Page 101 of Crowned By Roses

“Airaleth is beautiful.”

Rosalina’s voice seems to shimmer in the throne room. Faustrius turns to her. Slowly, she glides up the stairs to join us.

“The murals are exquisite. And it’s the biggest library I’ve ever seen! Not that I could read anything, but I’m sure you could. And at night, the stars seem so close, it’s like you could touch them.”

Anger flashes across Faustrius’s face. “How do you know this? Airaleth was destroyed.”

“And it can be rebuilt. But it needs a leader. It needs people who know the soil and will love the land as they once did,” she says.

Faustrius tears away from me, reaching to scratch at his back. “We lost our wings⁠—”

“We can open a gateway for you,” Rosalina continues, following him. “My sister and I can build bridges between the islands. There is a whole world waiting⁠—”

“The magic is gone! The gardens are dead!” he cries, then quickens his pace, storming toward the door at the back of the throne room. “Leave me! Leave me!”

The words erupt out of me as powerful as a Winter storm: “Do not walk away from your queen.”

Faustrius stops.

My heart pounds, this chance slipping through my fingers like water. But I have to fight for it. “I am the High Prince of Winter. Winter is one of the seven realms of the Enchanted Vale. One of the realms awaits above us, leaderless. Claim it, Faustrius! Bring your people home.”

Faustrius falls into a crouch, hands over his ear. “It’s not possible. It’s gone. Be silent, be silent.”

But I cannot. I pace after him, my words a frenzied yell. “The Vale was born from Airaleth! You are a part of this world. Fight for it!”

“It’s too late. Too late after all we’ve done,” he murmurs, antlers swinging back and forth.

“You helped Sira destroy your home. Now this is your chance. Fix it!”

“I can’t!” Faustrius roars, standing, turning, and drawing his sword all in one swift movement.

That sword. That black sword swinging down upon me like death itself.

But I am not afraid.

The strength of the seven realms protects me, as I protect them. Blue light shimmers from my token and into my hand. A brilliant sword, the blade white as ice, the hilt like carved sapphire, forms in my grasp. A ting! like breaking glass echoes through the throne room as our swords meet.

The Sword of the Protector, made of pure mythkarite, crafted by a legendary blacksmith, and forged in a fire fueled by the seven realms.

Faustrius’s wide eyes reflect the glow, and his mouth opens.

“I am the Sworn Protector of the Realms,” I say lowly. “I call upon you, Faustrius, leader of the descendants of Airaleth, to fight for our home. Will you raise arms with me? Will you answer the call?”

Faustrius’s face seems frozen in that look of pure awe. “Prince…pauper…” Then only his eyes move, drifting over the blade, then finding my stare. “King.” He takes a step back and sheathes his sword. His hands raise, and he stares at them as if they don’t belong to him. “Why would you call upon me to fight by your side? We are the ones who abandoned Airaleth. Who destroyed the Gardens of Ithilias. Who helped Sira fell Castletree.”

A golden glow radiates behind me. I turn to see Rosalina drifting forward, her cloak discarded. In its place, her beautiful wings extend, shimmering with their own internal light.

Faustrius gasps, then stumbles back, falling to the ground.

Rosalina drifts over and kneels before him. Her glow bathes him like daybreak. She touches his cheek. He leans into her palm. “If we are to look backward, I think we would all see a dark and stormy path. But I know you are good, Faustrius. I’ve seen it in the way you’ve treated your people. How you took their pain and wore it as your own. I see it now in how you’ve set your vengeance aside. So let us not look backward anymore. Let us look into the light.”

A tear drips down Faustrius’s cheeks, his eyes intent on Rosalina’s wings. “I used to have wings once…” he says so low, I can barely hear it.

Rosalina offers him one of her precious smiles. “There is magic left in Airaleth,” she whispers like a secret. Like hope. “The Gardens of Ithilias have been restored.” Then she reaches down and touches the stone floor. “And there is magic yet in the Vale. There is magic in us.”

Faustrius closes his eyes. When he opens them, a fire as red and hot as the one that forged my sword burns in his gaze. “The Queen of the Enchanted Vale and the Sworn Protector of the Realms have called. And the Elderblood will answer.”