Reborn From Ashes: The King's Ruthless Queen

The heat wasn't just around her; it was inside her, a living thing devouring the air in her lungs.

She looked down at the bundle in her arms. Emily. Her beautiful, five-year-old Emily. She was heavy, dead weight against her chest, her skin already cooling even as the room turned into an inferno. The smoke stung her eyes, blinding her, but she didn't need to see to know Emily was gone.

A beam crashed down, sending a shower of sparks onto the rug. Through the haze of orange and black, she saw him.

Kenney.

He was crawling toward the door, a wet handkerchief pressed to his face. He hadn't looked back. Not once. He hadn't checked the crib. He hadn't called her name.

"Kenney!" she screamed, but the sound was just a rasp of ash.

She lunged forward. Her legs were burning, her nightgown catching fire, but she didn't feel the pain. She only felt the rage. It was colder than death.

She grabbed his ankle.

He kicked back, wild panic in his eyes as he turned. When he saw her-saw the fire eating her hair, saw the dead child in her arms-he didn't reach for her. He recoiled.

"Let go!" he shrieked.

She clawed her way up his leg, ignoring the flames licking at her back. She reached for his throat. She wanted to take him with her. If she was going to hell, he was driving the carriage.

"See you there," she whispered, her voice cracking. "See you in hell, my love."

The ceiling groaned. A massive timber, wreathed in fire, snapped free directly above them.

Pain. Absolute, white-hot, shattering pain.

And then, silence.

The burning stopped. Instantly.

It was replaced by a cold so sharp it made her teeth ache.

She gasped, her body jerking upright. Her hands flailed in the air, grasping for a throat that wasn't there. Her chest heaved, sucking in greedy gulps of air that tasted of lavender and stale dust, not smoke.

"Emily!" The name tore out of her throat, raw and terrified.

She wasn't in the fire. She was sitting on her bed. The velvet duvet was cool under her sweating palms. The curtains were intact, heavy and blue, blocking out the winter morning light.

The door creaked open. Sophie, her maid, stood there, a basin of water in her hands. Sophie's eyes went wide.

"Madam?" Sophie took a step back, water sloshing over the rim of the basin. "You look... are you ill?"

She didn't answer. She threw the covers off and scrambled out of bed. Her bare feet hit the cold floorboards, and the sensation was so grounding, so real, she almost sobbed.

She grabbed Sophie by the shoulders. Her grip was bruising. "Where is she? Where is Emily?"

"Miss Emily?" Sophie stammered, flinching at her intensity. "She's in the nursery. Asleep. It's barely seven, Madam."

She shoved past her. She didn't run; she stumbled, her legs feeling like jelly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped