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I have sometimes resented my purple eyes.

I know I shouldn’t because they make me who I am.

But life would be so much easier if I looked different.

Sometimes I will stare at myself in the mirror and feel an intense desire to scratch them out.

The mere thought makes me cry. I shouldn’t loathe a part of my body—a part of me. But I do. I so very much do.

Tabitha Wysteria

Ash had never seen anyone move the way Mal did. Her body flowed like water, swift and precise, each movement effortless yet deliberate. It was almost a dance—fluid, lethal, mesmerising. In a single motion, she had sent one of his men sprawling to the ground. How was that even possible?

He had heard countless stories of wyverians—fabled warriors, fierce and relentless in battle. Yet, never had he seen one fight with his own eyes. And certainly never a woman.

He had never met a woman who looked as though she could single-handedly bring down his entire army.

‘Ash, you are not listening to me.’

Shaking the thought away, Ash refocused on the present, his gaze settling on his sister, seated across from him by the fire. Her tawny eyes were narrowed, irritation clear in the sharp set of her features. She was annoyed.

Very annoyed.

Normally, he could devote his full attention to their lessons, but today, his mind refused to stay in place. It kept circling back to her—the princess.

‘Do you w-wish you c-could fight?’

Alina blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she turned to her brother. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Fight, like me or Hagan.’ She winced. It was the barest flash of pain, but Ash caught it.

He had never quite understood why the mere mention of Hagan twisted something inside her.

They had all been hurt when Hagan had chosen the Red Guard, had left without a word, but that had been years ago.

He had returned. He had fulfilled his duty. Why did it still sting for her?

‘Drakonian women are not allowed.’

‘But if you were?’ He tilted his head. ‘Would you?’ He could see the battle waging within her, the conflict etched across her face.

No one had ever asked her such a question before—why would they?

It was an impossible dream. But Ash would be king one day, and if his sister wished to fight, then she would.

‘Tonight is the feast in honour of the princess.’ Her tone was light, practiced, untouched by the weight of his question. ‘You will have to dance with her, as is custom for a future husband and wife.’

Ash exhaled slowly. ‘She will not know our d-dances.’

Alina sighed, smoothing down the fabric of her dress.

‘Yes, well, let us pray she is quick on her feet and that you can lead her well enough.’ A teasing glint entered her gaze.

‘Tomorrow, the other Houses will be arriving for the marriage festivities, which will last over a week before you actually wed. The very first event will be the Champions’ Battle. ’

He nodded, excitement stirring within him. It was tradition for a royal wedding to be marked by a grand fight, a spectacle for all to witness. Each side would choose a champion, a warrior to showcase their skill before the gathered court.

‘Don’t look so excited, brother. God only knows whom they will choose for it.’

Ash could hardly wait to see the princess in action. Surely, she would fight for her own honour.

And if she did, then so would he.

He would follow her lead, stepping into the arena himself, choosing none other than himself as his champion to face her.

Her gaze slid towards him, thoughtful, knowing. ‘It is true what they say,’ she said. ‘About her eyes.’

Ash stiffened, his jaw tightening. ‘They are just eyes, Alina.’

She shrugged, feigning indifference, though something glimmered behind her eyes—something thoughtful, calculating. ‘I suppose.’

Then, with a delicate flick of her wrist, she reached for the small copper bell beside her and rang it. A moment later, the soft shuffle of a servant’s footsteps echoed outside the door.

‘We will continue our lesson tomorrow,’ she said airily, rising to her feet. ‘It’s time we readied ourselves for dinner.’

A soft knock at the door signaled the arrival of a maid, ready to escort Alina back to her chambers to bathe. As she left, Ash moved to the windowsill, settling onto the ledge and letting one leg dangle over the edge.

A part of him had feared the arrival of the wyverians, had resented the forced union that loomed ahead. Marriage was not something he wanted—at least, not yet. But now, something inside him was undeniably intrigued.

The princess was unlike any woman he had ever seen. Drakonian women bore golden skin, hair of fire or sunlit strands, and warm brown eyes. She was nothing like them. But it was not just her striking appearance that set her apart—it was something deeper.

She was the kind of woman who not only turned heads as she passed, but who could just as easily outwit those around her in a battle of words.

And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous thing of all.

‘You shouldn’t h-hide in the shadows,’ Ash muttered, his golden gaze darting towards the dimly lit corner of the room.

A figure emerged, slipping through the darkness like a ghost. Hagan.

A faint, wry smile curved his lips as he strode forward, settling beside Ash with the ease of an old friend.

His eyes, deep and unreadable, drifted past the towering walls of the castle to the city sprawling below, bathed in the dying light of day. ‘You’re h-hiding from my sister.’

‘Am not.’

Ash snorted at the lie. He did not press further. He had tried before, asked too many questions that yielded nothing but silence and a stiff jaw. No, whatever stood between Hagan and Alina was theirs to untangle. He would not meddle in a war that had no victor.

‘The Opening Feast is tonight,’ Ash said instead.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Hagan’s tone was unreadable, his gaze distant, lingering on the rooftops and winding streets below.

‘Are you nervous about having to dance in front of everyone?’ Ash shook his head.

Dancing had never unsettled him the way speaking did.

It was just another form of movement, another rhythm to master.

Words, on the other hand—words had always been his battlefield.

Hagan smirked. ‘I’d wear your armour tonight.’ He leaned forward, slapping Ash’s leg playfully. ‘That princess looks like she’d slit your throat before letting you lead her across the floor.’

A quiet chuckle escaped Ash’s lips. The thought was not entirely unfounded.

Then, without warning, Hagan’s smirk faded. His expression darkened, voice low, edged with something unspoken. ‘They won’t accept her.’ Ash stilled. ‘Drakonians will never accept a wyverian as their queen.’

Of course they wouldn’t. The mere thought of it was laughable.

Especially one with witch’s eyes. A princess who belonged to the shadows, stepping into a kingdom of fire.

How had his father, King Egan, ever thought this marriage possible?

How had the court not questioned her? Not questioned the blood that ran in her veins?

Ash did not respond. There was nothing to say.

Hagan exhaled and stood, his heavy boots scraping against the stone floor. ‘I must go. The Red Guard needs to prepare for tonight.’

Tonight, a small gathering would be held to welcome the wyverians, but tomorrow, the true festivities would begin. One by one, the remaining kingdoms would arrive, and for the first time in years, all seven would stand together in one place.

For too long, they had remained isolated, their bonds fractured after the war that had erased the eighth—the Kingdom of Magic.

Now, after years of silence and distance, they would reunite to witness a marriage meant to heal an ancient rift, to bind two kingdoms that had despised one another for generations.

Yet Ash was not convinced.

Could centuries of hatred truly be undone with a single union? The very thought unsettled him. It’s just a marriage, he told himself, but even those words rang hollow.

It wasn’t just a marriage .

It was his marriage.

It was an alliance. A treaty woven into vows, a binding promise meant to stitch together wounds that ran too deep to be forgotten.

‘Be careful, Ash,’ Hagan said.

Marriage had never been something Ash dwelled on. He had always known his bride would be chosen for him, that love would never be a factor in his future. And he had been right.

Now, he was to wed a wyverian princess he did not know. Only after the ceremony—after duty had bound them together—would he have the chance to learn who she truly was. The thought unsettled him, left a strange discomfort in his chest.

But this was how it was meant to be.

And there was no changing it.

‘Be careful of her ,’ Hagan murmured, lingering in the doorway before vanishing into the dim corridor beyond.

The words clung to the air long after he had gone, an unspoken warning weaving itself into the quiet. Ash did not move. He did not need to ask what Hagan had left unsaid—he already knew.

The princess was not just a princess.

She was not even merely a wyverian princess.

No, there was something else, something deeper, something woven into the marrow of her existence. It gleamed in the violet of her irises, in the way the world seemed to shift around her presence, as if it, too, recognised the anomaly that she was.

Those eyes were not just rare. They were a harbinger. A mark of something dangerous. Something cursed .

And Ash Acheron was days away from binding himself to her forever.