The chill of the water was a forgotten sensation as Auren's words wrapped around her, warmer than any flame. His hand, large and comforting, rubbed slow circles on her hip. "Let her try. It changes nothing for us, El. You are my wife. My queen." His voice was a low, unwavering promise. "And her wrath will fall on many heads before it finds Arin. If it ever does."
"But if they don't find her," Elyra mused, her thoughts churning, the terror of the throne room still a raw wound. "Then there will be no heir. And the King… he is fading. What then?"
"Then chaos," Auren said, his voice grim, a shadow passing over his golden eyes. "The kind of chaos Therain thrives on. The kind Roen dreams of. A war for the throne. Blood will run in the streets of Drakoryth."
