Page 92 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Twelve seconds. Twelve heartbeats. Twelve breaths. That’s all it took for Arenna Firewielder to incinerate thousands of Brookworth soldiers and hundreds of druque with her power alone. They did not rise again.

In his over two hundred years of life, Kayson had never seen such strength.

He knew Arenna’s heart was strong, her fire magnificent.

Through the prophecy, he had known it would require a tremendous amount of power to rejoin the continents—even with the remaining elements—and understood the task Arenna would soon be involved in.

But he had never expected this from her.

Especially when her power had only been revealed less than a year ago.

Kayson nearly fell to his knees at her onslaught, awestruck and in disbelief. He had shouted at his friends to take their ripplers and get the Sorrows out of there, unsure if Arenna would be able to shut off this kind of power without collateral damage.

When her power ceased, the fire vanished with the blink of an eye, and Arenna crumbled to the earth. His heart strained at the sight of her laying lifeless amongst the ash covered earth.

He ran, willing his throbbing legs to move harder, faster. Kayson knelt by her side, pulling the unconscious Arenna into his arms. He ran his hands over her black hair, matted to her forehead and temples. “Arenna?” he whispered.

She stirred.

“Arenna,” Kayson said again, more brokenly this time. “Please—open your eyes.” His voice cracked with desperation, each second dragging like an eternity. He cupped her face with shaking hands, thumbs brushing the smudges of ash along her cheekbones.

Then, at last, emerald eyes blinked open, unfocused—but alive.

Kayson let out a breath so heavy it nearly buckled him. Relief struck him like a blow, and he lowered his forehead to hers, eyes squeezed shut. “Damn you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Arenna mumbled something too faint to hear.

“I thought I lost you,” Kayson confessed, barely above a breath. “I thought—” His words broke apart, the ache in his throat too thick to speak through.

He pulled her against him, fiercely, needing to feel every inch of her warmth to believe it.

That she hadn’t slipped away.

That he hadn’t been too late.

Kayson clutched her tighter, burying his face in her neck as if grounding himself in her presence. The world had nearly lost its fire—but he had nearly lost the only thing that made it worth saving.

Minutes passed before Kayson’s gaze drifted to his home, the valley where he had grown up and vowed to protect. It lay scorched beyond recognition, further blackened by the siege of the Rot.

Bones and half-burned shields jutted out amidst the sea of charred remains, the only remnants that something had stood there before.

Sadness crept in like darkness within his mind. The destruction of his lands, his home , was almost unbearable. Yet he knew there was no other choice. What Arenna had done—the power she had unleashed—had saved his people, his army.

It had saved them all. She had given them another shot at life.

And they would rebuild one day.

Kayson swallowed hard. Such power . There wasn’t a Brookworth soldier or druque left alive. A shadow caught the corner of his eye, and he dared to look down at Arenna’s hands, which lay limp at her sides.

A thick lump formed in his throat. Arenna’s hands were as black as her hair—darker than midnight—from the tips of her fingers to her wrists, making even her scars no longer visible.

His stomach sank.

She had burned out, depleting her power and using up every last ember of flame.

He forced himself to look away, redirecting his focus to her face.

Arenna’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he blurted, shaking his head. They would figure it out later, together. But he needed to get Arenna back to the castle and to the healers. Kayson understood the exhaustion that came from magic, and she needed help quickly before she slipped into a long, unending sleep.

With his arms hoisting her up, she stood on wobbly legs.

“How could such power be suppressed for so long?” Both Kayson and Arenna turned to see Faylen standing amidst the ash of the fallen, the end of her red cloak covered in soot.

Her eyes were still dark and rimmed with red, and when they fell on Arenna, they turned feral.

“You killed them all. Incinerated them all .” Those hateful eyes shifted to Kayson. “And for what? Him ?”

How did she survive?

“Do you know what we could have done? What we could have conquered?” Faylen yelled. Her voice was distorted, and she no longer seemed human.

“You know nothing about him, Faylen,” Arenna choked out.

She came to Kayson’s defense so effortlessly, despite the hatred they had shared only months ago.

Something broke inside him, and the crack reverberated along his bones.

“He is not what Jaksen said he is. This place isn’t what we were taught. ”

Faylen shook her head, blonde tendrils falling across her diamond-shaped face. “You are wrong, Arenna. The bastard Fae is not who you think he is.”

Arenna took a wobbly step forward. He struggled to release his hold on her, fearful of what could happen when she wasn’t close by. But he also watched her take care of herself in battle and knew that she could handle it. “I don’t believe you.”

Faylen trembled with anger, gritting her teeth so hard Kayson wondered how they didn’t shatter. With a scream, she thrust her hands toward them, using the red smoke to separate them.

Kayson hit the ground with a thud but recovered quickly enough to search for Arenna. She was a fair distance away, still rolling and tumbling. Ash formed a cloud around her, and his gut twisted at the blood that streamed from her nose. She coughed against the ash coating her mouth, choking.

Anger thundered through his veins, a storm he could barely contain. Kayson nearly growled as he stalked toward Faylen, his jaw clenched, promising to kill that golden-haired witch.

“Not so fast, pretty boy.” Faylen’s voice dripped with amusement as she twisted her hands, shaping the smoke before him. It coiled and writhed, bending to her will until it formed the outlines of male bodies—vague at first, then solidifying into soldiers clad in crimson.

Eyes blinked open.

Arms flexed.

Shields and swords glinted in the haze.

Kayson barely had time to brace before the smoke-men lunged, their ghostly hands latching onto his arms. They forced him to his knees, the pressure of their grip far too real for something made of mist.

“Stay put, would you?” Faylen taunted, already shifting her focus.

She turned to Arenna, lifting her effortlessly with a cruel flick of her power.

The Firewielder staggered, pain etched across her face, but she stood—refusing to fall, even now. Arenna clawed at her own neck, as if sheer alone could tear away the smoke that wound like a noose around her throat.

Blood magic .

It let Faylen move like lightning—too quickly, too cruel. Kayson jerked against his captors, eyes burning with rageful tears. “I am going to skin you alive,” he growled, voice low and venom-laced.

The sorceress laughed, the sound echoing through the smoldering valley like something distorted, unearthly, and soaked in malice. Red power slithered tighter around Arenna’s neck, like a serpent cinching with each heartbeat.

Kayson thrashed harder against the restraints, panic rising in his chest like bile. The smoke-soldiers’ cursed grip dulled his strength, caged his power, and kept it just beyond reach, just far enough to be useless.

And then the Fae King screamed.

Not from pain, but from fear—pure, soul-ripping desperation—as he watched the life drain from Arenna’s face and knew he was powerless to stop it.

Not again. Not again. Please—not again.

The last time he had failed, the cost had nearly destroyed him. His family was taken — his siblings murdered before his eyes.

Wrath erupted, swelling in his chest like a storm breaking loose, the pressure long buried now thundering through every vein.

He roared, the sound raw and broken, trembling with the helplessness of watching Arenna slip beyond his reach.

“If you touch another hair on her head,” Kayson seethed, voice shaking with fury, “I will bury you so far beneath this earth no one will hear your screams.”

Faylen only smiled, teeth gleaming in the haze. “You’re in no position to make demands, Reaper.” She laughed again, unleashing the entirety of herself onto Arenna.

Arenna’s normally vibrant eyes glazed over, and Kayson’s soul cracked wide open. He screamed again, his throat burning with the wrath buried deep in his bones.

Red clouded his vision and Arenna sagging against the hold on her throat was all he could see. With what little strength remained, what tiny drop of power hadn’t been stolen by the blood magic, Kayson willed the beat of the earth to match the pulse thundering in his veins.

He felt it instantly—clawing through the ash-covered floor like a creature long imprisoned, now unleashed. It surged beneath the rolling hills, through the smoldering corpses and discarded weapons, ravenous and wild.

Within seconds, the power slammed into him, flooding his entire body with unyielding, unbreakable force drawn from the earth itself.

Kayson tore free from his captors, the suppression of his familiar power vanishing as it roared back into his bloodstream. He staggered, the speed of it nauseating, but he grounded himself fast.

Faylen turned his way, eyes widening when she realized he had broken free. Panic flashed in her crimson gaze for only a moment—then it hardened into fury.

She turned her focus on Kayson and released Arenna from her smoky grasp.

Arenna crumpled to the floor in a heap of dark leather and cloth—and something inside Kayson broke. He faltered, staring at her body, watching, waiting for that single moment for her chest to rise and fall. It took an eternity, but when it came, his knees buckled, nearly sending him to the ground.

That one, small flicker of relief was all it took for the anger to reawaken in his chest. Rage reignited the heart that had nearly stopped.

His golden eyes snapped to Faylen—and the Fae King unleashed hundreds of years of buried pain, rage, and sorrow upon her.

Arenna might not be his. Might never be his. But anyone who dared lay a finger on her had no place left in this world, especially not one standing on his damned soil.