Chapter 6: The Queens Beyond the Sea
The sea was black and wild under a sky torn with stormlight. Sir Salty stood at the bow of the longship, his wolf-pelt cloak flapping like a banner behind him. Waves lashed the hull, salt biting into every crack of leather and steel. Yet his eyes never wavered from the eastern horizon.
He had left the war council three days prior, setting out alone at dawn with a single order from Lord Eldric: bring back reinforcements, or we all burn.
Salty’s journey was harsh and lonely. After making landfall on the jagged shores of Galbrin, he rode day and night—across wind-raked cliffs, mist-wreathed mountains, and through forests whispering with forgotten magic. His battle axe never left his side. Wild beasts and roaming bandits fell before him, their blood steaming on stone.
But now, at last, as the final golden light spilled across the plains of Virellia, two ivory towers rose in the distance—spires of the Citadel of Queens.
A fanfare of horns greeted him at the gates.
He dismounted, dust-covered and weathered, his muscles aching with the weight of the road. Waiting atop the marble steps were two women of legend—Queen Sarah of the West and Queen Michelle of the South, rulers of twin realms united in blood and purpose.
Queen Sarah stepped forward first—tall, commanding, with cascading blonde hair the colour of sunlit wheat. Her emerald gown shimmered with every step, cut to accentuate her voluptuous curves, the neckline daring, yet regal. Her green eyes, sharp as falcon’s, softened as they met Salty’s.
“Sir Salty of the Highlands,” she said, voice smooth and teasing, “the legends did not lie.”
Her eyes flicked to his chest, broad and marked by old scars. Her smirk curved upward.
“You're soaked in salt, blood, and danger. Just our type.”
Queen Michelle joined her with a graceful strut, her brown hair tied in flowing braids, eyes deep and smouldering. Her skin was bronze from the southern sun, her dress a fiery red, snug around full hips and a bust that had ended wars before they'd begun.
“And yet you come to ask for help,” Michelle purred. “Tell us why we should give it.”
Salty dropped to one knee, not out of subservience, but honour.
“The Orc lords are coming. Chios demons walk our realm. I’ve seen villages turned to ash. The horns of war sound across the kingdoms. If we do not stand together now, we will all fall—one by one, screaming in the dark.”
Silence.
Then Sarah nodded, turning to her sister queen.
“I tire of court games,” she said. “The time has come to remind the world what our people are made of.”
Michelle’s lips parted in a wicked grin. “Let them hear the thunder of our lancers again. Let them feel our arrows in their filthy hides.”
They each raised a hand, and the bells of the Citadel rang out.
By dusk, the fields beyond the towers were alive with motion. Ranks of archers drilled in silent unison, longbows glinting in the twilight. Crossbowmen loaded bolts into repeating cranks. Men-at-arms trained with heavy pikes, marching in formation with steel discipline. And at the edge of the camp, the Lancers of the Crimson Star—armoured horsemen draped in crimson and silver—galloped through war drills with terrifying precision.
Salty watched from the battlements as the war host of Virellia assembled.
He felt a hand on his shoulder—Queen Sarah, now in a travelling cloak lined with fox fur.
“When this war is over,” she murmured, “you’ll stay with us for a time, won’t you?”
Michelle stepped beside her, pressing in close, her perfume sweet and intoxicating.
“Yes,” she whispered, “a knight like you deserves more than just blood and steel. You'll find warmth here… after the fires of war die down.”
Sir Salty, for the first time in days, allowed himself a crooked smile.
“I’ve never turned down a good reward.”
The drums sounded. The banners of Virellia unfurled.
And Salty, Queens at his side, turned back toward the western horizon—toward the battle that would decide the fate of the world.
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