Page 38 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

Creagan set his tankard down. “That's a dangerous word.”

“It's also an honest one.”

“What proof has anyone offered that she isn't the rightful queen?”

Alastair scratched his chin for a moment. “None that I've seen.”

“Yet you're willing to question her right to the throne.”

“I'm willing to listen,” Alastair corrected.

Creagan shook his head. “Then whoever started these rumors has already accomplished more than you realize.”

Alastair's brow creased.

“They don't need to prove Eudora has no right to the crown,” Creagan continued. “They only need enough men like you wondering if she does.”

Silence settled between them.

Alastair finally took another drink. “You sound as though you've given this thought.”

“More than I intended.”

And more than he cared to admit.

Later that night, Creagan lay awake in the chamber Alastair always gave him when he visited. Small, unpretentious, and it had the most comfortable bed Creagan had ever slept in.

He lay there, staring into the darkness. He'd heard drunken men complain about Eudora. Farmers wondering what would happen if the rumors proved true. A merchant who'd heard whispers at the port. Now a respected chieftain was questioning whether the woman sitting on Morra Mist's throne belonged there.

Someone was stirring trouble. Creagan was certain of it now, yet still no summons.

He folded his hands behind his head. “What are you waiting for, Eudora?”

He had barely finished the thought when everything around him seemed to fall away.

Then the words came.

“War that conquers, thunder that roars,

The final strike when kingdoms fall.

By debt unbroken, by promise bound,

Hear my voice and heed my call.

I summon thee to me… Queen Eudora of Morra Mist.

Creagan sat up and for several moments he said nothing.

Then a slow grin spread across his face. “About time.”

Chapter Twelve

Legion, Torden, & Creagan

Legion saw the three oaks through the trees long before he reached them.

They had stood there longer than anyone could remember, their massive trunks scarred by centuries of wind and weather, their roots twisting through the earth and tangling together until it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began. High above, their branches stretched toward one another, forming a canopy so thick that little sunlight reached the ground beneath them.