Chapter 45 #3
“Well, at least we know the Six can’t vaporise you.” Lucifer laughs, strolling up to Maelkar’s side.
I shoot him a glare and turn back towards Korithax, reaching for him. He takes a weary step back, shaking his head.
“Kori,” I say softly. “It’s okay.”
“Let’s go again,” he says, ignoring it entirely.
“Can I?” a voice cuts in.
A soldier steps into the ring. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with deep bronze skin and honey-coloured eyes. His dark hair is cropped close, and he stands at least six-foot-five. Golden armour gleams against his body, the Solaran sun etched boldly into his chestplate.
One of Sariya’s soldiers.
He bows low, reaching for my hand. I place mine in his large one, smiling politely.
“Your Majesty,” he says smoothly. “It’s an honour to be fighting alongside your kingdom. I am Vakariah.”
He presses a kiss to my knuckles. Instantly, rage scorches through the bond. I glance sideways to see Korithax staring absolute daggers through Vakariah’s skull.
“Please,” I say, quickly pulling my hand away, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Call me Daisy.”
“Daisy,” Vakariah repeats, almost seductively. “So, how about us sparring together?”
I can hear Lucifer and Maelkar snickering behind me.
“I’ll spar with you,” Korithax growls, stepping in beside me.
Vakariah straightens. “Oh. My apologies. I was hoping to partner with the queen.” His smile sharpens—less charming now, more dismissive.
“Well, you can’t,” Korithax snarls. “You can spar with her king instead.”
Vakariah finally seems to notice Korithax. His eyes widen. “Oh—my apologies, Your Highness,” he blurts. “Forgive me. The last I heard, you had died.”
My mouth drops open at his words, the painful reminder aching in my chest.
“Well, unluckily for you, Vakariah,” Korithax says, his name dripping with contempt, “I’m not dead. I’m very much alive.”
He steps forwards until their armour touches. A soft clink sounding.
“And if you flirt with my queen again,” he continues, his voice deathly low, “you’ll find your head on a spike at the palace gates.”
His gaze is lethal. “Understood?”
Vakariah nods stiffly, bows once, and retreats.
I notice Korithax breathing heavily, his eyes screwed shut. I reach out, placing a hand on his exposed bicep.
“Jealously looks good on you, my king,” I purr.
He looks down at me, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “Don’t think for a second I won’t fuck you right here in front of every soul in this training ring if you look at me with that look in your eyes again.”
Lucifer bursts out laughing from beside me. I turn and punch him in the arm. “Shut up.”
“Fuck me,” Lucifer wheezes, wiping his eyes. “I have missed you, Korithax.”
The rest of the day’s training passes more smoothly than I expected. Korithax rotates between sparring with me, Maelkar, and Lucifer—though unfortunately, not many people get to spar with me directly. Anyone who even tries, gets a low, unmistakable growl from Korithax. Overprotective bastard.
I end up sitting on one of the benches along the far wall of the outdoor arena, watching the drills continue as the sun climbs mercilessly higher.
It’s absolutely sweltering now. The air is thick, heavy, clinging to my skin, and I can’t stop thinking about how utterly brutal it will be if the war breaks out in this heat.
Honestly, I might die of heatstroke before the Six even get a chance to kill me.
Sunshine Queen, meet me at our spot. Vesindiyah’s voice rings through my mind.
I frown. She’s wants me in the fields? Now? In the middle of the day, when there are thousands of soldiers moving across the grounds? Either she’s lost her damn mind, or it’s extremely urgent.
I rise, brushing the dust from my trousers, and head towards the fields without hesitation.
Just as I reach the place where we met last time, Vesindiyah swoops down from the sky, landing before me with effortless grace. The ground trembles beneath her weight, but her movements are smooth, controlled, and powerful.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, nerves threading my voice.
She lowers her head and drops something at my feet, nursing it forwards gently with her snout.
For you, she says, a warmth to her tone. Something softer than I’ve ever heard from her before.
I hesitate, then kneel and open the makeshift bundle. My breath catches, a soft gasp leaving me as my eyes snap back up to hers. “Are these—”
They are my scales, she answers calmly. For your armour. When we ride into battle, we will blend together.
I lift one of the large scales, turning it slowly in my hands. It’s a breathtaking iridescent crimson, shimmering subtly in the light. The surface is smooth—almost soft to the touch—yet there’s an undeniable sense of strength to it. Impenetrable.
I collected every scale I shed from the day we met, Vesindiyah continues. I knew you would need my protection in more ways than one.
Emotion swells thick and sudden in my chest. I reach out, pressing my palm gently against her snout. “Thank you, Vesindiyah. Truly.”
She chuffs once, almost affectionately, before spreading her wings and launching back into the sky without another word.
I stand there for a moment longer, clutching the bundle of flamebeast scales to my chest, the weight of what’s coming settling deeper into my bones.
After a quick shower, and dropping Vesindiyah’s scales off with my favourite seamstress—who nearly cried when she saw what they were made of—I make my way towards Ezra’s room. The corridor is quieter here. Less bumbling about, no shouting, or the sounds of steel clashing against steel from outside.
I knock once before opening the door, and Ezra is exactly where I expect him to him. Horizontal, face down, arms and legs starfished across the bed.
“I swear to the gods,” he groans into the mattress without looking up, “if you’re here to tell me it’s somehow not my day off, I will simply pass away.”
I laugh, closing the door behind me. “Relax, I come bearing no responsibilities.”
He rolls onto his side dramatically, squinting at me like I might be lying. “Oh, thank fuck. Because I have done nothing today. And I mean nothing. I have achieved perfect bed rot status.”
“Impressive,” I say, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “What did that entail?”
“Well,” he starts seriously, “I stared at the wall for forty-five minutes. Then I contemplated my life choices. Then I mourned the loss of Wi-Fi. Then I napped.”
I snort. “You’re really suffering.”
“You don’t understand,” he says, sitting up now, hair sticking up at odd angles. “I miss technology. I miss my phone. I miss doomscrolling at three a.m. I miss my TV. I miss background noise!”
“If we survive the war,” I say lightly, “I’ll see if I can somehow get modern tech into Hell.”
His eyes widen. “Daisy, if you give Hell Netflix, I will worship you.”
“Shouldn’t you, already? Since I’m queen and all that?”