Ω KILL FOR WHAT YOU WANT, FOR WHAT YOU DESERVE Ω
Four sisters. One to be Queen.
A dark kingdom ruled by a dark queen for eternity lies close to a range of frozen mountain peaks. Outside that kingdom awaits four girls, all sisters. All wanting to be...
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NOVA WAS FULLY AWARE THAT ARABELLA KEPT A VERY CLOSE DISTANCE AS SHE CAREFULLY APPROACHED THE TEMPLE. Arabella stayed closed, maybe closer than she ever had before. Nova forced herself not to look at her beautiful friend, but when she fell succumb to the temptation, she found a pair of blazing green eyes staring back, coated with a powerful possessiveness. And it stirred something deep inside Nova.
But she ignored it. Of course she did; she had to. Because this was the start of the Queentide, and everything was more dangerous than before. Relationships of any form were a liability, and Nova couldn't afford any liabilities.
She was a Queen, forged from the heart of flame. And she would burn the world down, and everyone in it.
"Be careful," Arabella murmured in her ear, her sword gleaming in the morning Sun. Her sword was just like the girl; dangerous yet beautiful.
"You don't have to warn me," Nova said, almost coldly. She wanted nothing more than to pull Arabella into one of the many alleys that dotted the trail to the Temple and kiss her until she forgot her own name, but that, like so many other things, was not suitable.
"I'm sorry my care offends you, my Queen," Arabella responded in a tone that matched the chill of Nova's.
The way Nova saw it, last night never happened. It shouldn't have happened. It was the best night of her life, the only thing she had ever pined after, ever wanted. Even more than being the Queen, Nova wanted Arabella.
It would be all too easy for Nova to forgot all the rules of etiquette that she had studied, all the histories of the past Queens and Queentides. But never in a thousand years would she be able to forget the feeling of Arabella's lips against her own, or the soft yet fierce look Arabella had in her eyes as Nova let herself fall onto her knees before the woman who was her everything.
For once, Nova was glad that Arabella was behind her; she was unable to see the blush climbing up her throat.
In the distance, a large flock of birds flew towards the Temple, their cries echoing even to where she and Arabella walked. Nova frowned; it seemed as if Nova wasn't the only Queenling that planned on showing off.
The dress that Nova wore spoke louder than any words that she could have said. The dress was made of a dark material, darker than black and softer than silk. Flecks of metal dotted the dress like stars against the night sky. But, better than that, the dress was made of Flamesilk, an expensive material that was meticulously sewn by seamstresses in the House of Flames. The seamstresses called themselves the Weavers, and they were a very dangerous group, ranging from anywhere between eight or eighty years old. Their projects were expensive, and the Weavers didn't sew for just anyone; it was only Nova's status as Queenling that got her this dress in the first place. But, as much as she disliked the haughty Weavers, she had to admit that they were exceptionally talented.
