Page 73 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Arenna stood in the center of Itta’s apothecary, her eyes dancing across the hundreds of bottles that lined the room.

After she had left the training pit, she slept for almost two days.

But when she finally woke, a note had been waiting on the bedside table—simple, direct, and signed with instructions to meet Itta here at precisely dawn.

When she arrived, Itta was nowhere to be seen. Only a small black cat curled in the windowsill, flicking its tail lazily in the golden morning light.

Arenna passed the time familiarizing herself with the space, flipping through various journals and notes on tonics and potions.

The room was organized chaos, and she had no idea how Itta ever got anything done in such a mess.

A portrait sat tucked among the shelves, catching her attention.

She carefully picked it up, running her dark sleeve across the front to remove a thin layer of dust.

In the portrait were Kayson and Itta, their faces beaming with pure, radiant joy.

Arenna couldn’t help but smile at the image, her stomach flopping over itself.

Something had shifted between them last night.

Kayson had met her in the depths of her despair—and lifted her from it.

When her mind had sunk to its darkest place, he had seen her there, at her lowest, and reminded her she was still capable of rising.

Above all, he had come. She hadn’t called for him, hadn’t asked for his help—yet still, the Fae King had found his way to her.

Warmth danced within Arenna’s chest, spread through her veins. There was something about the king that she had never imagined possible, something that came from a good heart. Kayson was arrogant, aggressive, and vicious to almost everyone.

But with her, he wasn’t.

He was kind. Loving. Caring.

Arenna wondered if she was one of the few who ever got to see that side of him.

“Ah, you’re here—finally.” Itta’s voice drifted in from somewhere nearby, though Arenna could not see her.

She spun this way and that, feeling foolish for speaking to an empty room. “Where are you?”

“What do you mean?” Itta stepped out from the side of a bookshelf, her eyes shimmering with joy. “I’ve been here the entire time, dear. The better question is—where have you been?”

Arenna smiled, caught between confusion and delight. “I’ve been here since dawn, Itta.” She crossed the room and dropped into a chair at the table where the alchemist now stood.

Setting a heavy trunk down with a thud, Itta smiled.

“We’ve got a lot to get done, and not a lot of time to do it.

” She opened the trunk and began pulling out candles, a book, and pieces of parchment.

“You are due back in the pits this afternoon,” she said, “but this morning, you are all mine.” Itta moved slowly, deliberately, setting the candles on small stands and flipping the book open to the middle.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Arenna asked. This wasn’t the first time in the short months she’d been here that she found herself under Itta’s guidance, furthering her magical training. Each session was different—often tied to some long-forgotten Drakian lore.

“No more explosions,” Itta said, adjusting her thin glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Explosions are great for battle and mass destruction, but in smaller, quiet settings—you need to be more controlled.” She nudged the three candles into place, smiling.

“In the days of Princess Kenia’s training, her teacher often used candles and other seemingly small things to help hone her fire.

Now, I know you can light all of these with ease, especially after your breakthrough—”

“My breakthrough?” Arenna cut in. “How did you know about that?”

Itta glanced up over her lenses. “You were out there all night, lass. And not very quiet either. I’d bet a sack of coins half the castle near the pits heard you.”

Embarrassment coiled low in Arenna’s stomach. She leaned back in her chair. “Lovely.”

Itta laughed, full and unbothered. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my girl. We’re all incredibly proud of you.” She reached forward and took Arenna’s hands, angling them palm-up. “Call it.”

Inside her mind, inside her chest, Arenna could still feel that reservoir. But this time, she didn’t need to visualize it. The flames came easily—golden embers dancing slowly in her palms, swaying to a breeze only they could feel. “Now what?”

“Give it to the candles.” Arenna flicked her eyes upward, then sent an ember to each wick. All three burst into flames. “Good. Very good!” Itta beamed. “That was so much faster than ever before.”

Arenna swallowed her emotions, willing herself to stay calm. She’d learned the hard way that when emotion ruled her fire, it spun out of control. “Yeah, I suppose it was.”

“Oh, how very humble of you,” Itta teased, still holding her hands. “This is an accomplishment, and you deserve to celebrate it. I’ll have you know, back in the Drakian days, there were loud and boastful celebrations whenever young Princess Kenia took even one step forward in her power.”

Sorrow sprang between them, rising to fill the hollow in Arenna’s heart like water rushing into a broken vessel.

“All my life, I’ve been taught how to be quiet.

” Arenna’s gaze drifted to a hollow space in the room.

“One day, I will not let my past define me. One day, I won’t let my former husband dictate who I am.

But it’s a struggle—most days, it’s hard enough just to get out of bed and remind myself of those things. ”

Itta’s hand, cool and steady, cupped her cheek and guided her out of the darkness.

“Time can mend much, Arenna, but remember that you are fire. Fire is never silent or small; it can consume and destroy, yet it also shields, nourishes, and gives life. Do not forget this—your flame was never meant to hide.”

Warm, wet tears gathered in Arenna’s eyes.

“Look at the candles again,” Itta said gently. “See what you did—and dim them. Imagine pulling in part of the flame, while letting the rest remain.”

Wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, Arenna focused on the candles. She had begun to feel the separate strands of each ember when she summoned fire—and was starting to understand that flames were not one thing, but many.

Guided by that thought, she pulled two strands back and left three behind.

The light dimmed to a soft, flickering orange.

She didn’t wait for instructions before turning to the next.

Arenna pulled two strands from within herself and gave them to the middle wick.

It ignited instantly, swelling until it became the brightest-lit thing in the room.

And when she faced the third and final candle, Arenna pulled every strand back, snuffing the wick out completely. “That hardly even took any effort,” she whispered, staring at her trembling hands. “I did it . . . and it hardly cost me anything.”

Itta smiled, her eyes wet with pride. “Because you were born with fire in your blood, Arenna. You were destined for greatness—for restoration. You were never meant for imprisonment or chains.” She placed a hand to her cheek once more. “You hold the power to your story. Start writing.”

Arenna’s voice wavered. “But what if I lose control again? What if I become the thing I’m afraid of?”

“You won’t,” Itta said softly. “Because you know what it feels like to burn. And more than that—you know what it means to be burned.”

Arenna blinked against the sting in her eyes, tears threatening.

“I don’t want to be feared like him. I want to be more than what he tried to make of me.

” Her voice cracked, quiet but full of weight.

There was an entire continent of people she had left behind—people who didn’t know the truth of her.

They only knew the version Jaksen had painted.

“I was never his,” she said, her gaze falling.

“But they all think I was. That I chose it. That I stood beside him because I agreed with him.” She looked back up, fire flickering in her eyes now.

“I want them to know me. The one he couldn’t break. ”

Itta’s eyes shone with pride. “Then show them.”

Arenna nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Then let it burn—loud and bright.”

* * *

Over the next few days, Arenna settled into a new routine.

She would wake up, train , eat lunch, train , eat dinner, and train some more.

Though she was exhausted to the point of nearly falling asleep at the dining table every night, she was growing and changing.

She had better control over her magic—able to summon fire when she wanted and call it back when necessary.

She learned to choose who lived and who died by her fire.

She could now control how brightly her flame burned and how hot it became, all under the guidance of Itta and Kayson, who worked closely with her since her breakthrough.

The alchemist was strange, and a bit too cooped up in her room full of perfumes and odd tonics, but she was gentle, kind, and helpful.

Itta taught her in the library and apothecary, going over the history of the Drakians and Princess Kenia. Arenna had been skeptical at first, wondering how knowledge from over four thousand years ago could help her now.

But as she listened and worked, she began to understand.

Over the years, all elements had come and gone across both species, except for a Firewielder.

The only written and recorded information about fire magic came from Kenia.

Arenna spent hours pouring over journal entries, Draka history texts, and personal records written by Kenia, her scholars, and her teachers.

Arenna learned more about Drakian culture than any other and lately, she felt she understood it better than her own human background. It excited her—their lifestyle during Pheanixios, their kingdom, their cities, and most of all, their dragons .