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The palace hums with preparation, servants darting through corridors, courtiers whispering in corners. The full moon will rise in hours, and with it, my official reclamation of the throne.

Trapped in endless briefings and rituals, I haven’t seen Maya since dawn. But I can feel her presence in the palace, a steady warmth at the edge of my awareness.

I’ve just sent Maya a small surprise when I feel my skin tingling. Isla, the witch from the Northern Kingdom, steps into my office, her face pale and drawn. I get to my feet.

“I need to speak with you,” she says urgently. “Alone.”

Something in her tone makes the guards hesitate, looking to me for direction. I nod, dismissing them with a gesture.

“What is it?” I ask when we’re alone, the dread in her eyes setting off warning bells in my mind. “When did you get here?”

“I arrived with King Cedric and his mate. The prophecy,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve deciphered it.”

I straighten, suddenly alert. “Tell me.”

She glances around, as if afraid the walls themselves might be listening. “It’s worse than I feared, King Griffin.”

“How so?”

Her hands twist together, the only sign of nerves in her otherwise composed demeanor. “Death.”

My stomach clenches. “Whose death?”

Her eyes meet mine, filled with genuine sorrow. “Your fated mate’s. The prophecy foretells that you will be the cause of her death.”

The world seems to tilt beneath my feet. “That’s not possible.”

“I’ve checked it three times,” she insists. “Consulted the oldest texts. The meaning is clear. Your fated mate will die once you mark her, and you will be the one who takes her life.”

I shake my head, denial rising like a tide. “No. I refuse to accept that.”

“You asked me to interpret it,” she reminds me gently. “I have done so.”

“There must be another meaning,” I insist. “Another way.”

Her expression softens with pity. “The prophecies of the old bloodline are never wrong, King Griffin. They may be twisted, or misinterpreted, but never wrong.”

My heart sinks, something cold forming in my chest.

“I am sorry, King Griffin. I truly am.”

She heads out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and this grief that is permeating my bones.

Chapter Twelve

Dr. Maya Sorin

Servants buzz around the palace like disturbed bees, preparing for tonight’s ceremony where Griffin will officially reclaim his throne. It has been like this for the past few days, a flurry of activity all around, excitement in the air.

I’m in the lab with Jerry, my focus on something else entirely.

Humming, I study the pale liquid in the vial. “This may work to temporarily reverse the effects of the drug.”

Jerry’s eyes turn wide as he hurries around the counter. “You sure?”

“Well, we have nothing to test it on, unless you want to volunteer.”

The healer immediately takes a step back at my all-too-cheerful tone, wincing. “No thanks. Once was enough for me.”