Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 81 - Chapitre 90

I let it hang there a moment, my eyes tracing the lines of the council table. The memories that still flickered like shards of broken glass through my mind.A man’s face. A war I lost. A world I burned.But… I wasn’t that woman now. Not entirely.When I spoke, my voice was soft. Calm. But every ear turned. “The Moon Queen does not answer to dukes,” I said quietly, looking directly at Nicholas. “Nor to merchant guilds. Nor even to the Divine Realms.”His jaw tensed, just slightly.“I may not remember everything,” I continued, voice gaining strength, “but I remember this: I am the balance between realms. You do not argue over trade stones while shadows gather.”The lights in the ceiling flared suddenly brighter as if punctuating my words. Some of the nobles shifted uncomfortably. “Let me make myself clear,” I said. “The Old Realm’s strength is not in its stones, its borders, or its immortal years. It is in its unity. And unity begins here.”Khalisto’s dark eyes narrowed. But to my surpr

The merchant scribbled frantically on a scroll as I listed ingredients:— Goats’ fat and hardened wax from magic bees.— Lye, harvested from burnt moon-wood ash.— Lavender and rosemary from floating gardens.— Mint and foxglove petals for scent.— Alkanet root for color.— Shimmering frost leaf—one of the few magical plants that produced bubbles naturally when mixed with water.“We’ll mix the fat and lye first,” I explained, pointing to a giant cauldron already in the center of the floor. “It’ll saponify. Then we add herbs, essential oils, frost leaf powder to make it lather.”“And… the shampoo?”“Similar,” I said. “But liquid form. Infused with silk seed oil for softness. Peppermint extract to soothe the scalp. Elven apple essence for scent.”The workers all gathered around me now. Wereman apprentices, elven scribes, humans in plain clothes.“Do not use too much frost leaf,” I warned. “Or it will burn the skin.”They listened. I showed them step by step: melting fat, stirring in ash

The wind screamed across the cliff like it was singing my name—Kyla. Over and over again, whispered in salt and storm. I wasn’t sure if it was the island mocking me or if I’d finally gone so far past loneliness that the rocks and sky had started talking back.One year. Two. Maybe a hundred.I stopped counting after the sun rose for the ten-thousandth time and I no longer cared what day it was.Now I stood tall—not by choice, but because crouching hurt worse. My back straightened against the weight of time, not pride.Behind me: a makeshift crown of dried vines and twigs glued to my hair by old sap. The kind of thing a child might fashion in play. Or a queen exiled for so long she’d forgotten what real crowns felt like.Once, I wore a cobalt circlet that shimmered like moonlight and sapphires. Now? Sap and sticks.Pathetic.A voodoo doll of myself.I could feel the ache in my bones as if they remembered a palace made of silver pillars, floating towers, and marble halls buzzing with imm

I wouldn’t consider Margaux nice. She is a siren, and sirens are not kind creatures.When I first stumbled upon her as I bathed naked in her little watering hole, she tried to slit my throat with a jagged piece of coral.Forgive and forget though, right?No, our friendship is a balancing act of trading secrets and otherwise unattainable goods. In a way, we’re similar she and I.She once told me she was an aging two-legged witch.She said centuries ago she was cursed to live the rest of her days as a woman of the sea.But maybe that was just a lie to make me feel connected to her in my banishment.“Margaux, can’t it be enough that I want to look good for you?” I wink playfully.“By the Goddess Nature, do not dare bother to look nice on my account. Let yourself go. All natural.”After a moment of silence, she adds. “You’re getting faster at catching those fat round land birds.”“I call them chickens.” Inwardly, I feel proud that this feat has gotten easier in the recent weeks. My first

"I never said I was cute." I plant my palms firmly on my hips.He pauses his groaning work on the knotted vine to peer down at me, his gaze lingering on the curves of my breasts that are nearly at eye level to him right now when he looks my way.I shift, and he clears his throat before struggling awkwardly with his vine again.With an umph, he lands with both feet on the ground.He appears unharmed, but he looks rather bothered as he dusts off his pants and shirt. He pats along his belt, forgetting he no longer wears his weapon.“Give me that back.” One long finger points to the sword in my hand.“I rather like it. I think I’ll keep it.” I wink.“That’s a family heirloom. I’d rather you not tarnish my good name by losing it.”“Wow, that was a really rude thing to say. I can’t believe you wouldn’t trust me—an outcast and dishonored Queen.” I feign offence, one hand fluttering to my chest. Both hands shove against his lean hips, his shirt still ruffled from his ride on the rabbit trap.