Page 45

I sometimes wonder what kind of consequences our actions will have on the future. The answer scares me. The most simple of changes in a decision could be life-changing. World shattering.

I do not want to be the cause.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal had slipped away from the revelry before the night had ended.

The celebration had soured upon hearing the news—Zahian Noor and Alina Acheron.

An engagement, whispered through the halls like the flickering tongues of flame that adorned the Fire Kingdom.

Did Alina know? Did she want it? Mal doubted it.

She knew little of the Fire Princess, but she knew enough to be certain of one thing: Alina Acheron had never been given the luxury of choice.

She had searched for Ash, scanning the sea of faces and glittering candlelight, but he had vanished like smoke on the wind. And so, with little else to do, she had abandoned the party, her mood as dark as the night sky beyond the palace spires.

Stepping into her chambers, Mal came to an abrupt halt.

The air felt wrong—too empty, too bare. Her belongings were gone.

The trunks that had once cluttered the space, the disarray of tomes and scrolls that had lain scattered across the long wooden table, all had vanished.

The gowns that once hung in the wardrobe were missing, her boots and slippers nowhere in sight.

A sound—soft, almost hesitant—stirred behind her. Instinct flared, and Mal whirled, her body poised to strike, a snarl curling on her lips.

The servant girl shrieked, stumbling back in fright.

‘I am so sorry, your highness,’ the girl stammered, her hands trembling. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’

Mal’s gaze narrowed. ‘Where are my things?’

The servant was young, no older than twenty, with golden hair neatly braided on either side of her head. She swallowed nervously before answering. ‘They have been moved to your new chambers, your highness.’

‘My new what ?’ The words left her mouth in a hiss, irritation curling in her stomach. And then it struck her—of course. She was married now. The space she had once claimed as hers was no longer hers alone. She would be sharing it with her husband.

The thought made her growl under her breath. She took a step closer, eyes locking onto the servant. ‘Where is Vera?’ A flicker of something passed through those drakonian-brown eyes—too quick to be caught, but not quick enough to be hidden.

‘She is ill, your highness.’

Mal did not believe that for a second. Her mind flashed back to the moment she had seen Vera with the queen, the silent exchange between them. And now, suddenly, her maid was gone.

‘And your name?’ Mal’s voice was smooth, but there was an edge beneath it, something sharp, something waiting.

‘Klara, your highness.’

Mal stepped closer, inhaling deeply. The scent of smoke and cedar clung to the girl’s skin, but beneath it was something sweeter—honey, thick and rich, the same honey the drakonians used in everything from their drinks to their medicines.

Her eyes sharpened. ‘Tell me, Klara,’ she said, tilting her head, watching the girl’s pulse quicken beneath her skin. ‘Why do you smell exactly the same as my other servant, Vera?’

Fear flashed in Klara’s eyes, but Mal did not miss the way it seemed placed there, deliberate, as though the girl had rehearsed her response. True fear had a scent, a weight. This? This was an illusion.

‘All servants smell the same, your highness,’ Klara answered carefully. ‘We young, unmarried servants share rooms.’

Mal held her gaze a moment longer, then stepped back, allowing the girl to believe the lie had worked. It hadn't. She had spent enough time among drakonian servants to know that each bore their own scent, subtle but distinct. But Vera and Klara? They smelt identical.

‘Very well,’ Mal said coolly. ‘Take me to my room.’

For now, she would let it be. There were more pressing matters at hand—tonight was her first night as a married woman, and she knew what was expected of her.

The High Priestess had explained it in grave detail.

So had her mother. If the Fire Prince wished for it, if he demanded it—what then?

She could not slit his throat with her family still trapped in the Kingdom of Fire.

Escape was too risky. And the prophecy… Could she use any weapon?

Would it have to be at night, beneath a full moon?

She had no answers. And she had only one chance to get it right.

They moved through the winding corridors of the castle, towards the drakonian wing.

The air grew heavier here, thick with the scent of embers and aged stone.

The king and queen’s chambers lay high above, closer to the sky, their retreat carefully placed so they could take flight on their dragons should disaster strike below.

Ash and Alina’s quarters were on this level, though not near one another.

They passed through a long hallway that opened into an interior courtyard, several floors below.

Mal paused, glancing over the stone railing.

The courtyard was simple. A strange thing for drakonians, who were known for their decadence, for their obsession with carving their might into marble and steel.

And yet, here, there were only a handful of plants creeping up the walls and a fountain at the centre.

Mal’s gaze narrowed on the stone figures entwined within the fountain’s design. One was a dragon. The other…

‘One is a wyvern, your highness,’ Klara said beside her, noticing the way Mal’s fingers curled against the railing.

Mal’s lips pressed together. ‘Why would they have a fountain of a dragon and a wyvern fighting?’

Klara shook her head. ‘They are not fighting. They are embracing.’

Mal blinked.

‘The fountain was a gift,’ Klara explained, her voice softer now. ‘From the wyverian King to the Fire Kingdom, for the marriage of Prince Hadrian and Princess Aithne.’

A marriage between fire and night. A unity that had once been celebrated.

Mal exhaled slowly. ‘That explains why they have kept the space so bare.’

Klara frowned. ‘I do not understand, your highness.’

Mal turned away from the railing. ‘This is not a part of the castle they wish to see. They do not want to be reminded that once, long ago, we stood as one.’

Klara lowered her gaze, her hands tightening at her sides.

They continued walking until they reached a set of grand double doors, carved from pale wood and etched with intricate designs. Mal wanted to linger, to study the carvings and decipher what story they told, but Klara moved swiftly, pushing the doors open.

Mal stepped inside—

And the breath left her lungs.

She had expected unfamiliarity, the coldness of a space that was not hers. Instead, she had walked straight into a memory.

Somehow, impossibly—she had been transported home.

The room was vast, stretching out like a silent midnight dream, its grandeur softened by the flickering glow of candlelight.

A balcony curved elegantly along one side, opening to the endless sea, where the waves shimmered under the watchful gaze of the moon.

The walls were hewn from dark stone—an impossibility in the land of fire, where no such stone existed.

Mal suspected they had been painted over, a deliberate alteration to bring the night into this place.

Tall arches framed by intricate windows dominated much of the walls, vines creeping up in delicate webs, their curling tendrils nearly obscuring the artistry of the glass.

The other side of the chamber was lined with towering bookshelves, crafted from dark wood and filled with her tomes, her archives, the fragments of her knowledge transported carefully into this foreign world.

Candles burnt steadily throughout the space, their glow spilling warmth onto the blackened surfaces. Even the balcony railing bore their quiet flames, steadfast and unmoving, held in place by the unique drakonian wax that ensured no breeze could topple them.

At the centre of it all lay the bed—an expanse of dark silk beneath the towering windows, its headboard carved from ebony wood, impossibly intricate. Mal’s breath caught as she traced the images embedded within the design.

Her temple. The lonely tree where offerings were placed. Her castle, standing against a sky filled with wyverns in flight.

It was a piece of her world, etched into the heart of his.

‘The prince arranged the room for you, your highness,’ Klara said behind her. ‘He ensured it would be ready for your wedding day, as a gift. He said he wanted you to feel at home.’

The word home struck like an arrow to her chest. Mal turned sharply, but not before the emotion welled, unbidden, behind her eyes. She strode out onto the balcony, letting the heat of the night wash over her, forcing the tears back before they could fall. She would not cry.

‘Has it made you upset, your highness?’ Klara’s voice wavered. ‘He only meant to make you happy. So you would not miss your home so much.’

Mal nodded, though she kept her back to the girl.

‘Thank you, Klara. You may go now.’

‘But I haven’t helped you into your nightgown—’

‘That will be all,’ Mal snapped, harsher than she intended. She stood rigid, waiting, listening for the sound of retreating footsteps. The door opened, then closed, leaving her in silence.

Slowly, she turned, her fingers trailing over the shelves, the carved wood, the softness of the sheets. The pang in her chest did not stem from grief alone.

The prince had done something… kind.

How long had it taken? How many days—weeks—had he spent preparing, learning of her homeland, ensuring each detail was right? It was his kingdom. She was the one expected to conform, to change. And yet, he had given her this.

A cruel prince would not have done such a thing.

The rumours had painted him as a silent specter, cold and unyielding. And silent he was, but… cruel? No . No, a cruel man would not have gone to such lengths to make a stranger—his wife —feel at ease.