Queen of Fire (A Light-Bringer Prequel)

One

Two weeks earlier...

Fifteen year old Marilyn Pyro stood beside her mother, Queen Calista Pyro, in the throne room. To their right, King Damon sat on his throne—Ashlynn at his side.

Marilyn glanced at her older sister. The heir to the throne was everything the heir should be—regal, quiet, calm—everything Marilyn wasn't.

Ashlynn looked at Marilyn. They both had been summoned without much explanation. Both had been dressed in red and gold gowns with their red hair curled to fall in ringlets over their shoulders.

Ashlynn jerked her chin towards the large oak doors as if to say, Face forward; this is important, Marilyn.

Marilyn looked forward just as the doors to the throne room opened. Five royal guards marched in, escorting a woman with black hair and pale skin in iron shackles up to the dais. 

The general of the Royal Guard bowed to the Pyros. "Your Majesties," said the general. "We have apprehended another witch in the outskirts of Urbs Flumen. As per the law, she awaits your sentencing."

Ashlynn and Marilyn sucked in a breath.

After less than a minute, King Damon said, "The law is the law. You have committed the crime of practicing dark magic. For that, you will be hanged."

The princesses exhaled. That was always the worst part about these trials. Being brought before the royal family for a trial meant that you were in serious trouble - however, those were largely for witches.

"Throw her in the dungeons," said Damon, dismissing them.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the general said, bowing before marching out of the room, the other guards following with the prisoner in tow.

Before the doors closed, a guard ducked in from around the corner, and began walking towards them.

A smile broke across Marilyn's face as she walked down the steps to the guard. The guard grinned, his grey eyes alight.

"Miles," said Marilyn, hugging the guard.

"Marilyn," Miles said casually.

Marilyn looked up at Miles and mussed his black hair. The messy hair gave Miles a bit of a boyish look, and it suited him.

Miles held up his arm and asked, "Shall we?"

Marilyn took his arm. "We shall," she said before adding, "But can I go change into a smaller dress before we go?"

"Of course. I don't see why not."

They left the throne room and walked through the corridors until they stopped in front of the door to Marilyn's chambers.

"I'll wait out here," he said.

"Doing what you do best?" she sniggered.

"Very funny," he said, unamused.

Marilyn opened the door, and walked in, closing the door behind her. She hailed a servant to help her out of the dress and into a smaller green dress that gathered at her waist and fell to her ankles. As the servant tied up the back of her dress, Marilyn reflected on how they met.

Marilyn was twelve and Miles was fourteen. He hid around the corner from her chamber doors, so that when she left her room, he'd jumped out and scared her so badly that he had to duck to avoid the fireball she'd blasted at him in fear. She could have walked on and not given a damn about him, but she didn't. Something drew Marilyn to Miles, and she didn't know what until months later when he had told her that he was the youngest in his family and was often overlooked. By then, they were best friends and confidants.

Marilyn walked out of her rooms and saw Miles right where she left him.

"Let's go to the bank, and maybe do some shopping, Miles," said Marilyn, taking Miles's arm, and walking down to the carriage.