, wrapped in a gossamer gown of lavender, strode to and fro across the worn flagstones of their room. The sun was beginning to set as the queen sang to their daughter as she rocked her. The same lullaby that the queen’s mother once sang to her. Reluctantly, her daughter’s eyes drifted closed as she continued to sway, making her way to the crib.

The queen’s brow furrowed as she laid the baby down. She continued soothing the sleeping infant, smoothing down the mussed strands of white hair, delicate as dandelions down.

“She will be just fine, My Starlight,” her husband whispered, crossing the room and placing a kiss on her hair. “Our men are posted at our door. No one can harm her.” Her husband's strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his warmth seeping through her gown as her head leaned back to rest contentedly against his chest. 

“I know.” The queen turned in his arms, gazing up into his bright sky-blue eyes. She brushed her fingertips along the strands of his chestnut hair, the lines in his face softening as he gazed down on her.

“I’ve been excited to dance with you all day, " he whispered into her ear. Her cheeks warmed as she gave out a playful giggle, smacking his chest, “Today and every other day.”

He chuckled as he began rubbing soothing circles across her back, kneading some of the tension created by this upcoming soirée. He led her to the door. She glanced back at the crib one more time. Her husband brushed his lips along her forehead, “Until the end.”

She tilted her head up, ghosting her soft lips over his, “I’ll love you forevermore.”

The queen had been planning the ball for months, sending out invitations across the realm and organizing the decorations with a perfectionist's touch. Summer yellow flowers draped from the edges of the walls, and the smell of the food cooked by the kingdom's best chefs lured the guests in. The kingdom's bakers showcased their talents with a colorful variety of sweets.

The finest orchestra, known for moving audiences to tears, played on a dais before the stained-glass windows. Dresses fluttered about to the music that enchanted the guests.

Kings and queens were announced one by one as they entered the party. The doorman’s chime at the door signaled yet another arrival, “Please bow for his grace, King Vorrix of Knoxia!”

King Vorrix was broad with muscle. He towered over the men in the room. Where he walked, fear followed. His slate hair and dark brown eyes glowered at the nobles, who disapproved of his presence.

“The evening was grand at least.” The queen whispered jokingly to her husband, his gaze registering disgust at the newly arrived royalty. He twirled her around the green-marbled floor. Fireworks soared overhead, visible from the glass ceiling, blending with the stars and painting the night sky in their array of burning colors. “We won’t let him ruin today.”

The lights were dimmed to highlight the show outside as society's nobles danced and mingled inside the court building.

She bowed to her husband as the dance finished. Applause bounced off the white and golden walls. Her husband tilted her chin up between his fingers, kissing her sweet and long. His heart blossomed with each warm smile she gave him. He couldn’t resist her for even a moment. It had been like that since the day they had met all those years ago under her father’s rule.

Waiters gave crystal glasses to every guest in the room. They were preparing a toast. The queen thanked the woman who handed her and her husband their glasses. She was grateful for those who served them and worked while the rest of the kingdom celebrated the Solstice festival outside.

The queen moved to the center of the room, all eyes fixed on her. Her heart grew heavy when her closest friend and ally, King Gideon of Marquette’s name, had yet to be announced. The seafarers spoke of the brutal weather, delaying ships from entering the harbor. Rumors of a great wave destroying coastal villages had come in with the ships that made it.

“Today, I would like to thank all of you, for without any of you, Amora would be nothing.” The queen held her crystal flute in the air, toasting the nobles, “The Summer Solstice has always been important to my family for generations. A day to celebrate our people and the hard work they put in throughout the year. This year, we must also thank our neighbors for making the journey to maintain peaceful relations. To Amora and her allies!”

“To Amora, to the realm, long live the queen!” The nobles spoke in near-perfect unison. All of them raised their glasses above their heads in a toast.

Though not spoken aloud, these times were indeed tumultuous. The threat of war loomed over each kingdom, housing relics of magic. Power so raw and rare that the strongest militaries of the realm coveted it. Knoxia, Marquette, and Amora—the three kingdoms that held the most powerful armies and had the protection of relics.

Negotiations between the three Kingdoms stalled last year when King Vorrix demanded that the three countries unite and share their magical relics. His campaign of unification spoke to the hearts of the common people, who lacked access to magic. He claimed that with all the relics together, they could stop natural disasters, avert plague, and repel enemies.

Horrified, the queen refused to hand over her family’s relic, fearing King Vorrix would unleash the united power on the realms. Even her family’s magical heirloom, a book housing magical words, while powerful, was rarely wielded because of the cost in blood and tears it took to use.

Gideon had similarly refused to hand over his country's only magical relic, a scepter imbued with powerful magic to manipulate weather. Privately disclosing to her that the cost of using the scepter were the lives of his people.

It didn’t stop other kingdoms from being persuaded to hand over their power to King Vorrix. Recently, it was rumored that a great tidal wave claimed a neighboring kingdom that refused King Vorrix.

Amelia sighed as she brought her glass to her lips, drinking deeply to ward off the dark thoughts.

She turned to her husband as he lifted the glass to his lips. He stopped, frowning as King Vorrix bowed before them, “Your Majesty.” Her husband acknowledged with a steely edge to his voice.

“King Consort,” King Vorrix sneered. “Queen Amelia, a dance?” His oily, chauvinistic tone made her feel unclean. However, etiquette dictated that the queen extend her hand to the king, and he moved her into a swift dance accompanied by the eerie trill of a violin.

“My Queen, thank you for inviting me to this beautiful event. You are quite the hostess.” His words were polite, but his expression was calculating as he watched her intently.

“Thank you for coming, it’s a comfort to the people to see us working toward peace. A shame that King Gideon didn’t show tonight.” She said, examining his expression distrustfully.

“Quite a shame…” The dance slowed, his grip on her waist tightening painfully as he leaned in, hot breath tickling her ear. “He, too, denied me his relic. I must say. The scepter is quite powerful. Have you ever seen the ocean lift towards the sky before?”

Amelia frowned, wrenching back from him, “...What did you do to Gideon?” The pounding of her heart roared through her ears, her breath coming in shallow spurts.

“You’re smart, Dear. Don’t make his mistake. The offer stands.” He smiled indulgently down at her.

“If I did, who says you wouldn’t use it against us?” She asked, backing slowly away from him.

“Who says I haven’t already?” He whispered softly, the brown of his eyes sparkling in amusement.

The queen lifted her dress and fled toward her husband, terror clinging to her heels. He instinctively reached out, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist. He ended his conversation with the nobles as he turned toward her and brought the glass to his lips–his smile fell.

His glass fell to the ground, shattering across the marble floor. The wine splattered, and the chill of the liquid dampened the bottom of her lavender chiffon gown.

Her husband grabbed her face, tilting her head up, looking for signs of illness. Amelia's heart raced as one of the nobles across the room fell to the floor, frothy red foam pouring from his mouth. Another fell after him, then another, and another noble fell—all foaming at the mouth.

A man dressed in a black suit with golden filigree embroidered into every inch of the fabric stepped from the crowd. A black masquerade mask obscuring his face, he lifted a golden violin to his shoulder. “A song for the queen, I call it the Waltz of Death.” The trill of the violin sounded through the ballroom, and screams became its choir.

Men rushed into the room dressed as her soldiers, slitting the throats of those yet to die and stabbing their swords into those already lying on the ground. Suddenly, the bodies on the ground rose at the violinist's crescendo. The dead men walked in time to the tempo of the bow as it slid along the strings. Closer and closer they came.

Amelia had yet to process what was happening when her husband took her hand, yanking her to follow behind him. One of the soldiers came directly for them. Her husband lifted his foot, driving it into the chest plate of their attacker, making the assailant fly backwards. He ripped the sword from the soldier.

As danger swirled around them, her husband was transformed back into the warrior from their youth. Lord Mattiel, the Steelheart Knight.

He quickly swung his sword, deflecting the blade that slashed at him. Disarming the attacker with one swift motion and, turning, slicing into the man's throat, a fountain of crimson announcing his demise. More assailants pressed forward and died screaming.

Standing before that lake of crimson and fallen enemies, Steelheart he became–ruthless, calculated. He would not let them take his queen, lover, and childhood friend.

Mattiel turned to Amelia. Time was running out; he knew any safe passage out of the kingdom had been compromised.

Turning to check on her, he saw the sword swinging for her back. With reflexes born from battle, he pulled her toward him, spinning them so his own back was toward the sword. Her violet eyes wide with fear staring into his own sea of blue. His teeth mashed together in a snarl as the blade pierced him from behind. Amelia gasped out a painful whistle of breath escaping her lips as the tip of the sword pierced her side.

Abruptly, the sword was torn from them. The adrenaline was all he felt. His Starlight was all that mattered. As he bled through his suit, he fought unyieldingly.

It had been five years since they were married, barely enough time for them to enjoy their lives together. After years of dancing around the court in secret. Meeting in the quiet of night to steal a kiss or two. Mattiel's head would have been cleaved from his neck if her father had ever caught them.

Now, their blood combined painted her gown. How long had they been planning this attack right underneath their noses?

Mattiel had smelled the Midnight Shade laced in the wine before it touched his lips. It delivered a delayed, but painfully swift death. Amelia had drunk from the flute—his heart plummeted into his stomach when he made the realization, but yet she was healthy. Had she been the only one not targeted with the poison?

He scooped his arm under her legs, pulling her up to carry her. He held onto the sword tightly.

The heels of his boots slammed onto the stone floor. Running through the palace, the bodies of the staff, guards, and noblemen lined the hallways. Shouting and the shrill notes of the violin echoed in the distance as the Knoxian soldiers terrorized the castle.

Mattiel carried her up the long, winding spiral staircase of her tower. The stained-glass windows that scaled the stone walls reflected the light of the growing flames outside.

The Queen's Tower. The edifice Amelia knew better than any other place in the castle. As a girl, it was her secret sanctuary, and she made it officially hers when she became queen.

This tower her stronghold where she cried after her mother passed during childbirth. The room where she realized she would become queen, when her father followed shortly after with a shattered heart and an addiction to the drink. The same exact room where she had gotten ready for her coronation. And the same place where her ladies dressed her for her wedding night. Where she became a woman and gave birth to her firstborn daughter.

“Mattiel, our daughter.” Her voice cracked as her eyes stung with tears.

“She is safe…My Starlight.” His voice was weakening. The pain of his fatal wound was finally felt.

Their guards opened the double doors to the large bedroom suite. He walked her in and sat her on the silk-red tufted ottoman. He dropped to his knee, moving her hand from her side, looking at how severe the wound was.

“You should be fine for now, My Love.” He said.

“My wine...the magic, I can't summon it...” She held her trembling hand against his cheek.

Her glass contained Witch’s Sage, he realized. A magic nullifying poison that kept a person from being able to wield magical relics. Amelia would be powerless for several hours.

She stared into the fading light of his eyes. He fell to his side. 

“MATTIEL!” Amelia threw herself from her seat, catching him and gently laying him on the ground. Their daughter jolted awake from her mother’s cries, wailing in fright.

His breath was shallow, the edges of his vision darkening. He fought it—his job wasn’t done yet, his queen wasn’t safe. But his body was betraying him.

“Mattiel! Don’t leave me!” Her tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Lia…” He placed his hand over hers, “You can’t stop this,” he whispered, staring into her violet eyes, terror, denial, and then resolve flashing through their darkened depths. Pulling free from his grip, Amelia scrambled forward, ripping a book from a shelf on the wall that opened a secret compartment. She pulled her family's relic, tearing through the pages to find anything to save his life. “There’s nothing more to do, Love, sit with me–”

She rushed back over as he went quiet, kneeling before him. The Witch’s Sage may have numbed her ability to wield the relic, but anything was possible if one pushed hard enough. She would tear apart her very soul to save his life. Amelia summoned the power of the book initially, sluggish and unyielding. It resisted as she continued to yank the power forth, forcing it into her hands, scorching her veins, and searing along her skin.

The words from the book drained from the pages, swirling up her forearms, and absorbing into her skin. As she spoke the magic, his wounds healed, his eyes opened once more. Her skin was radiating a glow he had never seen before.

He sat up, alarmed, placing his hand over where his wound used to be. “What did you do?”

She smiled softly at him, placing her hand on his cheek, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”

“Amelia…what did you do?” He looked at the relic on the ground. Drained of ink, its once brown color was gray, and the pages crumbled like ash. Horror and understanding colliding as their eyes met.

The men's screams outside her door turned both their heads. She looked down at her glowing hands. The power she had stolen from the book surged inside her, and the pressure was building—it needed to be released.

Longing to see her daughter consumed her as she walked toward the crib and reached for the bawling infant. Wrapping her arms around their child, she sang softly the queen's lullaby to soothe her as she moved from the door onto the balcony together.

He wrapped his arms around them, hugging them to his chest. He soaked in the lilac scent of her hair, the glow emanating from her continuing to build. Together, the rulers watched their city burn underneath them. He meant it when he took the oath to protect her life and repeated it again at her coronation. He would die for her and protect her until his last breath.

He leaned down, kissing her as desperately as the day she had confessed her love to him.

She had proposed to him on the balcony of this tower. When he told her yes, she felt her life beginning…so it was only fitting.

Her voice held a shiver of fear as she whispered, “Take the baby.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. Both of them closed their eyes, their breath mingling. The men yelling outside her tower doors didn't exist to them, as they soaked in each other’s presence.

She placed the child their love had created into her husband’s arms. Amelia leaned down, kissing their infant’s small hand, silently praying that the power coursing through her veins would protect them. The mark of her lips glowed faintly as she withdrew.

King Vorrix didn't want her kingdom, her throne, nor her crown. No, her kingdom wouldn't be enough for him. Power was the prize he wanted, and the people of the realm would be the ones to suffer for his greed. Wielding magic came with a price, one he wasn’t willing to pay.

The chorus of voices accompanied the drumming of boots. Mattiel turned, stepping back into the room, holding their child protectively. She glanced down at the city she had loved since the day she knew she would be its queen.

The power raging through her veins ignited the dormant magical vow she had taken to protect her people. Her tears sizzled as they slid down her golden cheeks. The magic was taking a toll on her body, burning from the inside out.

Bangs reverberated through the door as the siege began once more on her tower. Mattiel placed the infant into the crib. Sword in hand, facing the door, and ready to fight.

She climbed onto the stone railing, taking a deep breath. Smoke bellowed up from the burning village down below, and the stench of charred flesh tainted the air. If only she had known about the enemies filling her kingdom before the attack and had prepared better.

There was still one thing she could do for her people, for the rest of the world. One way to hinder King Vorrix’s plans. She was scared, but it was the only way to ensure the magic wouldn't fall into the wrong hands—the power she borrowed from the book needed to be returned.

The doors burst open. Vorrix and his men filled the chamber. He glanced down at the destroyed relic he sought. He shouted, “GET HER!’

Mattiel turned around, “Amelia!?’

She faced him. The wind whipped around her hair as she stood on the balustrade. She gave him a bittersweet smile, “Tell her stories of me. Until the end.”

“…Forevermore.” He choked out as his cheeks stained with his sorrow.

She held her arms out, skin glowing bright as the sun, eyes closing. With an exhale of relief as the pressure released, she tilted over the edge–magic erupting from every pore of her body, showering the night with her radiant glow.

Like a thousand shooting stars, the sky shone with a warm brightness, and her magic scattered throughout the world. She shredded the armies, alive and dead, that terrorized the streets of her kingdom. Everywhere the glimmers of her magic fell, she returned the magic borrowed to her people, undoing the damage done by King Vorrix and restoring balance to the realm.

“Papa, did it work? Did she gift magic to everyone?” The little girl asked in her bed as she was tucked in.

“You tell me, Little Star. Did it work?” He stroked the little girl's white hair before blowing out the candle on her bedside table.

The little girl smiled, holding out her hand. A small orb of light lit up the dark room. With her bright and happy violet eyes, she smiled joyfully at her father.

“And what a gift you have, My Little Star, the power to brighten even the darkest of nights.” He kissed over the mark on her hand, “I love you, Little Star.”

The father awoke as the boom of thunder crashed across the sky. In the flash of the lightning that followed, he saw his young daughter stir before beginning to wail. Walking to her side, he began stroking her back comfortingly as her violet eyes blinked up at him.

“It’s only thunder, Love,” he whispered, tucking the blankets tight around her tiny frame. “Do you need a story to drift back off?”

The solemn child's eyes, still damp with tears, nodded. With a deep breath, the father began, the cadence of his voice pushing back the darkness and the storm.

“Once upon a time, there lived a queen who gave magic to her people to protect them from the dark days. It required a sacrifice so selfless it could only be forged out of the greatest love. It’s time I tell you this story, My Dear, you are old enough to hear.”

On the night the magic was born, the queen, wrapped in a gossamer gown of lavender, strode to and fro across the worn flagstones of their room. The sun was beginning to set as the queen sang to their daughter as she rocked her. The same lullaby that the queen’s mother once sang to her. Reluctantly, her daughter’s eyes drifted closed as she continued to sway, making her way to the crib.

The queen’s brow furrowed as she laid the baby down. She continued soothing the sleeping infant, smoothing down the mussed strands of white hair, delicate as dandelions down.

“She will be just fine, My Starlight,” her husband whispered, crossing the room and placing a kiss on her hair. “Our men are posted at our door. No one can harm her.” Her husband's strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his warmth seeping through her gown as her head leaned back to rest contentedly against his chest. 

“I know.” The queen turned in his arms, gazing up into his bright sky-blue eyes. She brushed her fingertips along the strands of his chestnut hair, the lines in his face softening as he gazed down on her.

“I’ve been excited to dance with you all day, " he whispered into her ear. Her cheeks warmed as she gave out a playful giggle, smacking his chest, “Today and every other day.”

He chuckled as he began rubbing soothing circles across her back, kneading some of the tension created by this upcoming soirée. He led her to the door. She glanced back at the crib one more time. Her husband brushed his lips along her forehead, “Until the end.”

She tilted her head up, ghosting her soft lips over his, “I’ll love you forevermore.”

The queen had been planning the ball for months, sending out invitations across the realm and organizing the decorations with a perfectionist's touch. Summer yellow flowers draped from the edges of the walls, and the smell of the food cooked by the kingdom's best chefs lured the guests in. The kingdom's bakers showcased their talents with a colorful variety of sweets.

The finest orchestra, known for moving audiences to tears, played on a dais before the stained-glass windows. Dresses fluttered about to the music that enchanted the guests.

Kings and queens were announced one by one as they entered the party. The doorman’s chime at the door signaled yet another arrival, “Please bow for his grace, King Vorrix of Knoxia!”

King Vorrix was broad with muscle. He towered over the men in the room. Where he walked, fear followed. His slate hair and dark brown eyes glowered at the nobles, who disapproved of his presence.

“The evening was grand at least.” The queen whispered jokingly to her husband, his gaze registering disgust at the newly arrived royalty. He twirled her around the green-marbled floor. Fireworks soared overhead, visible from the glass ceiling, blending with the stars and painting the night sky in their array of burning colors. “We won’t let him ruin today.”

The lights were dimmed to highlight the show outside as society's nobles danced and mingled inside the court building.

She bowed to her husband as the dance finished. Applause bounced off the white and golden walls. Her husband tilted her chin up between his fingers, kissing her sweet and long. His heart blossomed with each warm smile she gave him. He couldn’t resist her for even a moment. It had been like that since the day they had met all those years ago under her father’s rule.

Waiters gave crystal glasses to every guest in the room. They were preparing a toast. The queen thanked the woman who handed her and her husband their glasses. She was grateful for those who served them and worked while the rest of the kingdom celebrated the Solstice festival outside.

The queen moved to the center of the room, all eyes fixed on her. Her heart grew heavy when her closest friend and ally, King Gideon of Marquette’s name, had yet to be announced. The seafarers spoke of the brutal weather, delaying ships from entering the harbor. Rumors of a great wave destroying coastal villages had come in with the ships that made it.

“Today, I would like to thank all of you, for without any of you, Amora would be nothing.” The queen held her crystal flute in the air, toasting the nobles, “The Summer Solstice has always been important to my family for generations. A day to celebrate our people and the hard work they put in throughout the year. This year, we must also thank our neighbors for making the journey to maintain peaceful relations. To Amora and her allies!”

“To Amora, to the realm, long live the queen!” The nobles spoke in near-perfect unison. All of them raised their glasses above their heads in a toast.

Though not spoken aloud, these times were indeed tumultuous. The threat of war loomed over each kingdom, housing relics of magic. Power so raw and rare that the strongest militaries of the realm coveted it. Knoxia, Marquette, and Amora—the three kingdoms that held the most powerful armies and had the protection of relics.

Negotiations between the three Kingdoms stalled last year when King Vorrix demanded that the three countries unite and share their magical relics. His campaign of unification spoke to the hearts of the common people, who lacked access to magic. He claimed that with all the relics together, they could stop natural disasters, avert plague, and repel enemies.

Horrified, the queen refused to hand over her family’s relic, fearing King Vorrix would unleash the united power on the realms. Even her family’s magical heirloom, a book housing magical words, while powerful, was rarely wielded because of the cost in blood and tears it took to use.

Gideon had similarly refused to hand over his country's only magical relic, a scepter imbued with powerful magic to manipulate weather. Privately disclosing to her that the cost of using the scepter were the lives of his people.

It didn’t stop other kingdoms from being persuaded to hand over their power to King Vorrix. Recently, it was rumored that a great tidal wave claimed a neighboring kingdom that refused King Vorrix.

Amelia sighed as she brought her glass to her lips, drinking deeply to ward off the dark thoughts.

She turned to her husband as he lifted the glass to his lips. He stopped, frowning as King Vorrix bowed before them, “Your Majesty.” Her husband acknowledged with a steely edge to his voice.

“King Consort,” King Vorrix sneered. “Queen Amelia, a dance?” His oily, chauvinistic tone made her feel unclean. However, etiquette dictated that the queen extend her hand to the king, and he moved her into a swift dance accompanied by the eerie trill of a violin.

“My Queen, thank you for inviting me to this beautiful event. You are quite the hostess.” His words were polite, but his expression was calculating as he watched her intently.

“Thank you for coming, it’s a comfort to the people to see us working toward peace. A shame that King Gideon didn’t show tonight.” She said, examining his expression distrustfully.

“Quite a shame…” The dance slowed, his grip on her waist tightening painfully as he leaned in, hot breath tickling her ear. “He, too, denied me his relic. I must say. The scepter is quite powerful. Have you ever seen the ocean lift towards the sky before?”

Amelia frowned, wrenching back from him, “...What did you do to Gideon?” The pounding of her heart roared through her ears, her breath coming in shallow spurts.

“You’re smart, Dear. Don’t make his mistake. The offer stands.” He smiled indulgently down at her.

“If I did, who says you wouldn’t use it against us?” She asked, backing slowly away from him.

“Who says I haven’t already?” He whispered softly, the brown of his eyes sparkling in amusement.

The queen lifted her dress and fled toward her husband, terror clinging to her heels. He instinctively reached out, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist. He ended his conversation with the nobles as he turned toward her and brought the glass to his lips–his smile fell.

His glass fell to the ground, shattering across the marble floor. The wine splattered, and the chill of the liquid dampened the bottom of her lavender chiffon gown.

Her husband grabbed her face, tilting her head up, looking for signs of illness. Amelia's heart raced as one of the nobles across the room fell to the floor, frothy red foam pouring from his mouth. Another fell after him, then another, and another noble fell—all foaming at the mouth.

A man dressed in a black suit with golden filigree embroidered into every inch of the fabric stepped from the crowd. A black masquerade mask obscuring his face, he lifted a golden violin to his shoulder. “A song for the queen, I call it the Waltz of Death.” The trill of the violin sounded through the ballroom, and screams became its choir.

Men rushed into the room dressed as her soldiers, slitting the throats of those yet to die and stabbing their swords into those already lying on the ground. Suddenly, the bodies on the ground rose at the violinist's crescendo. The dead men walked in time to the tempo of the bow as it slid along the strings. Closer and closer they came.

Amelia had yet to process what was happening when her husband took her hand, yanking her to follow behind him. One of the soldiers came directly for them. Her husband lifted his foot, driving it into the chest plate of their attacker, making the assailant fly backwards. He ripped the sword from the soldier.

As danger swirled around them, her husband was transformed back into the warrior from their youth. Lord Mattiel, the Steelheart Knight.

He quickly swung his sword, deflecting the blade that slashed at him. Disarming the attacker with one swift motion and, turning, slicing into the man's throat, a fountain of crimson announcing his demise. More assailants pressed forward and died screaming.

Standing before that lake of crimson and fallen enemies, Steelheart he became–ruthless, calculated. He would not let them take his queen, lover, and childhood friend.

Mattiel turned to Amelia. Time was running out; he knew any safe passage out of the kingdom had been compromised.

Turning to check on her, he saw the sword swinging for her back. With reflexes born from battle, he pulled her toward him, spinning them so his own back was toward the sword. Her violet eyes wide with fear staring into his own sea of blue. His teeth mashed together in a snarl as the blade pierced him from behind. Amelia gasped out a painful whistle of breath escaping her lips as the tip of the sword pierced her side.

Abruptly, the sword was torn from them. The adrenaline was all he felt. His Starlight was all that mattered. As he bled through his suit, he fought unyieldingly.

It had been five years since they were married, barely enough time for them to enjoy their lives together. After years of dancing around the court in secret. Meeting in the quiet of night to steal a kiss or two. Mattiel's head would have been cleaved from his neck if her father had ever caught them.

Now, their blood combined painted her gown. How long had they been planning this attack right underneath their noses?

Mattiel had smelled the Midnight Shade laced in the wine before it touched his lips. It delivered a delayed, but painfully swift death. Amelia had drunk from the flute—his heart plummeted into his stomach when he made the realization, but yet she was healthy. Had she been the only one not targeted with the poison?

He scooped his arm under her legs, pulling her up to carry her. He held onto the sword tightly.

The heels of his boots slammed onto the stone floor. Running through the palace, the bodies of the staff, guards, and noblemen lined the hallways. Shouting and the shrill notes of the violin echoed in the distance as the Knoxian soldiers terrorized the castle.

Mattiel carried her up the long, winding spiral staircase of her tower. The stained-glass windows that scaled the stone walls reflected the light of the growing flames outside.

The Queen's Tower. The edifice Amelia knew better than any other place in the castle. As a girl, it was her secret sanctuary, and she made it officially hers when she became queen.

This tower her stronghold where she cried after her mother passed during childbirth. The room where she realized she would become queen, when her father followed shortly after with a shattered heart and an addiction to the drink. The same exact room where she had gotten ready for her coronation. And the same place where her ladies dressed her for her wedding night. Where she became a woman and gave birth to her firstborn daughter.

“Mattiel, our daughter.” Her voice cracked as her eyes stung with tears.

“She is safe…My Starlight.” His voice was weakening. The pain of his fatal wound was finally felt.

Their guards opened the double doors to the large bedroom suite. He walked her in and sat her on the silk-red tufted ottoman. He dropped to his knee, moving her hand from her side, looking at how severe the wound was.

“You should be fine for now, My Love.” He said.

“My wine...the magic, I can't summon it...” She held her trembling hand against his cheek.

Her glass contained Witch’s Sage, he realized. A magic nullifying poison that kept a person from being able to wield magical relics. Amelia would be powerless for several hours.

She stared into the fading light of his eyes. He fell to his side. 

“MATTIEL!” Amelia threw herself from her seat, catching him and gently laying him on the ground. Their daughter jolted awake from her mother’s cries, wailing in fright.

His breath was shallow, the edges of his vision darkening. He fought it—his job wasn’t done yet, his queen wasn’t safe. But his body was betraying him.

“Mattiel! Don’t leave me!” Her tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Lia…” He placed his hand over hers, “You can’t stop this,” he whispered, staring into her violet eyes, terror, denial, and then resolve flashing through their darkened depths. Pulling free from his grip, Amelia scrambled forward, ripping a book from a shelf on the wall that opened a secret compartment. She pulled her family's relic, tearing through the pages to find anything to save his life. “There’s nothing more to do, Love, sit with me–”

She rushed back over as he went quiet, kneeling before him. The Witch’s Sage may have numbed her ability to wield the relic, but anything was possible if one pushed hard enough. She would tear apart her very soul to save his life. Amelia summoned the power of the book initially, sluggish and unyielding. It resisted as she continued to yank the power forth, forcing it into her hands, scorching her veins, and searing along her skin.

The words from the book drained from the pages, swirling up her forearms, and absorbing into her skin. As she spoke the magic, his wounds healed, his eyes opened once more. Her skin was radiating a glow he had never seen before.

He sat up, alarmed, placing his hand over where his wound used to be. “What did you do?”

She smiled softly at him, placing her hand on his cheek, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”

“Amelia…what did you do?” He looked at the relic on the ground. Drained of ink, its once brown color was gray, and the pages crumbled like ash. Horror and understanding colliding as their eyes met.

The men's screams outside her door turned both their heads. She looked down at her glowing hands. The power she had stolen from the book surged inside her, and the pressure was building—it needed to be released.

Longing to see her daughter consumed her as she walked toward the crib and reached for the bawling infant. Wrapping her arms around their child, she sang softly the queen's lullaby to soothe her as she moved from the door onto the balcony together.

He wrapped his arms around them, hugging them to his chest. He soaked in the lilac scent of her hair, the glow emanating from her continuing to build. Together, the rulers watched their city burn underneath them. He meant it when he took the oath to protect her life and repeated it again at her coronation. He would die for her and protect her until his last breath.

He leaned down, kissing her as desperately as the day she had confessed her love to him.

She had proposed to him on the balcony of this tower. When he told her yes, she felt her life beginning…so it was only fitting.

Her voice held a shiver of fear as she whispered, “Take the baby.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. Both of them closed their eyes, their breath mingling. The men yelling outside her tower doors didn't exist to them, as they soaked in each other’s presence.

She placed the child their love had created into her husband’s arms. Amelia leaned down, kissing their infant’s small hand, silently praying that the power coursing through her veins would protect them. The mark of her lips glowed faintly as she withdrew.

King Vorrix didn't want her kingdom, her throne, nor her crown. No, her kingdom wouldn't be enough for him. Power was the prize he wanted, and the people of the realm would be the ones to suffer for his greed. Wielding magic came with a price, one he wasn’t willing to pay.

The chorus of voices accompanied the drumming of boots. Mattiel turned, stepping back into the room, holding their child protectively. She glanced down at the city she had loved since the day she knew she would be its queen.

The power raging through her veins ignited the dormant magical vow she had taken to protect her people. Her tears sizzled as they slid down her golden cheeks. The magic was taking a toll on her body, burning from the inside out.

Bangs reverberated through the door as the siege began once more on her tower. Mattiel placed the infant into the crib. Sword in hand, facing the door, and ready to fight.

She climbed onto the stone railing, taking a deep breath. Smoke bellowed up from the burning village down below, and the stench of charred flesh tainted the air. If only she had known about the enemies filling her kingdom before the attack and had prepared better.

There was still one thing she could do for her people, for the rest of the world. One way to hinder King Vorrix’s plans. She was scared, but it was the only way to ensure the magic wouldn't fall into the wrong hands—the power she borrowed from the book needed to be returned.

The doors burst open. Vorrix and his men filled the chamber. He glanced down at the destroyed relic he sought. He shouted, “GET HER!’

Mattiel turned around, “Amelia!?’

She faced him. The wind whipped around her hair as she stood on the balustrade. She gave him a bittersweet smile, “Tell her stories of me. Until the end.”

“…Forevermore.” He choked out as his cheeks stained with his sorrow.

She held her arms out, skin glowing bright as the sun, eyes closing. With an exhale of relief as the pressure released, she tilted over the edge–magic erupting from every pore of her body, showering the night with her radiant glow.

Like a thousand shooting stars, the sky shone with a warm brightness, and her magic scattered throughout the world. She shredded the armies, alive and dead, that terrorized the streets of her kingdom. Everywhere the glimmers of her magic fell, she returned the magic borrowed to her people, undoing the damage done by King Vorrix and restoring balance to the realm.

“Papa, did it work? Did she gift magic to everyone?” The little girl asked in her bed as she was tucked in.

“You tell me, Little Star. Did it work?” He stroked the little girl's white hair before blowing out the candle on her bedside table.

The little girl smiled, holding out her hand. A small orb of light lit up the dark room. With her bright and happy violet eyes, she smiled joyfully at her father.

“And what a gift you have, My Little Star, the power to brighten even the darkest of nights.” He kissed over the mark on her hand, “I love you, Little Star.”

Adlerweg trails - Adlerweg, Tirol, Austria, October 2022

The father awoke as the boom of thunder crashed across the sky. In the flash of the lightning that followed, he saw his young daughter stir before beginning to wail. Walking to her side, he began stroking her back comfortingly as her violet eyes blinked up at him.

“It’s only thunder, Love,” he whispered, tucking the blankets tight around her tiny frame. “Do you need a story to drift back off?”

The solemn child's eyes, still damp with tears, nodded. With a deep breath, the father began, the cadence of his voice pushing back the darkness and the storm.

“Once upon a time, there lived a queen who gave magic to her people to protect them from the dark days. It required a sacrifice so selfless it could only be forged out of the greatest love. It’s time I tell you this story, My Dear, you are old enough to hear.”

On the night the magic was born, the queen, wrapped in a gossamer gown of lavender, strode to and fro across the worn flagstones of their room. The sun was beginning to set as the queen sang to their daughter as she rocked her. The same lullaby that the queen’s mother once sang to her. Reluctantly, her daughter’s eyes drifted closed as she continued to sway, making her way to the crib.

The queen’s brow furrowed as she laid the baby down. She continued soothing the sleeping infant, smoothing down the mussed strands of white hair, delicate as dandelions down.

“She will be just fine, My Starlight,” her husband whispered, crossing the room and placing a kiss on her hair. “Our men are posted at our door. No one can harm her.” Her husband's strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his warmth seeping through her gown as her head leaned back to rest contentedly against his chest. 

“I know.” The queen turned in his arms, gazing up into his bright sky-blue eyes. She brushed her fingertips along the strands of his chestnut hair, the lines in his face softening as he gazed down on her.

“I’ve been excited to dance with you all day, " he whispered into her ear. Her cheeks warmed as she gave out a playful giggle, smacking his chest, “Today and every other day.”

He chuckled as he began rubbing soothing circles across her back, kneading some of the tension created by this upcoming soirée. He led her to the door. She glanced back at the crib one more time. Her husband brushed his lips along her forehead, “Until the end.”

She tilted her head up, ghosting her soft lips over his, “I’ll love you forevermore.”

The queen had been planning the ball for months, sending out invitations across the realm and organizing the decorations with a perfectionist's touch. Summer yellow flowers draped from the edges of the walls, and the smell of the food cooked by the kingdom's best chefs lured the guests in. The kingdom's bakers showcased their talents with a colorful variety of sweets.

The finest orchestra, known for moving audiences to tears, played on a dais before the stained-glass windows. Dresses fluttered about to the music that enchanted the guests.

Kings and queens were announced one by one as they entered the party. The doorman’s chime at the door signaled yet another arrival, “Please bow for his grace, King Vorrix of Knoxia!”

King Vorrix was broad with muscle. He towered over the men in the room. Where he walked, fear followed. His slate hair and dark brown eyes glowered at the nobles, who disapproved of his presence.

“The evening was grand at least.” The queen whispered jokingly to her husband, his gaze registering disgust at the newly arrived royalty. He twirled her around the green-marbled floor. Fireworks soared overhead, visible from the glass ceiling, blending with the stars and painting the night sky in their array of burning colors. “We won’t let him ruin today.”

The lights were dimmed to highlight the show outside as society's nobles danced and mingled inside the court building.

She bowed to her husband as the dance finished. Applause bounced off the white and golden walls. Her husband tilted her chin up between his fingers, kissing her sweet and long. His heart blossomed with each warm smile she gave him. He couldn’t resist her for even a moment. It had been like that since the day they had met all those years ago under her father’s rule.

Waiters gave crystal glasses to every guest in the room. They were preparing a toast. The queen thanked the woman who handed her and her husband their glasses. She was grateful for those who served them and worked while the rest of the kingdom celebrated the Solstice festival outside.

The queen moved to the center of the room, all eyes fixed on her. Her heart grew heavy when her closest friend and ally, King Gideon of Marquette’s name, had yet to be announced. The seafarers spoke of the brutal weather, delaying ships from entering the harbor. Rumors of a great wave destroying coastal villages had come in with the ships that made it.

“Today, I would like to thank all of you, for without any of you, Amora would be nothing.” The queen held her crystal flute in the air, toasting the nobles, “The Summer Solstice has always been important to my family for generations. A day to celebrate our people and the hard work they put in throughout the year. This year, we must also thank our neighbors for making the journey to maintain peaceful relations. To Amora and her allies!”

“To Amora, to the realm, long live the queen!” The nobles spoke in near-perfect unison. All of them raised their glasses above their heads in a toast.

Though not spoken aloud, these times were indeed tumultuous. The threat of war loomed over each kingdom, housing relics of magic. Power so raw and rare that the strongest militaries of the realm coveted it. Knoxia, Marquette, and Amora—the three kingdoms that held the most powerful armies and had the protection of relics.

Negotiations between the three Kingdoms stalled last year when King Vorrix demanded that the three countries unite and share their magical relics. His campaign of unification spoke to the hearts of the common people, who lacked access to magic. He claimed that with all the relics together, they could stop natural disasters, avert plague, and repel enemies.

Horrified, the queen refused to hand over her family’s relic, fearing King Vorrix would unleash the united power on the realms. Even her family’s magical heirloom, a book housing magical words, while powerful, was rarely wielded because of the cost in blood and tears it took to use.

Gideon had similarly refused to hand over his country's only magical relic, a scepter imbued with powerful magic to manipulate weather. Privately disclosing to her that the cost of using the scepter were the lives of his people.

It didn’t stop other kingdoms from being persuaded to hand over their power to King Vorrix. Recently, it was rumored that a great tidal wave claimed a neighboring kingdom that refused King Vorrix.

Amelia sighed as she brought her glass to her lips, drinking deeply to ward off the dark thoughts.

She turned to her husband as he lifted the glass to his lips. He stopped, frowning as King Vorrix bowed before them, “Your Majesty.” Her husband acknowledged with a steely edge to his voice.

“King Consort,” King Vorrix sneered. “Queen Amelia, a dance?” His oily, chauvinistic tone made her feel unclean. However, etiquette dictated that the queen extend her hand to the king, and he moved her into a swift dance accompanied by the eerie trill of a violin.

“My Queen, thank you for inviting me to this beautiful event. You are quite the hostess.” His words were polite, but his expression was calculating as he watched her intently.

“Thank you for coming, it’s a comfort to the people to see us working toward peace. A shame that King Gideon didn’t show tonight.” She said, examining his expression distrustfully.

“Quite a shame…” The dance slowed, his grip on her waist tightening painfully as he leaned in, hot breath tickling her ear. “He, too, denied me his relic. I must say. The scepter is quite powerful. Have you ever seen the ocean lift towards the sky before?”

Amelia frowned, wrenching back from him, “...What did you do to Gideon?” The pounding of her heart roared through her ears, her breath coming in shallow spurts.

“You’re smart, Dear. Don’t make his mistake. The offer stands.” He smiled indulgently down at her.

“If I did, who says you wouldn’t use it against us?” She asked, backing slowly away from him.

“Who says I haven’t already?” He whispered softly, the brown of his eyes sparkling in amusement.

The queen lifted her dress and fled toward her husband, terror clinging to her heels. He instinctively reached out, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist. He ended his conversation with the nobles as he turned toward her and brought the glass to his lips–his smile fell.

His glass fell to the ground, shattering across the marble floor. The wine splattered, and the chill of the liquid dampened the bottom of her lavender chiffon gown.

Her husband grabbed her face, tilting her head up, looking for signs of illness. Amelia's heart raced as one of the nobles across the room fell to the floor, frothy red foam pouring from his mouth. Another fell after him, then another, and another noble fell—all foaming at the mouth.

A man dressed in a black suit with golden filigree embroidered into every inch of the fabric stepped from the crowd. A black masquerade mask obscuring his face, he lifted a golden violin to his shoulder. “A song for the queen, I call it the Waltz of Death.” The trill of the violin sounded through the ballroom, and screams became its choir.

Men rushed into the room dressed as her soldiers, slitting the throats of those yet to die and stabbing their swords into those already lying on the ground. Suddenly, the bodies on the ground rose at the violinist's crescendo. The dead men walked in time to the tempo of the bow as it slid along the strings. Closer and closer they came.

Amelia had yet to process what was happening when her husband took her hand, yanking her to follow behind him. One of the soldiers came directly for them. Her husband lifted his foot, driving it into the chest plate of their attacker, making the assailant fly backwards. He ripped the sword from the soldier.

As danger swirled around them, her husband was transformed back into the warrior from their youth. Lord Mattiel, the Steelheart Knight.

He quickly swung his sword, deflecting the blade that slashed at him. Disarming the attacker with one swift motion and, turning, slicing into the man's throat, a fountain of crimson announcing his demise. More assailants pressed forward and died screaming.

Standing before that lake of crimson and fallen enemies, Steelheart he became–ruthless, calculated. He would not let them take his queen, lover, and childhood friend.

Mattiel turned to Amelia. Time was running out; he knew any safe passage out of the kingdom had been compromised.

Turning to check on her, he saw the sword swinging for her back. With reflexes born from battle, he pulled her toward him, spinning them so his own back was toward the sword. Her violet eyes wide with fear staring into his own sea of blue. His teeth mashed together in a snarl as the blade pierced him from behind. Amelia gasped out a painful whistle of breath escaping her lips as the tip of the sword pierced her side.

Abruptly, the sword was torn from them. The adrenaline was all he felt. His Starlight was all that mattered. As he bled through his suit, he fought unyieldingly.

It had been five years since they were married, barely enough time for them to enjoy their lives together. After years of dancing around the court in secret. Meeting in the quiet of night to steal a kiss or two. Mattiel's head would have been cleaved from his neck if her father had ever caught them.

Now, their blood combined painted her gown. How long had they been planning this attack right underneath their noses?

Mattiel had smelled the Midnight Shade laced in the wine before it touched his lips. It delivered a delayed, but painfully swift death. Amelia had drunk from the flute—his heart plummeted into his stomach when he made the realization, but yet she was healthy. Had she been the only one not targeted with the poison?

He scooped his arm under her legs, pulling her up to carry her. He held onto the sword tightly.

The heels of his boots slammed onto the stone floor. Running through the palace, the bodies of the staff, guards, and noblemen lined the hallways. Shouting and the shrill notes of the violin echoed in the distance as the Knoxian soldiers terrorized the castle.

Mattiel carried her up the long, winding spiral staircase of her tower. The stained-glass windows that scaled the stone walls reflected the light of the growing flames outside.

The Queen's Tower. The edifice Amelia knew better than any other place in the castle. As a girl, it was her secret sanctuary, and she made it officially hers when she became queen.

This tower her stronghold where she cried after her mother passed during childbirth. The room where she realized she would become queen, when her father followed shortly after with a shattered heart and an addiction to the drink. The same exact room where she had gotten ready for her coronation. And the same place where her ladies dressed her for her wedding night. Where she became a woman and gave birth to her firstborn daughter.

“Mattiel, our daughter.” Her voice cracked as her eyes stung with tears.

“She is safe…My Starlight.” His voice was weakening. The pain of his fatal wound was finally felt.

Their guards opened the double doors to the large bedroom suite. He walked her in and sat her on the silk-red tufted ottoman. He dropped to his knee, moving her hand from her side, looking at how severe the wound was.

“You should be fine for now, My Love.” He said.

“My wine...the magic, I can't summon it...” She held her trembling hand against his cheek.

Her glass contained Witch’s Sage, he realized. A magic nullifying poison that kept a person from being able to wield magical relics. Amelia would be powerless for several hours.

She stared into the fading light of his eyes. He fell to his side. 

“MATTIEL!” Amelia threw herself from her seat, catching him and gently laying him on the ground. Their daughter jolted awake from her mother’s cries, wailing in fright.

His breath was shallow, the edges of his vision darkening. He fought it—his job wasn’t done yet, his queen wasn’t safe. But his body was betraying him.

“Mattiel! Don’t leave me!” Her tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Lia…” He placed his hand over hers, “You can’t stop this,” he whispered, staring into her violet eyes, terror, denial, and then resolve flashing through their darkened depths. Pulling free from his grip, Amelia scrambled forward, ripping a book from a shelf on the wall that opened a secret compartment. She pulled her family's relic, tearing through the pages to find anything to save his life. “There’s nothing more to do, Love, sit with me–”

She rushed back over as he went quiet, kneeling before him. The Witch’s Sage may have numbed her ability to wield the relic, but anything was possible if one pushed hard enough. She would tear apart her very soul to save his life. Amelia summoned the power of the book initially, sluggish and unyielding. It resisted as she continued to yank the power forth, forcing it into her hands, scorching her veins, and searing along her skin.

The words from the book drained from the pages, swirling up her forearms, and absorbing into her skin. As she spoke the magic, his wounds healed, his eyes opened once more. Her skin was radiating a glow he had never seen before.

He sat up, alarmed, placing his hand over where his wound used to be. “What did you do?”

She smiled softly at him, placing her hand on his cheek, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”

“Amelia…what did you do?” He looked at the relic on the ground. Drained of ink, its once brown color was gray, and the pages crumbled like ash. Horror and understanding colliding as their eyes met.

The men's screams outside her door turned both their heads. She looked down at her glowing hands. The power she had stolen from the book surged inside her, and the pressure was building—it needed to be released.

Longing to see her daughter consumed her as she walked toward the crib and reached for the bawling infant. Wrapping her arms around their child, she sang softly the queen's lullaby to soothe her as she moved from the door onto the balcony together.

He wrapped his arms around them, hugging them to his chest. He soaked in the lilac scent of her hair, the glow emanating from her continuing to build. Together, the rulers watched their city burn underneath them. He meant it when he took the oath to protect her life and repeated it again at her coronation. He would die for her and protect her until his last breath.

He leaned down, kissing her as desperately as the day she had confessed her love to him.

She had proposed to him on the balcony of this tower. When he told her yes, she felt her life beginning…so it was only fitting.

Her voice held a shiver of fear as she whispered, “Take the baby.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. Both of them closed their eyes, their breath mingling. The men yelling outside her tower doors didn't exist to them, as they soaked in each other’s presence.

She placed the child their love had created into her husband’s arms. Amelia leaned down, kissing their infant’s small hand, silently praying that the power coursing through her veins would protect them. The mark of her lips glowed faintly as she withdrew.

King Vorrix didn't want her kingdom, her throne, nor her crown. No, her kingdom wouldn't be enough for him. Power was the prize he wanted, and the people of the realm would be the ones to suffer for his greed. Wielding magic came with a price, one he wasn’t willing to pay.

The chorus of voices accompanied the drumming of boots. Mattiel turned, stepping back into the room, holding their child protectively. She glanced down at the city she had loved since the day she knew she would be its queen.

The power raging through her veins ignited the dormant magical vow she had taken to protect her people. Her tears sizzled as they slid down her golden cheeks. The magic was taking a toll on her body, burning from the inside out.

Bangs reverberated through the door as the siege began once more on her tower. Mattiel placed the infant into the crib. Sword in hand, facing the door, and ready to fight.

She climbed onto the stone railing, taking a deep breath. Smoke bellowed up from the burning village down below, and the stench of charred flesh tainted the air. If only she had known about the enemies filling her kingdom before the attack and had prepared better.

There was still one thing she could do for her people, for the rest of the world. One way to hinder King Vorrix’s plans. She was scared, but it was the only way to ensure the magic wouldn't fall into the wrong hands—the power she borrowed from the book needed to be returned.

The doors burst open. Vorrix and his men filled the chamber. He glanced down at the destroyed relic he sought. He shouted, “GET HER!’

Mattiel turned around, “Amelia!?’

She faced him. The wind whipped around her hair as she stood on the balustrade. She gave him a bittersweet smile, “Tell her stories of me. Until the end.”

“…Forevermore.” He choked out as his cheeks stained with his sorrow.

She held her arms out, skin glowing bright as the sun, eyes closing. With an exhale of relief as the pressure released, she tilted over the edge–magic erupting from every pore of her body, showering the night with her radiant glow.

Like a thousand shooting stars, the sky shone with a warm brightness, and her magic scattered throughout the world. She shredded the armies, alive and dead, that terrorized the streets of her kingdom. Everywhere the glimmers of her magic fell, she returned the magic borrowed to her people, undoing the damage done by King Vorrix and restoring balance to the realm.

“Papa, did it work? Did she gift magic to everyone?” The little girl asked in her bed as she was tucked in.

“You tell me, Little Star. Did it work?” He stroked the little girl's white hair before blowing out the candle on her bedside table.

The little girl smiled, holding out her hand. A small orb of light lit up the dark room. With her bright and happy violet eyes, she smiled joyfully at her father.

“And what a gift you have, My Little Star, the power to brighten even the darkest of nights.” He kissed over the mark on her hand, “I love you, Little Star.”

The father awoke as the boom of thunder crashed across the sky. In the flash of the lightning that followed, he saw his young daughter stir before beginning to wail. Walking to her side, he began stroking her back comfortingly as her violet eyes blinked up at him.

“It’s only thunder, Love,” he whispered, tucking the blankets tight around her tiny frame. “Do you need a story to drift back off?”

The solemn child's eyes, still damp with tears, nodded. With a deep breath, the father began, the cadence of his voice pushing back the darkness and the storm.

“Once upon a time, there lived a queen who gave magic to her people to protect them from the dark days. It required a sacrifice so selfless it could only be forged out of the greatest love. It’s time I tell you this story, My Dear, you are old enough to hear.”

On the night the magic was born, the queen, wrapped in a gossamer gown of lavender, strode to and fro across the worn flagstones of their room. The sun was beginning to set as the queen sang to their daughter as she rocked her. The same lullaby that the queen’s mother once sang to her. Reluctantly, her daughter’s eyes drifted closed as she continued to sway, making her way to the crib.

The queen’s brow furrowed as she laid the baby down. She continued soothing the sleeping infant, smoothing down the mussed strands of white hair, delicate as dandelions down.

“She will be just fine, My Starlight,” her husband whispered, crossing the room and placing a kiss on her hair. “Our men are posted at our door. No one can harm her.” Her husband's strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his warmth seeping through her gown as her head leaned back to rest contentedly against his chest. 

“I know.” The queen turned in his arms, gazing up into his bright sky-blue eyes. She brushed her fingertips along the strands of his chestnut hair, the lines in his face softening as he gazed down on her.

“I’ve been excited to dance with you all day, " he whispered into her ear. Her cheeks warmed as she gave out a playful giggle, smacking his chest, “Today and every other day.”

He chuckled as he began rubbing soothing circles across her back, kneading some of the tension created by this upcoming soirée. He led her to the door. She glanced back at the crib one more time. Her husband brushed his lips along her forehead, “Until the end.”

She tilted her head up, ghosting her soft lips over his, “I’ll love you forevermore.”

The queen had been planning the ball for months, sending out invitations across the realm and organizing the decorations with a perfectionist's touch. Summer yellow flowers draped from the edges of the walls, and the smell of the food cooked by the kingdom's best chefs lured the guests in. The kingdom's bakers showcased their talents with a colorful variety of sweets.

The finest orchestra, known for moving audiences to tears, played on a dais before the stained-glass windows. Dresses fluttered about to the music that enchanted the guests.

Kings and queens were announced one by one as they entered the party. The doorman’s chime at the door signaled yet another arrival, “Please bow for his grace, King Vorrix of Knoxia!”

King Vorrix was broad with muscle. He towered over the men in the room. Where he walked, fear followed. His slate hair and dark brown eyes glowered at the nobles, who disapproved of his presence.

“The evening was grand at least.” The queen whispered jokingly to her husband, his gaze registering disgust at the newly arrived royalty. He twirled her around the green-marbled floor. Fireworks soared overhead, visible from the glass ceiling, blending with the stars and painting the night sky in their array of burning colors. “We won’t let him ruin today.”

The lights were dimmed to highlight the show outside as society's nobles danced and mingled inside the court building.

She bowed to her husband as the dance finished. Applause bounced off the white and golden walls. Her husband tilted her chin up between his fingers, kissing her sweet and long. His heart blossomed with each warm smile she gave him. He couldn’t resist her for even a moment. It had been like that since the day they had met all those years ago under her father’s rule.

Waiters gave crystal glasses to every guest in the room. They were preparing a toast. The queen thanked the woman who handed her and her husband their glasses. She was grateful for those who served them and worked while the rest of the kingdom celebrated the Solstice festival outside.

The queen moved to the center of the room, all eyes fixed on her. Her heart grew heavy when her closest friend and ally, King Gideon of Marquette’s name, had yet to be announced. The seafarers spoke of the brutal weather, delaying ships from entering the harbor. Rumors of a great wave destroying coastal villages had come in with the ships that made it.

“Today, I would like to thank all of you, for without any of you, Amora would be nothing.” The queen held her crystal flute in the air, toasting the nobles, “The Summer Solstice has always been important to my family for generations. A day to celebrate our people and the hard work they put in throughout the year. This year, we must also thank our neighbors for making the journey to maintain peaceful relations. To Amora and her allies!”

“To Amora, to the realm, long live the queen!” The nobles spoke in near-perfect unison. All of them raised their glasses above their heads in a toast.

Though not spoken aloud, these times were indeed tumultuous. The threat of war loomed over each kingdom, housing relics of magic. Power so raw and rare that the strongest militaries of the realm coveted it. Knoxia, Marquette, and Amora—the three kingdoms that held the most powerful armies and had the protection of relics.

Negotiations between the three Kingdoms stalled last year when King Vorrix demanded that the three countries unite and share their magical relics. His campaign of unification spoke to the hearts of the common people, who lacked access to magic. He claimed that with all the relics together, they could stop natural disasters, avert plague, and repel enemies.

Horrified, the queen refused to hand over her family’s relic, fearing King Vorrix would unleash the united power on the realms. Even her family’s magical heirloom, a book housing magical words, while powerful, was rarely wielded because of the cost in blood and tears it took to use.

Gideon had similarly refused to hand over his country's only magical relic, a scepter imbued with powerful magic to manipulate weather. Privately disclosing to her that the cost of using the scepter were the lives of his people.

It didn’t stop other kingdoms from being persuaded to hand over their power to King Vorrix. Recently, it was rumored that a great tidal wave claimed a neighboring kingdom that refused King Vorrix.

Amelia sighed as she brought her glass to her lips, drinking deeply to ward off the dark thoughts.

She turned to her husband as he lifted the glass to his lips. He stopped, frowning as King Vorrix bowed before them, “Your Majesty.” Her husband acknowledged with a steely edge to his voice.

“King Consort,” King Vorrix sneered. “Queen Amelia, a dance?” His oily, chauvinistic tone made her feel unclean. However, etiquette dictated that the queen extend her hand to the king, and he moved her into a swift dance accompanied by the eerie trill of a violin.

“My Queen, thank you for inviting me to this beautiful event. You are quite the hostess.” His words were polite, but his expression was calculating as he watched her intently.

“Thank you for coming, it’s a comfort to the people to see us working toward peace. A shame that King Gideon didn’t show tonight.” She said, examining his expression distrustfully.

“Quite a shame…” The dance slowed, his grip on her waist tightening painfully as he leaned in, hot breath tickling her ear. “He, too, denied me his relic. I must say. The scepter is quite powerful. Have you ever seen the ocean lift towards the sky before?”

Amelia frowned, wrenching back from him, “...What did you do to Gideon?” The pounding of her heart roared through her ears, her breath coming in shallow spurts.

“You’re smart, Dear. Don’t make his mistake. The offer stands.” He smiled indulgently down at her.

“If I did, who says you wouldn’t use it against us?” She asked, backing slowly away from him.

“Who says I haven’t already?” He whispered softly, the brown of his eyes sparkling in amusement.

The queen lifted her dress and fled toward her husband, terror clinging to her heels. He instinctively reached out, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist. He ended his conversation with the nobles as he turned toward her and brought the glass to his lips–his smile fell.

His glass fell to the ground, shattering across the marble floor. The wine splattered, and the chill of the liquid dampened the bottom of her lavender chiffon gown.

Her husband grabbed her face, tilting her head up, looking for signs of illness. Amelia's heart raced as one of the nobles across the room fell to the floor, frothy red foam pouring from his mouth. Another fell after him, then another, and another noble fell—all foaming at the mouth.

A man dressed in a black suit with golden filigree embroidered into every inch of the fabric stepped from the crowd. A black masquerade mask obscuring his face, he lifted a golden violin to his shoulder. “A song for the queen, I call it the Waltz of Death.” The trill of the violin sounded through the ballroom, and screams became its choir.

Men rushed into the room dressed as her soldiers, slitting the throats of those yet to die and stabbing their swords into those already lying on the ground. Suddenly, the bodies on the ground rose at the violinist's crescendo. The dead men walked in time to the tempo of the bow as it slid along the strings. Closer and closer they came.

Amelia had yet to process what was happening when her husband took her hand, yanking her to follow behind him. One of the soldiers came directly for them. Her husband lifted his foot, driving it into the chest plate of their attacker, making the assailant fly backwards. He ripped the sword from the soldier.

As danger swirled around them, her husband was transformed back into the warrior from their youth. Lord Mattiel, the Steelheart Knight.

He quickly swung his sword, deflecting the blade that slashed at him. Disarming the attacker with one swift motion and, turning, slicing into the man's throat, a fountain of crimson announcing his demise. More assailants pressed forward and died screaming.

Standing before that lake of crimson and fallen enemies, Steelheart he became–ruthless, calculated. He would not let them take his queen, lover, and childhood friend.

Mattiel turned to Amelia. Time was running out; he knew any safe passage out of the kingdom had been compromised.

Turning to check on her, he saw the sword swinging for her back. With reflexes born from battle, he pulled her toward him, spinning them so his own back was toward the sword. Her violet eyes wide with fear staring into his own sea of blue. His teeth mashed together in a snarl as the blade pierced him from behind. Amelia gasped out a painful whistle of breath escaping her lips as the tip of the sword pierced her side.

Abruptly, the sword was torn from them. The adrenaline was all he felt. His Starlight was all that mattered. As he bled through his suit, he fought unyieldingly.

It had been five years since they were married, barely enough time for them to enjoy their lives together. After years of dancing around the court in secret. Meeting in the quiet of night to steal a kiss or two. Mattiel's head would have been cleaved from his neck if her father had ever caught them.

Now, their blood combined painted her gown. How long had they been planning this attack right underneath their noses?

Mattiel had smelled the Midnight Shade laced in the wine before it touched his lips. It delivered a delayed, but painfully swift death. Amelia had drunk from the flute—his heart plummeted into his stomach when he made the realization, but yet she was healthy. Had she been the only one not targeted with the poison?

He scooped his arm under her legs, pulling her up to carry her. He held onto the sword tightly.

The heels of his boots slammed onto the stone floor. Running through the palace, the bodies of the staff, guards, and noblemen lined the hallways. Shouting and the shrill notes of the violin echoed in the distance as the Knoxian soldiers terrorized the castle.

Mattiel carried her up the long, winding spiral staircase of her tower. The stained-glass windows that scaled the stone walls reflected the light of the growing flames outside.

The Queen's Tower. The edifice Amelia knew better than any other place in the castle. As a girl, it was her secret sanctuary, and she made it officially hers when she became queen.

This tower her stronghold where she cried after her mother passed during childbirth. The room where she realized she would become queen, when her father followed shortly after with a shattered heart and an addiction to the drink. The same exact room where she had gotten ready for her coronation. And the same place where her ladies dressed her for her wedding night. Where she became a woman and gave birth to her firstborn daughter.

“Mattiel, our daughter.” Her voice cracked as her eyes stung with tears.

“She is safe…My Starlight.” His voice was weakening. The pain of his fatal wound was finally felt.

Their guards opened the double doors to the large bedroom suite. He walked her in and sat her on the silk-red tufted ottoman. He dropped to his knee, moving her hand from her side, looking at how severe the wound was.

“You should be fine for now, My Love.” He said.

“My wine...the magic, I can't summon it...” She held her trembling hand against his cheek.

Her glass contained Witch’s Sage, he realized. A magic nullifying poison that kept a person from being able to wield magical relics. Amelia would be powerless for several hours.

She stared into the fading light of his eyes. He fell to his side. 

“MATTIEL!” Amelia threw herself from her seat, catching him and gently laying him on the ground. Their daughter jolted awake from her mother’s cries, wailing in fright.

His breath was shallow, the edges of his vision darkening. He fought it—his job wasn’t done yet, his queen wasn’t safe. But his body was betraying him.

“Mattiel! Don’t leave me!” Her tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Lia…” He placed his hand over hers, “You can’t stop this,” he whispered, staring into her violet eyes, terror, denial, and then resolve flashing through their darkened depths. Pulling free from his grip, Amelia scrambled forward, ripping a book from a shelf on the wall that opened a secret compartment. She pulled her family's relic, tearing through the pages to find anything to save his life. “There’s nothing more to do, Love, sit with me–”

She rushed back over as he went quiet, kneeling before him. The Witch’s Sage may have numbed her ability to wield the relic, but anything was possible if one pushed hard enough. She would tear apart her very soul to save his life. Amelia summoned the power of the book initially, sluggish and unyielding. It resisted as she continued to yank the power forth, forcing it into her hands, scorching her veins, and searing along her skin.

The words from the book drained from the pages, swirling up her forearms, and absorbing into her skin. As she spoke the magic, his wounds healed, his eyes opened once more. Her skin was radiating a glow he had never seen before.

He sat up, alarmed, placing his hand over where his wound used to be. “What did you do?”

She smiled softly at him, placing her hand on his cheek, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”

“Amelia…what did you do?” He looked at the relic on the ground. Drained of ink, its once brown color was gray, and the pages crumbled like ash. Horror and understanding colliding as their eyes met.

The men's screams outside her door turned both their heads. She looked down at her glowing hands. The power she had stolen from the book surged inside her, and the pressure was building—it needed to be released.

Longing to see her daughter consumed her as she walked toward the crib and reached for the bawling infant. Wrapping her arms around their child, she sang softly the queen's lullaby to soothe her as she moved from the door onto the balcony together.

He wrapped his arms around them, hugging them to his chest. He soaked in the lilac scent of her hair, the glow emanating from her continuing to build. Together, the rulers watched their city burn underneath them. He meant it when he took the oath to protect her life and repeated it again at her coronation. He would die for her and protect her until his last breath.

He leaned down, kissing her as desperately as the day she had confessed her love to him.

She had proposed to him on the balcony of this tower. When he told her yes, she felt her life beginning…so it was only fitting.

Her voice held a shiver of fear as she whispered, “Take the baby.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. Both of them closed their eyes, their breath mingling. The men yelling outside her tower doors didn't exist to them, as they soaked in each other’s presence.

She placed the child their love had created into her husband’s arms. Amelia leaned down, kissing their infant’s small hand, silently praying that the power coursing through her veins would protect them. The mark of her lips glowed faintly as she withdrew.

King Vorrix didn't want her kingdom, her throne, nor her crown. No, her kingdom wouldn't be enough for him. Power was the prize he wanted, and the people of the realm would be the ones to suffer for his greed. Wielding magic came with a price, one he wasn’t willing to pay.

The chorus of voices accompanied the drumming of boots. Mattiel turned, stepping back into the room, holding their child protectively. She glanced down at the city she had loved since the day she knew she would be its queen.

The power raging through her veins ignited the dormant magical vow she had taken to protect her people. Her tears sizzled as they slid down her golden cheeks. The magic was taking a toll on her body, burning from the inside out.

Bangs reverberated through the door as the siege began once more on her tower. Mattiel placed the infant into the crib. Sword in hand, facing the door, and ready to fight.

She climbed onto the stone railing, taking a deep breath. Smoke bellowed up from the burning village down below, and the stench of charred flesh tainted the air. If only she had known about the enemies filling her kingdom before the attack and had prepared better.

There was still one thing she could do for her people, for the rest of the world. One way to hinder King Vorrix’s plans. She was scared, but it was the only way to ensure the magic wouldn't fall into the wrong hands—the power she borrowed from the book needed to be returned.

The doors burst open. Vorrix and his men filled the chamber. He glanced down at the destroyed relic he sought. He shouted, “GET HER!’

Mattiel turned around, “Amelia!?’

She faced him. The wind whipped around her hair as she stood on the balustrade. She gave him a bittersweet smile, “Tell her stories of me. Until the end.”

“…Forevermore.” He choked out as his cheeks stained with his sorrow.

She held her arms out, skin glowing bright as the sun, eyes closing. With an exhale of relief as the pressure released, she tilted over the edge–magic erupting from every pore of her body, showering the night with her radiant glow.

Like a thousand shooting stars, the sky shone with a warm brightness, and her magic scattered throughout the world. She shredded the armies, alive and dead, that terrorized the streets of her kingdom. Everywhere the glimmers of her magic fell, she returned the magic borrowed to her people, undoing the damage done by King Vorrix and restoring balance to the realm.

“Papa, did it work? Did she gift magic to everyone?” The little girl asked in her bed as she was tucked in.

“You tell me, Little Star. Did it work?” He stroked the little girl's white hair before blowing out the candle on her bedside table.

The little girl smiled, holding out her hand. A small orb of light lit up the dark room. With her bright and happy violet eyes, she smiled joyfully at her father.

“And what a gift you have, My Little Star, the power to brighten even the darkest of nights.” He kissed over the mark on her hand, “I love you, Little Star.”