The Witch Queen
Copyright © 2025 by Alexandria Arden
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Alexandria Arden:
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Selkkie Designs
Illustrations by Whitney Law of New Ink Book Services
First Edition: May 2025
Contents
Dedication
For all the women who had to shoulder too much at an early age —
I see you.
And you are not alone.
Playlist
The Witch Queen has a playlist to accompany your reading experience, if you'd like. Each chapter has it's own song, with one bonus song at the end. Song choices were made with extreme and careful consideration by me, and the songs either give you more insight into the character, match the vibes of the chapter, or might even give you an easter egg for future books.
If you'd like to list, you can find it on Spotify, at this link:
Content & Trigger Warnings
The Witch Queen is an adult fantasy romance book, intended for audiences 18+. The violence and romance are often incredibly explicit. The content and trigger warnings below are intended to prepare readers for what they will experience. Some of these trigger warnings may provide minor spoilers for the book.
- Parental loss
- Explicit sexual activity
- Mention of sexual assault/ sexual harassment (not on the page)
- Very close call with sexual assault (but it is stopped before it happens)
- Brief reference to past suicidal ideation
- Mature language and cursing
- Violence – this is a fantasy book about war
- Explicit/ Gory Torture
- Depiction of a panic attack
- Death of loved ones
- Sexist/ patriarchal culture – none of the MCs share these beliefs
- Homophobic culture – none of the MCs share these beliefs
Please read responsibly. If you have any questions about these content and trigger warnings, please don't hesitate to contact me via email or social media.
@alexandriaardenauthor (I am most active on Instagram and TikTok)
Glossary
People
Laurel Elestren (lau-rel eh-less-tren) — Queen of Thayaria; The Witch Queen
Hawthorne Vicant (haa-thorn vie-kant) — Prince of Velmara; The Shining Prince
Mazus Vicant (ma-zes vie-kant) — King of Velmara; The Golden King
Nemesia Nestern (neh-me-see-uh nes-turn) — Chair of the Council of Advisors of Thayaria; former General of Thayaria
Silene Kalmeera (si-leen cal-meer-uh) — betrothed and best friend of Prince Hawthorne
Fionn Solanum (fee-on soh-lan-um) — best friend and guard of Prince Hawthorne
Carex Callaway (care-ux cal-uh-way) — captain of the Thayarian Royal Guard; former lover of Queen Laurel
Admon (ad-mohn) — advisor to Queen Laurel
Krantz (crants) — leader of the Sons and Daughters of Thayaria
Lobelia (lo-bee-lee-uh) - Queen of Delsar
Places
Thayaria (thay-r-ee-uh) — the kingdom within the Four Kingdoms with the most ley lines crossing it; the only place where the thayar flower grows
Velmara (vel-mar-uh) — the largest kingdom in the Four Kingdoms; known for it’s extensive collection of texts called the Velmaran Archive
Delsar (del-sarr) — the smallest of the Four Kingdoms; known for it’s fearsome female warriors
Reshnar (resh-narr) — the only kingdom within the Four Kingdoms with a human ruler and a democracy
Arberly (r-ber-lee) — the capitol of Thayaria
Arnia (r-nee-uh) — the capitol of Velmara
Nivan Desert (nigh-von) — a large stretch of land in Velmara where no ley lines cross, making it very challenging to channel the magic of the aether; both a magical and topographic desert
Echosa (eh-ko-suh) — a port town in Thayaria; the closest port to both Velmara and Delsar
Eless (el-us) — an estate named after the Elestren family, built in the region most populated by humans in Thayaria and near the location where Laurel’s mother was raised
Oakton (oak-tun) — a village in Thayaria, south of Arberly
Rusthelm (rust-helm) — a village in Thayaria, west of Arberly)
Miscellaneous
Aether (ay-thur) — the magical force of the world; magic users must channel it through a conduit in order to practice magic
Leylines (lay-lines) — concentration of aether that run like magical rivers across the Four Kingdoms
Aerstep (air-step-ing) — similar to teleportation; the act of using aether to disappear from one place and reappear in another. Can also be used to summon objects. The distance a magic user can aerstep is based on their magical strength.
Aether-heart (ay-thur hart) — the source of magic in a magical being; similar to a soul
Leymaster (lay-mas-tur) — an expert magic user; someone whose mastery over leylines and their own magic lends them the skills and knowledge to teach others
Aethermancer (ay-thur-man-ser) — a derogatory term referring to someone who conducts magical experiments or practices unsafe or even unsavory magic
Aether-voice (ay-thur voyse) — the ability only sitting monarchs in the Four Kingdoms possess to lace their voice with aether, allowing them to bend others less powerful than them to their will
Abscission (ab-si-zhen) — a two week period unique to Thayaria that starts the day of the Winter Solstice, where all the trees and other plants drop their leaves immediately and remain bare until the period is over. It is considered the coldest time of year in Thayaria and custom dictates that Thayarians relax and rest during this time period.
Map
hand drawn by the author
Prologue
“Get your ass up and be the Queen your people deserve,” a familiar feminine voice commands over the clinks and grunts of the battle below. “You don’t have the luxury of falling apart, not when your people are dying to protect you.”
Nemesia, my General and the only person who would dare address me so curtly, crouches down beside me and places her calloused warrior’s hand on my back. Voice softening, she adds, “I know you’re tired. I know you’re grieving. We all are. But if we lose this battle, it might be the end. Our only option is to keep pushing forward. We need a plan, Laurel.”
I stand and look down upon the battle from the hilltop where our command is set up, desperation and fear threatening to consume me. Fae soldiers clad in armor fight in the Valley of Moormyr below me, surrounded by snow-capped mountains, the wild thayar flowers crushed beneath their feet.
Just five years ago, my parents brought me to a festival held in this very valley. Now, the crimson petals and dark green leaves are indistinguishable from the blood, mud, and other gore of a three-day long battle. No one prepared me for the stench of war, or the mess of it, and I’ve learned the hard way in the last two months what endless skirmishes, raids, and battles do to the once picturesque landscape of my kingdom.
Grief stabs my insides, sending me to my knees again as I remember my parents and the festival that was their favorite event in Thayaria. Tears run down my face as I crumple, curling myself into a ball. I’ll never be able to finish this war, will never live up to the legacy of my parents. They ruled Thayaria for three hundred years, providing our kingdom with three centuries of peace and prosperity—how could I possibly replace them? I’m nowhere near ready to rule, not at only twenty years old. I was supposed to have centuries of training and preparation before I inherited their throne. With the long lives of the fae, my parents should have lived long enough to pass the throne to me gradually, staying on as advisors until I was ready to rule on my own. Now I’m alone, with no one to guide me or tell me how to end this war.
“Pull it together, Laurel,” Nemesia hisses, though not unkindly, breaking through my inner turmoil. Nemesia’s hand doesn’t leave my back as I stand again, knees weak and limbs uncertain. With a deep inhale, I turn to face the closest person I’ve ever had to a sibling, her hazel eyes staring back at me with deep set resolve. She’s barely out of fae adolescence herself, our centuries-long lives extending what humans consider early adulthood well into our fourth decade. At forty years old, she’s what humans consider early twenties, while I’m practically a teenager. Despite her age, Nemesia was the only person I considered appointing General of my armies when the time came to choose her mother’s replacement. “We need a plan. And I will not make it without you,” she repeats, her tall, lithe body—so unlike my own—towering over me. Tendrils of white-blonde hair escape her braid as the wind caresses her sharp and angular features. Dark tawny skin ripples with muscles in a tense stance.
“We need a plan,” I repeat, nodding in acknowledgement of all the things Nemesia isn’t saying aloud. We need my magic. Magic that I’m barely capable of wielding and that no one understands, myself included. Magic that my parents insisted—demanded—I keep secret. They gave their lives trying to protect me, trying to keep the full extent of my powers and my lack of control over them locked away. But I knew this moment would come. No matter how hard my parents fought to keep my magic—to keep me—a secret, I knew it wouldn’t work. Part of me wonders if that’s why Mazus launched this war to begin with. He wanted me to reveal the secrets of the prophecy-blessed heir, now ruler, of Thayaria.
Nemesia gives me an encouraging smile, lips cracked from weeks of sun and wind exposure.
I can’t allow myself to dwell on the prophecy, not now, not when it has completely and utterly destroyed my life. A fated love that will unite realms is what I was apparently destined for, though in much more flowery language than that. My entire life I’ve been lauded and praised for all the good I would eventually do, envied for the fate that awaited me. But the prophecy is nonsense. All I have is magic I can’t control, the blood of my people on my hands, and an impossible choice. I squeeze my eyes shut and deeply inhale, then center myself within the current of the aether flowing around me. I hold my breath for three seconds, then slowly exhale—just like I was taught by the leymaster my parents brought in when I started displaying abnormal magical powers at the age of nine.
Opening my eyes, Nemesia still stares back at me, eyes wide with expectation.
“What if there is no plan, Neme? What if—what if I don’t have enough magic to stop this?” I ask softly, my voice trembling.
Nemesia takes my hands in hers, looking deep into my eyes and seeing through me, like she always does. “I’ve seen you tap into the aether deeper than anyone ever has, Laurel.”
I sigh, dropping her hands. Her belief in me is both fortifying and suffocating. I look back down at the battle. My armies have dwindled to a few hundred soldiers, while Mazus has battalions still waiting in his army camp just outside the valley who have yet to join the fight. My eyes lock onto a female Thayarian soldier battling three massive Velmaran males, and my body tenses with recognition. She was once assigned to my personal guard. Though outnumbered, she drives forward with her sword, stabbing one Velmaran soldier in the stomach and parrying to slash the arm of another. For a moment, there’s a flare of hope in my chest that she may be able to take them—before a fourth soldier comes up behind her. He knocks her to the ground and swiftly slices the back of her neck. She slumps to the ground and doesn’t get up again.
Bile rises in my throat, but I force myself to stay standing. My shoulders slump in shame—I cannot remember her name.
Resolve hardens in my chest. My magic will not be enough—not with how unpredictable my control is. Night after night of this war, I’ve practiced, trying to use my aether gifts consistently. But each night, my empty hands remind me of all I’ve lost. No, there’s no plan, no scenario where we win this war. I decide on what a part of me always knew was inevitable.
“Send a message to Mazus,” I whisper to Nemesia, not wanting to say the words aloud but having no other option. “I want an audience with him. And a temporary respite from the battle while we… negotiate.” Nemesia gives me a hard look, the angles of her expression creating a sharp line from her jaw to her pointed fae ears. “Until then, we hold the line in case he doesn’t agree to the ceasefire.”
“What are you planning?” she asks warily.
“He asked for my hand. And like a fool I turned him down, believing myself destined for something greater because of that damned prophecy. Believing I didn’t have to marry a centuries-old male who makes my skin crawl.” I will not allow fanciful dreams to kill my people for another minute. “Send the message.” The last words are firm and final, the whispering uncertainty gone from my voice. I give her a look that once upon a time she would have told me was my queen look, eyes hardened and lips pursed. Then, we would have laughed at the idea that I’d one day be a queen. Now she only nods, hesitating briefly before striding back to the tent. I hear her shouting orders to her commanders, firm and brokering no argument. Several fae leave the war tent to send out the message to hold the line and not retreat. Not yet, at least.
It was always going to lead to this. I’ve given up on the idea of fated mates and destinies. Those dreams died with my parents.
Thayarian soldiers—my soldiers—battle two and three opponents at a time while we wait for what feels like ages for a response from Mazus. They’re tired and faltering. Then, I hear it: horns blaring and the order to fall back from the Velmaran commanders echoing across the valley. The Velmaran soldiers dutifully depart, eyes on my soldiers and weapons still up as they back away from the line of fighting. The brows of my soldiers furrow in skepticism, unsure what’s brought the fighting to such an abrupt halt.
My eyes immediately find Nemesia when I walk into the war tent. Her hardened eyes and the tense shoulders of her lieutenants make my heart drop from my chest. Reaching the huddled group, I ask, “What are his terms?”
“We can’t accept them, Your Majesty,” Nemesia quickly answers. “We’re preparing a missive now with our counter proposal.”
“What are his terms?” I demand this time, using the voice laced with the aether that compels any who are less powerful than me to obey my orders. I once loved hearing my mother use this voice.
Nemesia sighs. “He wants you to meet him in his personal tent. Alone. He asks that you bring no weapons, no advisors, and no guards. It’s an outrageous demand.”
“I’ll accept.”
“But—”
“Tell him I’ll be there in an hour,” I interrupt, then turn away, unable to meet Nemesia’s eyes. I know what she’s thinking. That I can’t do this. That this is everything my parents fought for and gave their lives to prevent. But I’m not willing to sacrifice my people in a selfish pursuit of love or magic.
An hour later, the crimson silk of my empire-waist dress swirls around me as I scan the Velmaran encampment across the valley, a spring storm building that makes the air dance with electricity. This is the same place I stood three days ago as this battle began, with the hope of a decisive victory filling my chest. Now all I feel is cold resolve.
“Are you sure—” Nemesia tries to say.
“I’m sure. Be ready for anything.”
I stride down the hill and cross the expanse between the two war camps. Fallen fae litter the landscape, impossible to distinguish friend from foe. As I walk, the noxious mud squelches beneath my feet with blood and other gore. I try to avoid getting the bottom of my dress dirty, slowly picking my way through the maze of severed limbs and abandoned weapons. Halfway across the expanse, I realize that it’s pointless, and Mazus should see what walking across the battlefield he created causes, even if it’s just a ruined dress.
As I approach, Velmaran soldiers break out in hisses of “witch,” and my cheeks heat with shame. Mazus was the first to use the word, and it’s taken off in the last few months of war. Narrowed eyes and pursed lips greet me when I finally reach the edge of their encampment, the soldiers on guard wary of me. Air channelers probe my body for weapons using wind, and when they’re satisfied I’ve complied with the terms, they nod to a guard standing outside what must be Mazus’s personal tent.
I feel a tingle of Mazus’s magic along my shoulders and tense, knowing what’s about to happen and yet still unprepared for the jolt of aerstepping magic that brings me face to face with the Velmaran King. Internally rolling my eyes, I look up at the man who declared war on my kingdom, labeled me a witch, and claimed he had to defeat me for the good of the Four Kingdoms. As if my very existence threatened the safety of our world.
Mazus Vicant embodies his moniker—the Golden King, he’s called. Tall and tanned, he towers over me as his handsome face pulls into a glowing smile. Olive, green-brown eyes stare down at me, like a forest at twilight. Such an unusual shade that I’d know them anywhere. Despite his otherworldly beauty, the way he carries himself and the hollowness of his expression, like he’s chiseled from stone, make my skin crawl when I’m in his presence.
“I would have aerstepped you across the battlefield,” he says with a look of disgust on his perfect face, surveying the bottom of my dress. “I simply assumed you would use that deep well of power you keep hidden to avoid the filth now covering the bottom half of your dress.”
I clench my jaw. Play nice, you’re trying to marry him after all. “I only wanted to ensure you knew I was coming and for your guards to adequately search me,” I say with sickly sweetness.
“You need not lie to me. I know you have little control over your magic, witch.” I try to hide my flinching at his words, but I’m unsuccessful. He notices and gives me a menacing grin. “If only you’d agreed to marry me. I could’ve counseled you, and we might have been able to avoid the tragic accident that led to your parents’ deaths. Committed by one with too much power and too little guidance.” My fists ball, and I feel magical energy begin to pulse through me. I try to speak, to scream at him the truth of his treachery, but he cuts me off. “No, there’s no need for lies between us. I know why you’re here, why you sent your pleading message to call for temporary peace and a meeting with me. You want to surrender. Want to beg me to wed you as a last desperate attempt to get me to agree to end this war.”
It takes all the willpower in me to hold my tongue. He just needs to stroke his own ego first. Let him get it out. This doesn’t change your plan.
“And since I’m demanding no lies from you, I’ll hold myself to that same standard. I’m the Golden King, after all. Driven by honor and duty and all the things my people believe me to be.” He grins, flashing his bright white teeth in what feels more like a snarl than a smile. “The truth is, I don’t need to marry you. Not anymore. I don’t need to end this war in a peace treaty. I’m winning. Decisively. And considering you aren’t even half as beautiful as my first wife, and certainly more trouble than she ever was, I have no desire to shackle myself to you in marriage when I can take what I want so easily.”
My chest tightens, panic rising. “Mazus, Your Majesty, please—my people—”
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