Queen of Light (The Light-Bringer Trilogy, #3)

The Fallen Heir

Ashlynn Pyro pushed open the large oak doors to her father's study. She had run as fast as she could when the servant burst into her rooms, breathless.

Her father, Damon, stood behind his walnut bureau. Sunlight shine through the large windows behind him, his red hair like a crown of fire.

She took notice of the Apparatori messenger across from her father. Ashlynn quickly tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ears and straightened her posture.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked calmly.

Damon and the messenger glanced at each other, then back at Ashlynn. Damon inhaled sharply. "You should sit down for this, Ash," he said quietly.

She walked a little closer to them, but she refused to take a seat. She clasped her hands together, playing with her engagement ring. "I'll stand, thanks."

"Phillippe Dragos is dead," said her father, his voice quiet.

Ashlynn felt like a black hole had opened up below her feet and sucked her into its endless depths.

"He can't be dead," she wheezed, unable to catch her breath. "No one would dare to consciously touch the House of Wolves."

"A bar fight spilled out into the street," he messenger piped. "Lord Dragos was caught in the crossfire. Wrong place, wrong time."

"I'm so sorry, Ash," said the king.

Ashlynn couldn't meet her father's golden gaze. "I... I have to go," she said, her voice hollow.

Ashlynn turned on her heel and strode away, hearing her father murmur something too quiet for her to hear.

Phillippe is dead.

All of the sound drained away from her. Servants' lips moved as she passed them. Her father's Right Hand nodded his head, saying something as they passed.

She made it to her room without breaking down, and she closed the door behind her. Ashlynn tried to make it to her bed, but failed. The world tilted as she sank to her knees and curled in on herself. Her u shed tears spilled over right as an earth-shattering scream pierced the air. Her body started to shake, but the tears and screaming didn't stop.

She faintly heard the door open behind her and she felt warm arms encircle her. Ashlynn leaned into the presence and cried long into the night.

-

Ashlynn stayed in bed the next day. And the next. And the next. Her red hair was matted; her golden eyes were dull and dead.

She was numb to everything.

She didn't speak. Didn't eat. Only got up to relieve herself.

When her mother visited her and held her when she cried, Ashlynn didn't fight it.

She didn't acknowledge Phillippe's death. She just laid there and stared at the ceiling.

The queen managed to coax some food and tea down her throat. Not as much as she should have eaten, but enough to keep her going for another day.

Her eleven-year-old sister, Marilyn, visited her once months after Phillippe's death. It ended with Ashlynn getting out of bed-shrieking "Get out!" and throwing books at her.

She picked up the book and a page fell out. Ashlynn picked up the page and forced herself to focus on it.

It was a page on how to perform necromancy. To raise someone from the dead, one needed the corpse, a powerful demon, and to recite the ritual on the page.

Ashlynn paled. Dark magic was a death sentence.

She shoved the page in her bureau, and hopped back into bed to cry herself to sleep.

-

Her eighteenth birthday-and eventually the first anniversary of Phillippe's death-came and went. Ashlynn still wore the silver ring Phillippe had given her when she agreed to marry him.

Ashlynn awoke to the sound of birds chirping a few months after her nineteenth birthday. She still felt a longing for her late beloved. She didn't want this longing; she wanted him.

She got out of her bed and crossed over to her bureau. She opened the drawer and pulled out the page of dark magic.

"We will meet again, my love," she said to no one. "No matter the cost."