Page 31

Fae magic is strong, but it is very different to ours.

Theirs originates from nature, whereas our magic, our source, is from the very gods themselves.

Neither is better nor worse. Both types are beautiful and unique.

But I cannot help but worry that our alliance with the Fae might slowly turn to dust if we continue to act superior.

It infuriates me the way the Council talks sometimes, as if their magic is the only one that counts.

Tabitha Wysteria

‘She’s going to be late,’ Haven breathed out the words in exasperation.

The afternoon heat hung over the land of fire like a living thing, suffocating and relentless.

Yet the drakonians, impervious as ever, showed no sign of discomfort.

The arena, a colossal structure built from scorched stone, loomed ahead, requiring a good twenty-minute walk to reach its grand entrance.

Even the servants, tirelessly flapping enormous fans in an attempt to temper the merciless sun, were unsuccessful.

The heat remained unbearable, clinging to skin like molten gold.

The arena itself was vast, its size betraying its history. Once, long ago, it had been a battleground for dragon fights, a place where fire and fury had danced in brutal spectacle. Now, its purpose had shifted, but the weight of its past still lingered in the air, thick as the heat .

Haven was seated beside Alina Acheron, the drakonian princess draped in yet another ostentatious ensemble.

Her golden horns were adorned with diamonds that caught the sunlight at every turn of her head, sending brilliant flashes across the shaded seating area.

Her gown, an extravagant thing of deep red silk, reached the very top of her neck, clasped shut by thick round buttons that seemed as suffocating as the midday heat.

Haven idly wondered what might happen if she undid them.

Perhaps Alina would finally breathe. Perhaps she would even become tolerable.

‘Will the queen not be joining us?’ Haven asked, surprised to see the king surrounded by his court but Queen Cyra nowhere in sight.

‘I’m afraid my mother has been bedridden from a terrible headache.’

‘May she recover promptly,’ Haven replied.

Kai offered the drakonian princess one of his signature roguish smiles.

Alina barely spared him a glance, her disinterest sharp enough to cut.

Haven turned her attention to her brother, watching him closely.

The moment Kai noticed the warning in her gaze, he exhaled dramatically and sat back, feigning interest in the state of his nails.

The seating area was shaded by grand awnings, their dark fabric shielding the noble guests from the worst of the sun.

Servants moved through the aisles, carrying golden trays piled high with glistening grapes, cheeses, and goblets of rich drakonian wine.

The sight made Haven’s stomach twist with longing.

She had eaten little since their arrival, her appetite buried beneath the weight of everything that had transpired.

Only the night before had she finally slipped into the kitchens, demanding food not only for herself but for her brothers as well.

She knew Kage had been hoarding his portions, tucking them away into a small pouch in his chambers, waiting patiently for the food to rot.

A low, rhythmic pounding interrupted her thoughts.

Drums.

The first to step into the centre of the arena were the two sisters from the House of Sand.

They moved with an effortless confidence, their strides as sure as the shifting dunes they called home.

Haven envied that confidence, the way they carried themselves with a certainty she wasn’t sure she would ever possess.

They wore loose, flowing pants, cinched at the ankles—designed to allow them to sink into the sand without leaving a trace.

Their tops, made of the same soft fabric, were bound tightly around their chests, leaving their stomachs and arms bare, revealing the smooth muscle of warriors.

They weren’t wearing their famous rasghitas that covered their heads from the sun, but they had hidden their faces with their karash .

The drums quickened. The crowd leaned forward.

The eldest sister held a long wooden staff, its end sharpened into a wicked blade. With deliberate grace, she placed a hand against her forehead, trailing it down her face before extending her arm outward in a gesture of salute.

Then she moved.

Her body flowed with the rhythm, each motion perfectly timed to the deep, rolling beat of the drums. What seemed at first to be a dance quickly revealed itself to be something far more dangerous—a display of deadly precision.

Every twirl of the staff, every sweeping motion, was a calculated strike, a demonstration of mastery over both body and weapon.

Beside her, her sister Sahira, moved with an entirely different sort of power.

Her dance was slow, sensual, hypnotic. The way she undulated, the way she spun and turned, left the crowd entranced.

Haven noticed the way Alina Acheron shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clearly unimpressed by the spectacle before her.

‘Kai, you are drooling,’ Haven chastised her brother.

He smiled, fangs appearing. ‘I can’t help it, sister. They move beautifully.’

The Fire Princess’s expression was a careful mask of indifference, but when she glanced towards Kai, something glimmered in her eyes.

A look Haven did not miss. She would have to speak to Kai about it later.

Their youngest sister was already being forced into marriage—Haven would not tolerate Kai meddling in drakonian affairs and making things worse.

A fresh wave of applause broke through her thoughts.

The House of Wild had arrived.

Haven clapped, though her movements were far more enthusiastic than Alina’s, who merely mimicked the gesture with a disinterested huff.

Flora Hawthorne entered the arena, and all at once, the crowd stilled. She was a vision of the forest itself, a living embodiment of the wild. Her gown, woven from leaves, trailed behind her in a shimmering cascade of green. But what drew every gaze was not the gown—it was the butterflies.

Hundreds of them.

They rested upon the fabric, scattered across her like living jewels, their delicate wings adding bursts of iridescent colour to her form.

Even her antlers were adorned with them, tiny wings fluttering as the creatures remained perched upon their living throne.

Then, with a single motion, she lifted her arms.

The butterflies took flight all at once, an explosion of colour and movement. Gasps filled the arena, breathless and awed, as the creatures spiraled upward, their wings catching the golden light, scattering it in dazzling patterns before disappearing into the sky.

When the last of them had vanished, Flora was left standing alone in the centre of the arena, still clad in nothing but leaves, her expression one of quiet satisfaction.

‘Beautiful, is it not?’ Haven said, leaning over towards the Fire Princess, both clapping with disinterest.

Alina humphed.

‘Don’t the Fae have magic?’ Haven asked.

‘They do, but it is a different kind of magic to that of the witches,’ Alina replied.

‘Ah, so it is a magic that is approved.’

Alina kept her attention on the performance, but Haven noticed the way those eyes sharpened.

‘It is not a question of magic in itself, it is a matter of how the magic is wielded.’

‘It does not frighten you then?’ Haven turned to look at the princess. ‘That they possess such abilities?’

‘No.’ Alina snorted, indifferent. ‘The witches were far greater and look at what we did to them.’

Haven nodded, thoughtfully. The witches had been a threat to every kingdom once, a force too powerful to be ignored. The marriage between Hadrian and Tabitha had been the perfect excuse.

‘Nonetheless, it is not always others whom we should fear the most,’ Alina said, causing Haven to return her attention to the princess. ‘Sometimes the real monsters lurk within our own walls.’

…

Alina had to admit—she was excruciatingly bored.

Some of the Houses offered performances engaging enough to momentarily capture her attention, but others had her nearly dozing in her seat.

And to make matters worse, the chair was abominably uncomfortable.

Surely her family, with all their wealth and splendour, could afford to commission something far more luxurious than the stiff-backed monstrosities provided in the arena.

But then—House of Wings arrived.

Alina sat up straighter, every trace of lethargy vanishing.

Of all the kingdoms that had gathered for her brother’s union to the wyverian princess, none had intrigued her quite as much as the valkyrians.

Their floating islands, suspended high above the world, could only be reached by their legendary warhorses—creatures so luminous, so magnificent, that some believed they could blind any who dared to look upon them for too long.

There were four islands, one in each cardinal direction.

From the balcony of her chambers, Alina had spent her childhood staring at one of them, visible as a hazy silhouette on the horizon, its shadow skimming the endless sea.

She had dreamt of the warriors who lived upon those islands, high above the earth, sworn to protect the kingdoms below.

During the Great War, the valkyrians had fought not for conquest but for balance.

They had chosen no sides, their sole purpose to contain the destruction, to shield the innocent.

And when the witches had finally been eradicated, the valkyrians had left the battlefield in bitter scorn, cursing the kingdoms for the needless bloodshed.

So why had they come now? Perhaps they saw this marriage as the beginning of something new. Perhaps, for the first time since the war, they believed peace could be achieved.