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“Do you think it is safe to open?” the prince asks, taking a large step back from the bookcase. “I have opened it before, but maybe it…it has some kind of, uh, slow-acting poisonous magic—”

I shake my head.

“It is likely safe. Dragon magic—faeth—does not affect other people, only the wielder.” I shoot the prince a reassuring smile before turning back to the book. “Which is why it is so interesting this book is clearly enchanted by au’mana.”

If I was connected to my magic, I am sure it would be humming in tandem with the book. I reach out and grab it by the spine, sliding it out from where it is sandwiched between two other books. It is heavier than I realised and releases a plume of dust as it slips off the shelf. I raise my hand to waft it away and nearly drop it. The prince swoops to grab it.

“My thanks,” I say gratefully, and we both carry it to the nearest table. It sets off another cloud of dust as we slam it heavily. The prince wrinkles his nose.

“I know,” I say in disgust as I wave the dust away.

“No, it is not that.” He sniffs the air. “Can you smell that?”

I pause, inhaling, but I cannot smellanything other than old books.

“Salt,” the prince confirms.

The book sits innocently on the table, bathing it in a lavender glow. Text is embossed across the top of the cover, along with distinct artwork. Realisation dawns on me.

“It is definitely enchanted then,” I whisper, running my hand across the cover to feel the ornate ridges of the design.

“By witches?” the prince asks, frowning in confusion. “But the other texts called it faeth.”

“No, no, look.” I run my finger underneath the title. “They have a similar-looking alphabet, but this is definitely witchtongue—the letters curve more, whereas dragon text is more straight lines. This word here is au’mana, not faeth.”

The prince peers over my shoulder.

“That is why it smells of salt,” he says. “When au’mana is used, it has that smell. Correct?”

“Correct,” I confirm. “Faeth does not have a smell. It has a…”

I stand up straight, my brain churning.

“What?” he asks, a look of concern crossing his face.

“It has a taste,” I say, turning to him slowly. We stare at each other.

“Well, what taste? Snowberries?” The prince tries for a half-smile, but it quickly drops when I do not respond.

“Your Highness.” I try to swallow but mymouth has gone dry. “I am sorry to bring this up, but…your mother…”

The prince stiffens, and a muscle in his jaw twitches.

“What about her?”

“Was she a dragon?”

There is a beat of silence before the prince laughs nervously.

“Do not be absurd. How could she possibly be a dragon? Think of the logistics of it,” he tries again for a joke, but I shake my head.

“No, Your Highness, a dragondescendant. Before, I told you faeth only affects the wielder. This means dragons can alter their appearance into something more…human-like. They carry all the magic of their ancestors but they look no different than you or me, unless they choose to shapeshift, although it often takes decades to learn how to do so safely. I have never met one before, of course, but I have studied them immensely—” I am babbling now, overwhelmed by the knowledge as my mouth tries to keep up with my brain.

“Shivani,” the prince cuts me off, raising his palm. “What are you trying to tell me?”

I shift from one foot to the other, trying to formulate a tactful sentence.

“I believe your curse is dragon magic, Your Highness,” I say. “You cannot smell faeth like you can au’mana, but…you know it is there. It tastes like blood.” I recall all the times I have spent with the prince while he has turned, the coppery tang sitting uncomfortably on my tongue. Because there was faeth in the air. “I believe your mother was a dragon, and she used her magic to curse you.”