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“I hold the title Empress of Air,” she repeated, feeling her magic rumble from the deepest parts of her soul.

“And I shall wear the Crown of Air until I take my last breath.”

“And I shall wear the Crown of Air until I take my last breath,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling to the beat that coursed through her, to the charmed river that coursed through her blood, thriving and alive.

Even on this winter night, sweat began beading on her skin, her panting breaths blowing out frozen smoke. The Supreme spoke in the ancient tongue and Emara copied, knowing that it translated to “My Coven and House come first. I will honour my crown in life and in death.”

To Emara’s surprise, her guards unsheathed their swords and knelt outside the circle, holding their blades above their heads as the wind ripped at them too.

“I, Magin Oxhound, of Oath and Blood to the Hunt, vow to protect the Empress of Air until I take my last breath.” He slammed his sword down into the ground, and the flames of the candles burned brighter.

“I, Artem Stryker, of Oath and Blood to the Hunt, vow to protect the Empress of Air until I take my last breath.”

Emara had never heard Artem speak with so much raw meaning. She knew how deadly he was just by looking at him, and his playful foolery didn’t allow her to forget how skilled he was at killing, but something more shone in his eyes. All that jest was gone. He brought down his sword and it penetrated the earth too. The flames of the circle blazed again, causing her throat to catch as a spirit wind whirled around her, coating her vision in a combination of stars and fire.

“I, Torin Blacksteel, of Oath and Blood to the Hunt, vow to protect the Empress of Air, Emara Clearwater, until I breathe my final breath.” His eyes found hers and the world stopped. Everything around her faded away, and it was like the magic had cleared a path for him to be seen. His face was extraordinary, the raw emotions passing over his expression sharpening the ruthless angles of his bone structure. “I vow to protect her even after my bones turn to dust and we are nothing more than stars gazing down at the earth.”

His scorching gaze didn’t falter, and Emara couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe!

“My soul will protect yours, even in the afterlife.” He spoke solely to her, and every hair on her body stood to the profoundness of his words. Her skin prickled, and her lungs shoved every particle of air out from them.

Emara had a feeling that Torin wasn’t supposed to vow what he just had. He was supposed to vow the same thing Magin and Artem had, what the other guards would do tonight. But he’d vowed something more sacred than this ritual itself. In front of everyone, in front of every coven, in front of every important guard from their hunting families, Torin Blacksteel had vowed to protect her against anything.

Claiming his soul would find hers on the Otherside.

And she believed him. She believed every word. His soul would search for hers.

Her heart left her body.

Without breaking their stare, he brought down his sword, causing the mountain to shudder beneath them as he made his promise final and absolute to the world.

The Supreme, who had been brewing something in the cauldron, dipped her hand into the bubbling blackness and fished out her creation.

It was a crown, a crown of violet crystals and gemstones, twigs and moss, light and dark fractures of the world. It was a mixture of life and Air, and it was a mixture of her. It had been created by the gifts of her coven.

The Supreme sat it atop a silk cushion and delivered it to the elder.

Emara swallowed, taking in the unchained power of the crown’s magic as it came towards her.

“Bless the sacred circle,” the elder said before entering.

The drumming stopped dead, and all notes of the music rang off the grandness of the northern mountains before disappearing entirely. All Emara could hear now was the drumming of her own heart as the elder witch placed the crown atop her head.

“The ascension is now complete,” she said with a dry smile that sent more of her wrinkled skin into deep folds. She looked up to the sky with a glaze in her eyes. “You have made the Gods happy on this Witching Moon.”

Her guards stood, causing Emara to turn, and it was the first time she felt the weight of her crown move with her head as it clutched to her skull like it had tiny little fingers holding onto her hair.

“The kingdom has an Empress of Air once more,” the old crone acknowledged.

“Blessed be,” the cloaked witches said in unison, and bowed.

Emara looked to the Supreme, who was staring directly at her.

“Blessed be,” Deleine said, her eyes lowering in respect.

The elder issued Emara out of the circle, and the power from the ascension crashed. Torin caught her as she swayed, and the world around her blurred. The indisputable supremacy from the circle was no longer with her as she broke through its ring, salt cutting into her feet like small shards of glass. She swayed again.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Torin said, taking her to stand with the crowd that were no longer looking at her. They were done with her, thankfully, and now looking to the next witch in the line who would complete the ritual. She took in a huge breath, letting the cold air embed itself in her lungs.