Author's Note:

So, just a warning, this chapter is a bit more violent than the last ones. Nothing too bad, but still there. I didn't want to change the rating of the story for just one chapter, but I probably would rate this one up a level if I could. Anyways, it was still a very fun one to write! This part of the story is wrapping up. Probably only one chapter left! Hope you all have enjoyed it!

His power was like a surge of electricity through his body. The burning sensation writhed along his veins, but Alazair worshiped the feeling. When he felt like this, he was unstoppable. The four royals who had discovered them were hunched against the walls, like the cowards he knew they were. They didn't deserve this child. They would never, could never understand her strengths and her importance. But Alazair would teach Elsa how to be someone magnificent. And with her by his side, they would be an untamed fire, devouring those who would oppose them.

Before him, Queen Freja screamed. It was not a pained scream, as if he were burning her. She was furious, but Alazair knew her fury was rising from fear. Fear for herself, and fear for the baby. He scoffed as she shouted his name, hardly audible above the roaring flames. His arms were beginning to ache. His power wouldn't last forever.

Shifting his weight, he focused the flames to the bare minimum, until they sat, flickering blue from his left arm as if it were a log in a fire pit. The kings started forward, swords and teeth bared, and Alazair raised his eyebrows.

"Ah-ah," he cautioned, the flames leaping up dramatically, "Another step and I will burn this place until it caves in, with your precious daughter in it."

Stellan froze and faced him, eyes burning with hatred. A wicked smile crossed Alazair's face.

The sound of a third sword being drawn brought Alazair's focus back to Freja. She had advanced quite close to him, her hands clenched on the hilt of a weapon that was obviously too large for her. Still, she held it confidently in front of her, staring Alazair in the face.

Alazair looked past her, "Ah, my dear Queen Primrose, how lovely to see you out and about! You're looking much better than last time we met, I must say."

"Shut up!" Thomas barked, "Don't talk to her. There's no way out of this, miracle man. Give us Elsa. Now!"

Ignoring him, Alazair narrowed his eyes at Freja, "I was very hurt, your highness, when I discovered that you had your daughter without me. I thought that, surely, a woman of your stature would have honored our agreement. But apparently your weakness overcame you. It's quite understandable."

"My weakness?" Freja's voice came hard and immediately.

"Fear. Fear is your weakness. Of course, you may not recognize it as that. Fear can also give one great strength, but strength built on fear is nothing compared to what I have."

"Oh, yeah?" Stellan demanded, "What's that?"

Alazair didn't answer him, but smiled again at Freja, his teeth flashing yellow in the firelight.

The queen was almost pleading now. That was the way Alazair like it, "What do you want with her, anyways? She's just a little girl!"

"Just a little girl," he echoed, then chuckled and shook his head, "I don't like it. It makes her sound so innocent. So powerless. And Elsa will be far from powerless by the time I am through with her. She will be the most awesome sorceress that this world has ever seen!"

"No!" Freja shouted, her face red with the heat and her own anger, "She's not evil! She's not a sorceress!"

"The soul of Edvard Beteran is in that baby, and I will awaken it!"

"You can't do that! He is nowhere in her! He has nothing to do with her! Please! She's a baby!"

Alazair scoffed, "You underestimate your daughter, Queen Freja of Arendelle."

The queen's eyes snapped up to meet his with an icy gaze, and for a split second, Alazair's heart raced in panic. Fear was supposed to be Freja's weakness, but there was not a smidgen of fear or timidity in her eyes. Nothing but great determination and power. And something else. Something Alazair hadn't seen in a long time.

"I love my daughter, Alazair! And you have underestimated me!"

Before he could react, Freja had thrown herself toward him, her sword thrust in front of her like it was a battering ram. Alazair's mind returned to him just in time, and he dodged the blade, but not before it sliced a deep gash in his thigh. He gasped in pain, whirling. He knew what would happen next. All four of the kings and queens would come down on him, weapons bared. His victory would be lost before it had even begun! No.

Catching Freja as her sword pulled away from his flesh, he twisted her arm behind her back and clamped his hand around her neck, using her as a human shield against the rest of the posse.

"Don't any one of you move," Alazair snarled. His had clutching the queen's neck began to glow red hot, and Freja whimpered in pain. Thomas, Stellan, and Rosie froze in the tracks, horror painted like a portrait on their faces.

"Now, get out. All three of you, unless you want me to burn this woman like Joan of Arc."

Behind him, in the deepest corner of the room, Alazair winced as he heard Elsa cough.

"Elsa!" Freja screamed. Alazair could just barely smell her flesh burning as his red hot hand pressed down on her skin. She screamed again, and this time it was from the pain.

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees. Alazair twirled around, staring at the cradle. The baby screeched. A shower of tiny ice daggers shot from the cradle, piercing everyone in the room with what felt like shattered glass. His arms and face burning, Alazair's hand released from Freja's neck. Dropping to the ground with a gasp, the queen began inching her way along the floor, minute droplets of blood sprouting from her arms where the shattered ice had penetrated her skin. Alazair moaned and grasped desperately at his face. He had received the brunt of the princess's power. Strong hands grabbed him from behind, and he felt a blow come down on his head that he could only assume came from King Stellan. Forced to his knees, Alazair scowled as hot red liquid dripped down his cheeks and forehead in thin streams. Through his blurred vision, distorted from both the blood and his red-hot anger, he watched as Freja lifted Elsa out of the cradle. The baby cooed happily at the touch of her mother. At that instant, the temperature returned to its natural state. Freja glanced, worried dancing across her face, at Stellan, Thomas, and Rosie, each of whom were also suffering from minor cuts across their arms and faces. Clutching Elsa snuggly to her chest, the Queen of Arendelle hummed softly.

"Get up," King Thomas commanded, pulling Alazair roughly to his feet as Stellan released his tight hold and joined his wife and child. The Miracle Man's blood boiled, but at the same time, he marveled at the baby. Such power, and this coming from a newborn! What would she be like in twenty years?

A woman's hand smacked him against the chest, hard enough to turn his body away from facing the Arendelle royals.

"Don't look at her," Rosie ordered, her eyes more fiery than Alazair would have ever thought possible, "Don't ever look at that child again. Do you understand?" her voice was calm, but surprisingly threatening.

Don't look at her ever again? Like that was going to happen.

Alazair's teeth were hidden this time as he gave a flat smile. Rosie's eyes widened, and he knew that she could see what he was about to do.

"Thomas!" she cried out, just as Alazair's entire body burst into flames. King Thomas yelped in pain as he released his grasp on his prisoner's arms, then reached for his sword. But by the time he had drawn it, Alazair had raced from the secret room like a wildfire, extinguishing himself and disappearing into the pitch black tunnels.

Alazair growled as he ran. Cowards ran away. And cowards never won. Smelling the roots growing along the walls of the tunnels around him start to smolder as he passed by, Alazair focused on calming himself. He couldn't afford to let his power take control of his emotions. Not now. He was running away, but not as a coward, he told himself. It was the right move. Let them go on living their perfect, pampered lives. Let them forget all about him. He would strike again, when they least expect it. And next time, he would not fail.