Page 33 of The Stolen Kingdom

The first month was spent recruiting. They scoured every corner for rogue soldiers, many of whom were overwhelmed with emotion at seeing her alive.

Their queen. Hurt, broken, and sick, but alive.

Some fell to their knees in reverence, but Valda refused to allow it. The era of kings and queens being seen as divine creatures was over. She was as human as they were.

She suffered, just like them.

In the days that followed, they set up camps across Umbriel. Farther south, in an unforgiving landscape where no one dared venture, Valda, Isen, and a small group of Skylian defectors made camp far from Titania City. The environment was brutal—scorching during the day and freezing at night.

In the evenings, Valda often crept out of her tent, vomited her anxiety and returned to her cot, feeling no better. The frigid night air just made her miss her mate more.

She wondered how Maris was doing. Was she well? Did she feel this unbearable emptiness?

Every night, Valda called out to her, praying Maris would finally listen and stop turning away, stop blocking the bond that tethered them.

In her torturous dreams, she always asked the same questions:Can I find you?

Are you well?

Her voice dissolved into suffocating silence.

I miss you.

She would hear phantom footsteps retreating into the void.

I miss you.

Frustration twisted her insides. She gritted her teeth.

I miss you…

Valda would wake in the suffocating darkness of her tent, her chest heaving, the horrible sound of men’s snores drifting in from outside as Cerberus lay curled at her feet.

Footsteps outside always stirred her, dragging her from her restlessness. Yet each time she investigated, it was only Isen, tending the fire at the center of their camp.

“You’re sick,” Isen muttered, feeding another log to the flames.

“It won’t go away,” Valda said. “It’s been over a month. Why am I still sick?”

“I can’t answer that.” Isen glanced at her. “Have you been able to contact her?”

“She keeps avoiding me. She blocks our bond except at night.”

Isen twitched and turned his attention away from the fire. “You can contact her in the evening?”

“Sometimes. I see her silhouette, fragments of her within the shadows.”

“That’s good then. She is lowering her guard.”

“But I can’t talk to her,” Valda snapped, running her hands through her hair. “She doesn’t listen.”

“Maybe there’s a block within you as well?” Isen suggested, arching a brow.

Valda frowned. “Why would I block myself from her?”

“Anger can create walls,” Isen said. “Maybe there’s something you don’t want to face. Something you’re too angry to remember.”

Valda swallowed hard and rubbed her chest. Anger wasn’t a stranger in her heart. It was always there, permanent and bubbling. Then came Maris, and the anger dimmed until it was nothing more than a whisper…

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