Extraits

Fyia leaned against the battlements, her wolves coming to her side. She wiped and sheathed her dagger. 'Well, here's the thing, Perdes … I wouldn't have won if I'd challenged you to a fair fight.'

'Women have no honor.'

'You want those to be your last words?'

'My army will defeat you.'

'Last I checked, your commanders had surrendered, and were drinking with my generals in my war tent.'

'My people will never follow you,' he choked, blood leaking from his mouth. 'They follow warriors, kings, not little women.'

Fyia laughed. 'You're right, I'm no warrior. I am not tall and broad and formidable to look at. But turns out I can stick a dagger in a man's back just fine. Not to mention, I have a few assets you do not …'

'Witch …' He made a disgusting gurgling noise, and then his eyes fluttered closed.

'Careful, if the Fae'ch hear you, they'll curse your afterlife … they would never class me among their ranks.'

'You are nothing next to me …' He dragged in a breath. 'I am a king!'

'And yet, I have my army, yours too, my magic, and, oh yes, I have a brain—something you lack … something all of you lacked. You got fat and lazy, and I conquered five kingdoms. I believe I'm the only leader alive who can lay claim to that.'

He grunted, but no words followed.

Fyia crouched by his side and watched as he took his last labored breath, then reached down and removed his crown. She'd put it with the others … she'd cast it into the fiery pits of Hell.