Phoenix Queen
Embers and Shadows & The Dawn Serpent
Embers and Shadows
The victory tasted like ash in my mouth.
The cheers that had filled the throne room hours before now echoed hollowly in the cold dawn light. The halls of my castle—our castle—stood battered and broken, the banners torn, the tapestries burned. Even the stone itself felt scarred, as if the kingdom itself had bled.
I moved through the corridors like a ghost, my armor clinking softly with every step. My husband’s sword still hung at my side, but now its weight felt different—heavier, sadder.
Gideon found me in the courtyard, overseeing the grim work of tending the wounded and carrying the dead. His face was drawn, his eyes ringed with exhaustion.
“My Queen,” he said, bowing low.
“Gideon,” I managed. My voice felt rough, unused.
He straightened. “The fires are out, but the people…” He hesitated, as if the words were too heavy to speak.
I turned my gaze to the survivors—farmers clutching makeshift weapons, mothers cradling children too weak to stand, old soldiers whose eyes had seen too much. They looked to me, some with hope, others with fear.
“They need me,” I whispered.
Gideon nodded. “They always have.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the echo of my husband’s faith in me. Steel in your heart, he’d said. But my heart felt too bruised to bear the weight.
“Have we found Lina’s parents?” I asked.
Gideon’s eyes darkened. “Not yet. We’ve searched every cell, every barracks. Nothing.”
I closed my eyes. Another promise half-kept.
“Keep looking,” I said.
He bowed again and turned to his duties.