“I’d rather imagine a herd of hornbeasts careening into a writhing pit of vipers,” Vildegard hissed.

Stark the Strong bounced their youngest on his hip. Vildegard paced the corridor. Wisps of smoke rose from her heavy bejeweled cloak.

“Take measured breaths as we do when sparring. Don’t burst into flames before your speech. It’s disconcerting,” Stark said. “You and you alone are well fitted to challenge the Red Hand.”

Coughing the baby swished his mini broad sword at his mother’s billows of emerald smoke. With three flicks of her wrist, the witch turned the acrid fumes into a shower of cream colored petals. Pudgy fists raised, Daggar squealed with delight. Vildegard kissed his plump cheeks.

“I shouldn’t be running for President Priest. I have no taste for coven politics and clan warfare. Why wrestle with these fossils when I could be home with my sweet baboos.”

Vildegard lifted up the giggly toddler. She buried her anxiety in his sweet neck.

“All right V. You head home with the younglings and prepare my supper. I will tell the five families that are stifling magical freedoms that you’ve withdrawn your nomination because you are afraid of speaking in public,” Stark said the headed for the feast hall.

She snapped her fingers and shot a violet spark at her forever mate’s shapely buttocks.

“Your persuasion sucks bog water, warrior. Don’t trick a trickster,” Vildegard said teasingly. “Wyck, come to Mama we’re going home.”

A glittering black crow hurled itself towards them. It hit the wall and bounced into a feathered headed four year old girl.

“Mama, didja win? Did you knock heads together,” Wyck shouted.

“No, I—“

“It’s okay Mama. I know you tried your best like you always told me to do. You’ll beat them next time.”

Running Wyck gathered her mother’s knees into a hug. Vildegard petted her daughter’s head as the inky feathers transformed into lush coils. With folded arms Stark the Strong gave his forever mate a smirk. She kissed her child on the top of her head, knowing that her children as half breeds would never be recognized in the coven if the Red Hand stay in charge.

“Lady Vildegard, Clan Broken Tree, daughter of High Seer Acrimona, present thyself,” coven page Malis announced.

With an imperious sniff, Malis looked down his nose at the warrior and the children. Stark growled low. The page blanched. Vildegard straightened her back, hiked up the baby on her hip, grasped her daughter’s hand, and marched inside to give the speech of her life.