Chapter 9 - The Smallest Queen on the Dragon Throne
High above the smoking ruins of the northern peak, Vorthar hovered gently, dipping his massive crystal-horned head toward the charred foundation of the tower.
Kael stood upon the beast's snout, gently holding a very sleepy, very normal-looking seven-year-old girl in his arms. The blinding golden light had faded completely from Amber’s eyes, and her hair ribbons had somehow magically reappeared, tied neatly in place. She rested her head against her father's armored shoulder, letting out a soft, contented yawn.
"Are we going home now, Daddy?" Amber mumbled sleepily, rubbing her cheek against the cool steel of his chest plate.
Kael kissed the top of her head, a deep, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Yes, little bird. We are going home."
He looked up as General Rowan’s tactical drake soared close alongside Vorthar. Rowan peered over the edge of his saddle, looking down at the unharmed princess with an expression of profound, trembling relief mixed with lingering awe.
"Your Majesty! The perimeter is secure! The remaining cultists have scattered into the western wastes, and our scouts report total victory!" Rowan shouted over the wind. Then, his eyes darted nervously toward Amber. "And... ah... is the princess—"
"The princess is quite well, Rowan," Kael interrupted smoothly, his voice carrying an unmistakable tone of finality that warned the general never to speak of what he had witnessed. "Secure the realm. Double the palace guards, and ensure the banquet hall is prepared for tonight. We have a coronation to finish."
May you like
Rowan blinked, grinning broadly despite himself. "A coronation, Sire?"
"Indeed," Kael said softly, looking down at the small child in his arms, who had already drifted off to sleep. "Every queen deserves her proper crowning."
