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Witches and warlocks have been confined to their own land.

We are no longer allowed to travel outside of our kingdom.

I’ve heard that in some cities drakonian soldiers are counting the amount of witches and warlocks that live there and they are even registering their names.

I’ve had to return to my hometown from the Fae lands because it is too dangerous to stay there, I would not want to risk anyone’s lives for sheltering me.

No one knows Hadrian and I married in secret months ago.

We cannot tell a single soul. I have another secret that even Hadrian does not know.

I am with child.

Tabitha Wysteria

Vera entered the wyverian’s chambers earlier than usual, slipping through the heavy doors into the dim, stifling air of a room untouched by morning.

The thick velvet curtains remained drawn, shrouding the space in a lingering darkness while the princess slept.

Without hesitation, Vera strode across the room and flung them open, allowing the golden dawn to spill inside, painting the walls with light and chasing away the remnants of dreams. Sunlight pooled over the bed, illuminating the sleeping figure nestled within its folds.

Moving quietly, Vera set about her tasks, her hands deft and practiced as she prepared the room for the princess’s waking.

A breakfast tray had already been arranged perfectly upon the long wooden table—fresh eggs, warm bread, fruits glistening with morning dew—but she couldn’t help but fret over how quickly the food would grow cold.

It was not her place to wake a princess, yet today, Vera found herself hoping for the delay.

She had hoped—foolishly—that if she could stretch the hours between them, Mal might forget what she had seen the night before.

Her attention landed on the table where stacks of books and sprawling maps lay in a chaotic disarray. One, in particular, had been spread wide open, its inked roads and rivers exposed to anyone who cared to look. Had Mal brought these from her homeland? And if so—why?

‘I enjoy visualising the different lands as I meet the princes and princesses that have arrived to watch me marry.’ The voice, smooth yet edged with sleep, startled Vera so thoroughly that the sheets she had been carrying slipped from her grasp and cascaded onto the floor.

She turned swiftly, her heart pounding in her throat.

The wyverian princess sat upright in the bed, her wild black hair tumbling over her shoulders in tangled waves, unruly and unbrushed. Her long, almond-shaped eyes sharpened as they fixed upon Vera, unreadable yet piercing.

Vera had always known Mal was dangerous. But at that moment, she felt it.

Not just a threat, but something worse.

Lethality.

Swallowing down the unease curling in her stomach, Vera steadied herself. ‘Are you nervous about today, your highness?’

Mal cocked her head ever so slightly, studying the maid with an intensity that sent a shiver up Vera’s spine. In the shifting light, the witch could have sworn she glimpsed the flash of fangs, the curl of a thin upper lip revealing something sharper beneath.

‘Why should I be nervous?’

‘It’s a big deal—the Champions’ Battle, your highness,’ Vera said, forcing her hands to remain busy as she occupied herself with straightening the already tidy room. ‘Do you know who shall be fighting in your honour?’

For a brief moment, Mal glanced at her nails, and Vera exhaled slowly, grateful for even the smallest reprieve from those purple eyes.

‘I shall be fighting for my own honour.’

The words stilled Vera’s hands.

She had heard many things in her time as a maid, but this—this was unheard of.

No prince or princess had ever taken the arena for themselves.

It was tradition to select a champion, a warrior who would bring glory to the crown.

It was not a fight to the death, but it could be brutal.

Blood had been spilt before. What if the princess was injured? What if she was—

No. Vera could not even allow herself to think of such a thing.

‘Your brother seems like a fine warrior,’ she said cautiously, choosing her words with care. ‘Surely it would be more appropriate for him to fight in your place, your highness. The wedding is only days away—you would not wish to appear with a bruise… or worse.’

Mal snorted, the sound carrying a certain arrogance that sent a ripple of dread through Vera.

‘I am as capable as my brother in a fight,’ she replied simply. ‘Besides, wyverians never allow others to fight for them. We either fight together or do what must be done.’

She moved then, slipping out of bed with the grace of a predator, her limbs fluid, her bare feet soundless against the cold stone floor. Vera watched as she approached the untouched breakfast tray, the princess wrinkling her nose before turning away in clear distaste.

The maid hesitated before lifting the hairbrush from the vanity.

‘You should eat, your highness.’

Mal’s nose scrunched further. ‘The food… is not to my liking.’

Vera stilled, uncertain. ‘Oh, you should have said something sooner, your highness. What are your preferences?’

For the first time, Mal hesitated. It was slight, nearly imperceptible—but it was there. Something strange passed over her face, and then—shockingly—embarrassment.

‘Well…’ Mal’s voice dipped, quieter, almost reluctant. ‘We mostly eat meat.’

Vera smiled in relief. ‘We have plenty of meat in the kitchens, your highness.’

A pause. Then those purple eyes lifted, fixing upon her once more.

‘Rotten meat.’

Vera’s fingers tensed around the hairbrush.

‘Rotten, your highness?’

Mal nodded as if the request were the most natural thing in the world.

‘I… am sure we can arrange that,’Vera managed, though she fought to suppress the unease pooling in her stomach. ‘Any other food you’d wish for us to prepare?’

Mal shrugged. ‘We eat everything. Fruit, meats, vegetables… As long as it is rotten, we can eat it.’

‘All of it, your highness?’ Realising that she had stopped brushing, Vera resumed, her fingers gliding through the long midnight strands with practiced ease.

‘I shall let the kitchen maids know.’ She had just finished when she reached for the tray to take it away, only for Mal’s voice to still her in place.

‘Did you enjoy the Opening Feast?’

The question was innocent enough. But something in the princess’s tone sent a warning down Vera’s spine.

Was this simple conversation? Or a calculated test?

Vera was almost certain Mal had seen her brief exchange with the queen the night before.

But perhaps she had dismissed it as nothing more than a formality, an expected behaviour between a queen and a maid.

‘It was very pleasant, your highness,’ Vera answered, her smile practiced and pleasant. ‘Did you enjoy it? I saw you dancing with the prince.’

Mal scoffed, reclining onto her bed with two effortless strides. ‘He’s rather odd.’

‘Odd, your highness?’

‘I don’t think he particularly likes me.’ Mal draped herself over the pillows, her expression unreadable. ‘I can’t blame him either. I’d hate me too if I were forced to marry me.’ A smile spread across her lips—one that sent an involuntary shudder down Vera’s spine. ‘His mother likes me even less.’

The words, though lightly spoken, carried an unmistakable weight.

Vera inhaled slowly. ‘The queen, your highness? I doubt that very much. I think it just takes time to grow accustomed to others that are…’ She hesitated. Different .

Mal’s smile deepened. Turned wicked.

‘Perhaps so…’ she mused, her gaze drifting to her long, sharp nails before flicking back to Vera with unsettling focus. ‘However, I get the feeling she disliked me even before I arrived. I wondered why.’

Wondered. Not wonder.

As if she already knew the answer.

Vera curtsied quickly, murmuring her farewells before excusing herself.

She ignored the weight of those purple eyes on her back, ignoring the way her skin prickled as she fled to fetch the princess her meal.

Even as she walked away, she could feel it—the sensation of being watched, of being studied.

Mal knew something. And that, more than anything, was dangerous.

…

‘They are rather magnificent, I must admit,’ Mal said.

The morning had slipped away, and in its quiet retreat, Mal had found herself wandering, allowing her feet to follow a restless longing for movement.

That wandering had led her astray, far from the castle grounds, into the wild embrace of the kingdom’s untamed lands.

She had not meant to lose her way, but there was something almost peaceful about being unmoored from expectation, if only for a little while.

The distant roar of dragons had guided her through the dense thicket of trees, their deep, rumbling voices breaking through the oppressive silence of the woodland.

Following the sound, she eventually came upon them—three great beasts sprawled beneath the shade, their wings tucked neatly against their scaled bodies as they sought respite from the kingdom’s relentless heat.

Mal could hardly blame them. The air in the Kingdom of Fire was thick, suffocating, pressing down like a great unseen weight.

In the centre of the clearing, Alina Acheron stood amongst her dragons, her small form overshadowed by their towering, majestic presence.

She moved with a quiet ease, feeding one of them with effortless precision, tossing a bird into the air and watching as the beast snapped it up in a single gulp.

Mal studied the interaction with detached amusement.

Dragons were smaller than wyverns—considerably so.

She could not imagine attempting such a thing with one of her own creatures.

If she wished to feed a wyvern in this manner, she would have to throw a whole horse.

A flicker of longing stirred within her.