Semua Bab Queen Luna: Once Rejected, Now Ruthless: Bab 61 - Bab 70

“Your Highness!” someone shouted beside me. “We’re being overrun!”Another orc crashed through the side. I ducked under his blade, swung my axe upward, cutting through his gut, then leapt forward, bellowing.“TO ME! PUSH FOR THE RIDGE! PROTECT THE QUEEN!”I led the charge myself.Through fire. Through the crackling magic. Through the stench of blood and burning mana.My boots splashed through mud and gore. My sword flashed like sunlight in a storm.Kyla was falling back—her magic flickering, her hand bleeding where a wraith blade had grazed her ribs.No.Not now.“KYLA!” I roared.One of the wraiths lunged for her.I appeared behind it, blade raised, and with a snarl—cut it clean through the middle.Black mist exploded.She turned, breathing hard.“You came.”“I said I would.”Another wraith shrieked. Kyla raised her hand and blasted it with a wind spear. I threw my blade at the last one, then caught her arm.“You’re hurt.”“So are you.”“I heal faster.”“I sass harder.”I stared at h

“Where’s Aldrian?” I said aloud, the words tasting wrong in the back of my throat.Khy looked at me sharply. Even his wolf seemed to flinch.And then—Mr. Yellow, perched on the twisted horn of a fallen beast, narrowed his eyes and dropped his usual sass.“I didn’t see him,” the rabbit said quietly, ears twitching. “Not once.”“That’s bad,” I said.“How bad?” Khy asked, rising to his feet slowly, his blade still dripping gore.“If Aldrian didn’t show up in a summoning meant to unleash elder magic,” Mr. Yellow muttered, eyes tracking something unseen in the shadows, “then it’s because he’s already doing something worse somewhere else.”I frowned. A sick feeling coiled in my gut, deeper than instinct. Older than memory.My gaze drifted past the field, past the broken rituals, past the fading spells. All the way to the central gate.To where I could still see her—Kyla, bathed in stormlight and steel, blade high, holding the southern line like a queen made for chaos.“He’s not here for war

KYLA’S POVThe dungeon rift had disappeared. One moment it had clawed the sky open like a wound—And then, just like that, it was gone.No warning. No grand ending. Just a severed scream and a silence that rang louder than thunder.We had stood frozen for a long, suspended heartbeat. Even the howling wind seemed stunned. But war doesn’t wait. The battlefield stilled… and then began to breathe again.The warriors—blood-soaked, exhausted, some limping, some carrying comrades in their arms—began the long, silent march back to the castle grounds. Some dragged broken spears, others carried the fallen wrapped in cloaks that had once served as banners. I led them, sword still in hand, my magic sparking faintly at my fingertips.I didn’t let it go. Not yet.The wind around me still crackled, whispering names I hadn’t learned yet—names of the dead, of the lost, of those who had given their final breath so the rest of us could walk back through that gate.The castle loomed ahead, smoke still c

(The Summoning of the Deep One)The storm above the Spire twisted, bloated with violet lightning and streaks of burning frost. It screamed like a child being born upside-down through fire and teeth. My witches had formed a twelve-point star now, standing barefoot in the black salt that crusted the floor like ancient sin. Blood dripped from their palms, their eyes glazed in trance. Their voices echoed with chants that hadn’t been heard since before the kingdoms learned to write.“Florence,” murmured Lysana, my second-in-command. Her voice cracked, half in reverence, half in fear. “She’s answering.”I stepped to the edge of the summoning circle, arms raised, palms stained crimson.“Then bow, witches,” I hissed. “The First One comes.”The ground beneath the Spire groaned—no, moaned. A deep, sorrowful, angry sound, like the world itself regretted what we were doing. The cracked obsidian under our feet splintered wider. Steam hissed from the chasms. The forest outside stopped breathing.An

Lanterns flickered against stone walls that smelled of salves and herbs. Healers padded in and out like ghosts, whispering to each other with worried eyes. But the real ghosts were inside the rooms—the ones we saved, the ones we couldn’t.My hand hesitated on the handle to Room 3.I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe silence. Maybe shame. Maybe—just maybe—peace.Instead, when I opened the door, I was met with the loud clink of a wooden spoon against a metal bowl and the exaggerated chewing of my father.Fidel Black.Thinner than I remembered. Rougher. His beard had gone fully grey, and the hollows of his cheeks told the story of a man who had led a pack through hell—and failed. But he was still him. His sharp eyes lifted when he saw me, and for a moment, I almost forgot I was the Queen. I was just… Kyla. His daughter.Or so I thought.“You always did like to knock, even when the door was open,” he said, smirking around a mouthful of broth.“You always did pretend you were civilized,”