This story starts on the first day of summer, some months before the first snowflakes would descend. It was a hottest and stickiest time of the day when Arynn Algerone heard boots thudding in the hallway outside of her den. The gilded candelabra nearly toppled over and fell onto the rug when the door swung open. Keelie's heavy boots thudded on the stone stairs as he descended them, leaving a trail of white sand behind him.

Arynn's frown was already etched deep into the line around her mouth when he came to a stop in front of her. He was tall for his age, with broad shoulders and long arms. His face was like that of a baby, but his eyes were sharp and alert. And his mind was quicker than all of the soldiers' combined. "I was in the woods when one of Addinell's troops found me," he said as he handed her a letter. "They told me to bring this to you."

She took the letter from him, and turned it over in her hand. The red seal keeping the letter closed bore a crown; the seal of the Icarkian king. Arynn broke the seal and unrolled the paper. A neat scribble in black stood out against the ivory of the parchment. She read the message several times, before turning her eyes back to Keelie. She crumpled the parchment in her hand and threw. It landed on a burning log in the fireplace. He watched it catch flame and turn black.

At last, he said. "I take it you don't like what's written in it, then."

"You can tell the kark that if he needs me, he should come to me. I'm not his subject, and I am sure as hell not his dog."

It didn't take very long before the den was swarming with men in glinting armour and long cloaks, both red and green. At the very centre stood the man who had called the meeting, King Geoffrey Addinell, ruler of Icark. The man was built like a bull, with broad shoulders and strong legs. There was no doubt that he could crush her skull with just his bare hands. Arynn would be quivering if it weren't for the fact that she could kill him in a hundred ways. Give or take.

King Geoffrey lifted one of his hands to dismiss the guards behind him, and took a seat at the table. The dancing candlelight made his scaly armour glint. The man was dressed for war. They stared at each other for a long time, several feet away from each other. Both flanked by their guards. His bushy blond eyebrow raised as his eyes slid to the armoured guards behind Arynn, and asked, "Don't they trust me enough to be alone in a room with you?"

A faint smile ghosted Arynn's face as she said, "No, it's not that. They don't trust me to be alone in a room with you."

"I heard that you turned down my invitation to meet me in my castle. Why is that?"

"You need me, you come to me."

"You'll address your king by Your Majesty, you scum." This came from the man at Geoffrey's side. His name was Gavriel Hailgon, son of a very wealthy and powerful lord. He was tall, blond and pompous. He was the king's most trusted adviser, flanking him at every meeting. Like he was doing just then. But more importantly, he was a thorn in Arynn's side.

Arynn schooled her features into a collected mask as not to let her irritation show. "And you'll only speak when spoken to, lapdog. Go sit in a corner and wag your tail or whatever." The men behind her laughed, and Gavriel's face fell.

"Lady Algerone," said Geoffrey.

Arynn said flatly, "I'm not a lady."

She wasn't. She hadn't been raised in a castle and been waited on by servants. She hadn't learned to walk with her back straight with a pile of books on her head. She hadn't learned to lift her pinky when drinking from a teacup. Instead, she'd been taught to carry shield and wield sword and battle axes. Her back only straightened when she felt threatened. The books she read were about the greatest wars ever fought and those who had died to save their people. And she had only learned to drink whiskey to drown out the pain when the healers stitched her up or set a broken bone. She wasn't a lady. She never would be.

"It's not like that is any news to us," Gavriel commented us his breath.

"I'm a Vaeilia," said Arynn after she chose to ignore the brat. "Do not dismiss my power when you're in a room surrounded by my men, King Geoffrey. So, tell me. What brings you to the Nest?"

The Nest was the name of Arynn's training camp. It sat on the border of Icark and Toharia, the two most powerful kingdoms in Eoslira. It was only fitting that the most powerful army was stationed on their border. It was a fortress; a kingdom of its own. It was Arynn's home.

"Laura and I were married off to each other to stop the war our countries, and it worked. For years there was peace, but after yesterday, I don't think that peace will remain."

Laura of Beckenhall, daughter of the Lord of Beckenhall was a Tohari by blood and birthright. She was the heiress to Beckenhall, and most importantly, the Tohari throne. But all of that had been taken away from her when she'd been married off to Geoffrey. After twenty years of marriage and good behaviour, Laura snapped and gave the order to kill a group of Tohari born citizens of Icark.

"Your zefrim butchered my people and fled like a coward. Of course there won't be any more peace between our countries. That is an invitation for war."

"But we don't have the men to fight one."

"What do you mean? You have the second largest army on the continent."

"Laura took the majority of our army and fled to the mountains before any of us found out what was going on. We have no men to fight a war against the most powerful army in the world. To fight that war would be like committing suicide."

"And how is that my problem?"

"Laura is a Beckenhall. She's Tohari by blood. She killed her own people!"

"Laura stopped being Tohari the day she married you. I don't care about the people she butchered; they knew what might happen if they crossed the border. We may not have gone to war for a long time, but the hatred for each other remains. So, tell me, King Geoffrey. Why are you here?"

The king's face closed off for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. He rolled his head back, exposing the column of his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and then looked to Arynn. The king let out a laugh that rumbled deep in his chest; a laugh that promised violence. Arynn simply stared back at him unruffled and unimpressed.

"I want you to help me capture my wife and take back the Winter Palace."

She leaned back in her seat, slowly and lazily. She was aware that this meeting could go one of two ways. They would either strike a bargain; perhaps one that would later come back to bite her in the ass. Or they wouldn't, and blood would be shed on her expensive throw pillows. Should that happen, first blood would be hers. Always. But she wasn't in the mood for cleaning blood off her sword today.

"And what am I to gain from it? Don't tell me that I can get my revenge. I'm not feeling very vengeful today."

His eyes danced. "Perhaps you'll feel that way tomorrow."

Arynn's face remained blank. "You have two minutes to offer me something I cannot refuse, or I will throw out all of you."

"I can offer you a crown," said Geoffrey.

There was a pause, and then a scoff. "I have no need for a crown, Onat Sojayxar (Your Majesty). The only crown I need is a helmet as I lead my men into battle."

"The battlefield is no place for a woman," said Gavriel. Arynn had almost forgotten that he was even in the room. He fixed his tunic, the golden thread catching the candlelight. The thin fabric whispered with movement as he raised his hand to flick away a stubborn curl that had fallen in front of his eyes.

Arynn's lip curled. "Yet here is your kark, begging me to help him take down his beloved zefrim." She'd always known there would come a day when Icark would call for aid, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon. And she definitely hadn't expected it to be to help them capture its queen. They must have been truly desperate to come to her for help. She delighted in it.

"Hear me out, Arynn. My son, Iyer, will soon ascend the throne, and he is in need of a wife. If you marry him, there will be no reason for our countries to even go to war anymore. Just think about it," pleaded Geoffrey.

"I want her dead," said Arynn, as she toyed with a lock of her brown hair. It was long, wavy and bland. She usually tied it up in a ponytail, but she'd let it hang loose today. Dozens of pearls and beads glinted in her hair, woven into the ends of the small braids and twists. She coiled the lock around her finger. "I want her to be butchered like she butchered my people."

"I thought you didn't care about them," Geoffrey said amusedly.

"I changed my mind," said Arynn, sitting up straight. The men behind Geoffrey shifted at her sudden shift in position. Their hands slowly moved to their swords, ready to draw and defend their king if she should strike; if she should give the order to do so. She levelled a flat stare at them all. "I'm feeling patriotic and vengeful. I suggest you get your beauty sleep, King Geoffrey. We ride at dawn."

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