Sunset Valley Tell it to my heart,

her sobs stutter beneath the strength of his grip.
his callused paw presses firm into her cheek and forces her gaze to his—snout to snout, fire to fire. morwenna stares, pupils wide with grief, rimmed with the glinting wetness of fresh tears. his breath is harsh against her, demanding, searing through the fog of her pain. and she does not resist. not as he grips her. not as he snarls the words that rake down her spine like iron claws.
queen, he calls her. drottning.
her lips tremble, parted with the weight of everything she cannot say. her children. her body, ravaged. the blood of ishmira still clung to her memories, matted and fresh. and she sees her, in the moment of her last breath—her eyes. wide and so full of trust. of loyalty. of love.
morwenna had failed her.
blackfell’s words crash over her, cruel only because they must be. you are not this weak woman, morwenna. you are queen. act like it.
and she would.
a slow breath pulls into her lungs. steady. heavy. like thunder gathering in the hollow of her chest. she stares into the eyes of her warhound, the only man who had never flinched beneath her grief.
her blood sings.
then crown me, she whispers, voice low, shaking, but not from fear. crown me in ash and vengeance, blackfell. and bring me the head of the man who broke my son and destroyed my family. her jaw flexes, defiant now, no longer broken.
and i will burn the saatsine to the bone.