Empire of Storms

Dramatic rescues give him purpose and fulfillment in his dull, immortal life.”

She’d forgotten how much taller he was. Face-to-face, Dorian panted as he stared down at her and breathed, “Hello, witchling.”

Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him. Not a whiff of fear. Interesting.

Manon purred back, “Hello, princeling.”

More blood and chunks of wyvern and witch fell to the ground, all coated with ice so thick they shattered upon the courtyard flagstones.

And as the dead meat rained down, thudding on the castle grounds,
as their blood misted the air …

Ice and wind tore into them, shredding through beast and rider.

And through the rain and fire and ice, through the dark and lightning and thunder, a word flickered into her head, an answer and a challenge and a truth she immediately denied, ignored. Not for herself, but for him—for him—

“When you find me again, we will have that night. I don’t care where, or who is around.” He pressed a kiss to her neck and said onto her rain-slick skin, “You are my Fireheart.”

“For now, I have no plans to lose this war because some old bastard has learned he likes playing king.”

“But I do not think my brother and sister in this room would allow me to live for very long if they suspected I meant their queen ill—or their kingdom.”

Her grandmother yielded a short dip of her chin. “They move at sundown. They’ll be in Rifthold two days after that.”