Chapter 1

We are next on the Burbarre’s list—to be invaded, conquered, and likely slaughtered.

So many lands lie between my kingdom and theirs that we never worried about the Burbarre. In the high, forested cliffs of my homeland, Fiore, they are like far-off dragons—not quite myth but not quite real. Our children understand that they are not to cross their borders, and that is enough.

We had no reason to fear the Burbarre until they began moving.

Paintings hang in my castle of every major race on our continent. Of course there is us: Humans. Then there are the trollkin, who occupy the northern parts of the world. Then the elves who ride wolves.

And finally, the Burbarre.

We’re accustomed to fighting off trolls, and we erected great walls along their borders to keep them out. For the most part, that works. Scattered throughout my castle are many masterpieces portraying warriors battling an orc, a troll, or a goblin.

But the Burbarre painting? It stands alone in a hallway near the conservatory, depicting an enormous man with great horns and fur that begins at his waist and rolls down the rest of his powerful, ox-like legs. He is bare-chested and wearing only a loincloth, covered in muscle that looks carved from stone. On my way to smell the roses my gardener has been carefully cultivating for me, I always stop to look at it. Throughout my years as queen, I’ve been curious about this creature. He only appears as a monstrous figure with a huge axe in his hand, the blade buried in the mud as if he has given up his fight. It always feels like his deep-set eyes are boring into mine. The Burbarre draws me in and holds me there, riveted to him until a sound or interruption finally tears me away.

There is a great uproar among my advisors when the Burbarre suddenly charge into the elves’ neighboring woods. We consider sending aid, but we have never established any kind of alliance with the elves. No, interfering could set us on a collision course with the Burbarre too, and that’s the last thing Fiore needs. Instead, my advisors and I all hope that the monstrous beasts simply want the towering oak trees and will turn around and leave once they’re finished.

Unfortunately, it’s not long before my scouts return to tell us the Burbarre bludgeoned their way through the elves’ ranks, bringing them to their knees. Our fear grows. My fear grows, and I am right to be afraid. Once the Burbarre have finished taking the elven lands, they turn their sights on us.

I understand at last that we are next.

We arm ourselves as best we can. Every able-bodied person in the kingdom takes up a sword or an axe, or even a backhoe, and my military officers provide brief combat training. We don’t have much time, and our people are not soldiers. No—they are peaceful, hardworking, and kind. They are not meant for war.

Nevertheless, they raise their weapons to defend our kingdom. We arrive to the battlefield ready for whatever our enemies might have for us. And I, as their queen, stand in the front with my sword at the ready. I will be the first to defend my people, and I will do it to the death.

As the Burbarre approach the far hillside, some ride horses bigger than any I have ever seen—great black beasts standing at least three hands taller than any of our own. Many Burbarre travel on foot, too, and they are still astounding figures, standing seven feet tall before reaching the huge horns that grow from their heads. They wear little armor, mainly leather. Both males and females wield swords, axes, and halberds. Their males are as massive as the Burbarre in my painting; their females are lithe, well-muscled, and just as fearsome.

They have come to destroy us. Once their mission is completed, they will stampede over the remains of my people to storm my city, and I still don’t know what we’ve done to earn their fury.

Instead of charging in on their horses as we had predicted, the Burbarre send one emissary on a powerful stallion, demanding to speak with me and only me.

I decide that I will ride to meet him alone.

“You cannot, my Queen,” my generals say. “What if our enemies choose to kill you on the spot? We cannot lose you.”

But it is me the Burbarre wish to speak with, and it is me that they will get. “I am the only one who needs to hear, and decide, what comes next for us,” I tell them, and none dare contradict me. This is what they chose me for.

The empty battlefield is deathly silent as the emissary and I approach one another and stop a few yards apart. I am, I must admit, interested to hear what this messenger has to say. Perhaps there is something I can do to stop this invasion; maybe they have an agreement to propose. Whatever it is, I will eagerly hear it. I cannot bear to see my subjects, my farmers, merchants, and mothers, torn down. As much as I hold my head high, I know that we will fall like so many playing cards.

“Your Majesty, Queen Dienne of Fiore,” the emissary says, putting one fist on his chest and bending at the waist. I didn’t expect them to speak our language, not to mention fluently. “Our commander, Prince Jakol, wishes to speak with you.”

“Is that not what you came for?” I ask. “Tell me what your prince’s terms are.”

“It is not for me to say.” He bows again. “Please, will you come with me so that you may speak to him face-to-face?”

They want me to walk right into the lion’s den? Perhaps this is his plan: To kill me privately and then parade my head around the battlefield to intimidate my forces.

My trepidation must show on my face because the Burbarre adds, “No harm will come to you.”

“How can I believe that?” I ask. “Your people have already done quite a bit of harm on your journey here.”

He nods. “Our prince seeks to unify the world, to bring all of us under a single flag for our peace and cooperation. There will, of course, be sacrifices along the way.”

What foolish nonsense. “This is war, not peace,” I say. “What your people have done is quite contrary to any cooperation.”

“Please,” the Burbarre insists again. “The Prince does not wish it to come to that. Not with you, my Queen.”

So perhaps there is a way out. I wonder what this “prince” has planned and what offer is in store for me if I go along with his request.

“Fine.” If he takes this opportunity to lop off my head and I don’t return, my people will know what to do. My generals don’t need me to wage a war and protect our country. “Take me to him.”