Wednesday has come around again, and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
Lothain knelt beside the fire, feeding it bits of kindling as the light and warmth slowly increased. The feat had taken too long on the drizzly night with his powers spent.
Glancing up, he watched Elora still sitting within her stupor, clutching the flask he’d given her. She’d yet to take the smallest sip.
Lothain straightened, trusting the fire to remain a moment. “Elora.” He knelt beside her. After several repetitions she looked at him blankly. “Elora,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against hers.
“No,” she gasped jerking back. “I do not deserve your kindess.”
Scowling, Lothain regarded his wife. “Why?”
“Because…” she flounders and looked away. “The chancellor’s accusation is true.”
His son was not his own blood. A fact proven for all when Kallus had failed to ignite the flames he no longer could.
“I always knew.” Lothain said quietly.
Elora’s attention snapped up, her eyes refocusing. “You knew?”
Lothain ignored her panicked question. “But he is my son.” Lothain put all his mustered strength into his words.
“But not the son the kingdom needs,” a familiar voice bellowed.
Straightening, Lothain stood between Elora, the chancellor, and the men following him.
“The queen’s infidelity threatens the kingdom, Sire.” The chancellor raised his chin. “Turn her over to us.”
Lothain shook his head. “No.” The fire behind flared casting the clearing into stark light. Kallus stood at the edge, glowering. The fire had answered his anger.
“Kallus is my son,” Lothain repeated. “Not all flames light fast.”
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