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The Kingdom of Fire is ruthless. The king wishes to marry his daughter off to Hadrian, to strengthen their alliance.

I know there is more to this. There is a shadow lurking over us, watching us.

I have heard His cackle, as if He had planned it.

Hadrian has called out to Him in his sleep, and I wonder.

Have the gods done this? Have they whispered in the Fire King’s ear, spitting their vile ideas into his mind, corrupting him.

They know the marriage oath will be a problem.

They know Hadrian loves another—that he loves me.

Now they will wait to see whether we are willing to sacrifice our love to this game.

I will not.

Tabitha Wysteria

Alina Acheron was late.

She was never one to be tardy, but the delicate art of perfecting her golden hair had taken longer than usual.

Her maid had fussed over every curl, every strand, twisting and pinning until Alina’s patience had frayed as thin as the silk ribbons woven into her locks.

Now, with her skirts lifted just enough to avoid tangling in her steps, she hurried down the castle’s endless halls, her breath sharp, her pulse racing.

Her brown eyes landed on the training yard below—and the sight that greeted her made her blood boil.

‘I will murder him!’ she seethed, gathering the crimson folds of her dress as she stormed down the winding stairs. She barely registered the grit of dust clinging to the hem or the damp earth seeping into the delicate golden slippers she had so painstakingly chosen that morning. ‘Ash!’

Prince Ash stood in the centre of the yard, his naked torso gleaming under the golden wash of morning light, sweat carving rivulets down his bronzed skin.

His sword arced through the air in a silver blur, clashing against another blade with practiced ease.

More than one young lady paused to admire the spectacle.

Alina, catching their lingering stares, hissed at them like an offended viper.

Hagan, clad in the crimson robes of the Red Guard, halted mid-motion, his keen warrior’s instincts sensing the shift before Ash did. With a slight nod, he directed the prince’s attention behind him.

Alina’s gaze lingered, caught in the pull of something she had long tried to forget.

The sun had deepened his skin, bronzed from endless days spent beneath its unrelenting blaze, each hour of training etched into the hardened muscle beneath his robes.

The golden hair she once knew—the hair she had threaded her fingers through, tangled and soft—was gone, shorn away as tradition demanded of the Red Guard.

Her eyes drifted downward, betraying her.

His mouth.

The same mouth that had once spoken her name in whispers, now set in a firm line, unreadable.

She hated herself for looking. Hated herself even more for remembering.

‘We were supposed to be in the Grand Hall ages ago!’ Alina snapped, her voice clipped with frustration.

Ash blinked, his expression shifting from surprise to sheepish realisation. ‘I… forgot.’

‘Clearly.’ She waved her hands in exasperation, motioning for him to abandon his sword. ‘Leave it. And the shirt, Ash. No time to change now. You’ll have to go as you are—we’ll worry about our heads being chopped off later.’

Hagan took a step forward, as if intending to follow. But the glare Alina shot him could have felled a lesser man.

‘He is Red Guard, Alina,’ Ash reminded her, his voice softer now.

She clenched her jaw, biting down on the sharp words itching to escape.

Instead, she turned on her heel, gathering her skirts once more, and marched across the training grounds without another glance.

But she could feel him behind her—too close, though still too far.

Hagan kept his distance, but his presence curled along her spine like an unwanted whisper.

The Grand Hall was already bursting with life by the time they arrived.

Conversations wove together in a hum of excitement, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and sweet wine.

Alina prayed their late arrival would go unnoticed, but her mother’s sharp gaze found them almost instantly.

Queen Cyra did not pause in her conversation with two visiting noblewomen, but the look she cast her daughter carried the weight of a reprimand yet to come.

Alina swallowed hard, reaching for a golden goblet of wine to steady herself. The cool liquid did little to ease the tightness in her throat.

Then, as if fate sought to draw further attention to them, King Egan spotted his son lurking in the shadows. With a great booming laugh, he lifted his arms, summoning the attention of every noble, warrior, and councilman in the hall.

‘The prince arrives!’

The room erupted in cheers, drakonians clapping Ash on the back, toasting to his name.

Their saviour. The man who would bring peace to the warring kingdoms. Alina exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to quiet the fury building in her chest. The idea of her brother being shackled to a wyverian bride made her stomach twist. How could their parents allow such a thing?

‘Your brother is stronger than you think.’

Alina nearly dropped her goblet at the sound of the voice beside her.

She had expected Hagan to have followed Ash into the revelry, but she had forgotten—forgotten that he was no longer just a boy who had once lived in this castle, who had spent his childhood playing with wooden swords and teasing her for being too small to join them.

Now, he was Red Guard. A shadow sworn to serve. Bound to duty, to secrecy, to silence. No longer her brother’s best friend. No longer… anything to her.

Her fingers tightened around the goblet. ‘I’ve heard that wyverians eat babies for dinner,’ she muttered, eyes still locked on Ash from across the room. ‘That they are savages who spill blood for sport.’

‘I’m sure they’ve heard the same about us, princess.’

She turned sharply to face him. For a moment, she had forgotten he was not just another voice in the crowd. Her body tensed at the realisation.

‘Do not talk to me,’ she said stiffly, shifting away.

Hagan hesitated. Then, as if recalling his place, he dipped his head in quiet obedience. ‘As you wish, my princess.’

My princess.

Her breath hitched. The words were a blade, honed with something unspoken, something distant yet familiar. Before she could turn back, before she could will herself to look at him once more, the moment shattered.

Her mother beckoned her forward .

Alina obeyed, slipping into the fold of nobility, forcing her lips into a smile as drakonians were introduced to her one by one. But despite the Grand Hall’s splendour, despite the music and laughter, she felt the absence behind her like a ghost’s touch.

She did not need to turn to know—Hagan was gone.

Queen Cyra cast her daughter a glance laden with unspoken warning.

It was the kind of look only a mother and daughter could understand, a silent reprimand wrapped in layers of disapproval.

Alina knew precisely why—the queen had seen her speaking with him.

The heat crept up Alina’s neck, pooling in her cheeks, but she swallowed it down with another sip of wine, the golden-reddish liquid burning her throat as she turned to greet the drakonians her parents had paraded before her.

A hand found her arm—gentle, yet trembling. She knew the touch without looking.

Ash.

Instinctively, Alina’s fingers curled over his, grounding him.

No one noticed the slight tremor in his grip, nor the faint sheen of sweat dampening his brow.

They never did. Drakonians saw only what they wished to see: a golden prince, heir to fire and fury, destined to rule with the strength of dragons.

Weakness had no place in their kingdom. The land of dragons and fire had forged its rulers in war, had built its legacy on the bones of witches and the echoes of battle cries.

There was no room for fear. No room for him—not as he was.

Alina exchanged a glance with her mother, and within seconds, Queen Cyra understood.

‘I’m afraid the prince is tired from training,’ the queen announced smoothly, her voice carrying effortlessly over the idle chatter of the room. She lifted a delicate hand towards Ash, the picture of maternal devotion. ‘He is always training, my poor boy. ’

‘To make sure he becomes the greatest king,’ their father added, his chest swelling with pride.

Alina resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

‘He must rest now,’ the queen concluded, her words spoken with the finality of a command. And just like that, Alina had her chance. Without hesitation, she tightened her grip on Ash’s arm and pulled him away from the gathering, away from the scrutinizing gazes and suffocating expectations.

They vanished down the corridors, slipping into the sanctuary of her chambers. The moment the door shut behind them, Ash collapsed onto her bed, his breath shallow, his golden skin slick with sweat.

Alina exhaled, leaning against the heavy door. ‘You lasted less than the last time.’

Ash’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’ She rubbed her forehead, exhaling again. ‘I know you forgot about the party, and you weren’t in the right mindset for so many guests. It wasn’t fair of me to—’

He lay still, staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

Alina sat beside him, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘I know it’s overwhelming, Ash. But you’re getting better at controlling it.’

He shook his head, his voice barely audible. ‘I cannot… cannot be k-king.’

She scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can.’

Reaching for his hands, she pried open his fists, smoothing her fingers over his tense palms, massaging away the pressure until they relaxed. These hands were meant for a crown, she thought. For a sword. But not for trembling. Never for trembling .

‘You will be a great king one day,’ she reassured him.

Ash’s golden eyes shone with uncertainty. ‘They laugh… at me.’

Alina’s jaw tightened. ‘No one laughs at you. Father would have their heads if they did.’ But even as she spoke the words, a pang of bitterness twisted in her stomach.

She knew the truth as well as he did—perhaps better.

They did not laugh, not openly, but they watched .

She had seen the whispers slither between courtiers when Ash took too long to respond, when his words snagged on the sharp edges of his tongue.

They noticed the slight hesitation in his speech, the way he struggled to hold their attention in a room too full of eyes.

Alina's gaze softened as she looked down at him, at the golden drakonian man lying on his back, trying to steady his breath.

She could still remember the first time Ash had suffered an attack.

It had been his tenth birthday. He was meant to stand before the entire court, a boy-prince on the cusp of kingship, and deliver his speech.

They had practiced for weeks, just the two of them, rehearsing the words until they became second nature, until his stutter faded into something nearly unnoticeable.

But the moment he had stepped before the assembled nobles, the moment all those expectant gazes had locked onto him, he had frozen.

His chest had caved in, his breath stolen away by unseen hands, and before he could utter a single word, he had crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.

Since that day, Alina had made it her duty to help him.

They practiced in the evenings, hidden away from prying eyes, shaping his voice into something steady, something unbreakable.

And for a time, it had worked. Now, in small gatherings, in controlled environments, Ash could speak without faltering.

But in crowds, in the presence of so many strangers, the panic still crept in, the weight of expectation too heavy for him to bear.

He preferred the sword, preferred the raw simplicity of battle. When he fought, there was no room for stammering, no time for fear. On the training grounds, he was not a prince they believed to be flawed. He was a warrior. A weapon.

Her fingers traced over his, reassuring. I see you , the gesture said. And I do not waver.

Ash swallowed, his voice quieter now. ‘The wyverian princess.’

Alina stilled. ‘What about her?’

‘She will… know.’

Alina forced herself to exhale, to remain composed. ‘She doesn’t have to know. She is here to marry you, that is all. You do not need to spend time with her, Ash.’

His golden eyes darkened. His brow creased, lips pressing into a thin line.

‘Don’t give me that look. It’s true,’ she pressed.

Ash sat up, shaking his head. ‘She will be my w-wife.’

‘And if you wish it so, her only function as your wife will be to give you an heir.’

The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them.

Ash’s stare turned to ice. He pushed himself off the bed, rising to his full height, his shoulders stiff with anger.

‘I will not treat her with dis…disrespect,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘She will b-be the future queen.’

Alina cursed softly under her breath. ‘Ash, she is a savage. That girl will never love you. That girl will destroy us. She will destroy you .’

He did not turn back.

He did not say another word.

Alina sat frozen, fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her gown.

Dread slithered through her, seeping into the marrow of her bones like a slow, creeping poison.

The wyverian princess would ruin them all.

Alina watched her brother walk away, her dread festering beneath her skin, writhing like a nest of starving maggots burrowing into her pores, gnawing their way through flesh and bone, ravenous and relentless the moment the door slammed shut.