Page 47

In my mind I always believed something would change the moment Hadrian and I married.

Nothing truly has. My love for him runs deep within my veins, spreading through the entirety of my body.

Perhaps I love him even more now. Or perhaps that is the consequence of the passing of time.

All I know is that when he whispers the word wife in my ear the entire world vanishes.

When I look into his dark black eyes, I know with certainty that I would burn the eight kingdoms down for him.

Tabitha Wysteria

Wren Wynter cherished two things above all else—sleeping beneath a sky thick with falling snow and indulging in the art of quiet observation. But here, in the sweltering heart of the Kingdom of Fire, where winter was nothing more than a distant myth, she was left with only one pleasure.

And so, she followed.

The two desert princesses moved with purpose, their movements careful, deliberate. Wren recognised spies when she saw them—how could she not? She was one herself.

From her perch, she watched as Princess Hessa motioned for her sister to stand guard, then slipped through the door of a dimly lit chamber.

Wren began counting the seconds, her mind working through the possibilities of what lay beyond that threshold.

Exactly two minutes later, the princess reappeared, her movements quick, efficient.

No words were spoken. The sisters vanished down the hall, disappearing into the quiet hush of the castle.

Wren dropped soundlessly from her hiding place, her boots touching stone without so much as an echo.

Her keen gaze swept the corridor. A servant’s wing.

Rows of identical doors lined the passage, each one leading to the quarters of those who spent their lives unseen and unheard.

Interesting. What business did Hessa and Sahira have in a drakonian maid’s room?

Had they stumbled upon the same secret Wren had?

The chamber itself was unremarkable—small, plain, sparsely furnished. A narrow cot, a modest bedside table with a single wax candle melting over the surface, and a trunk at the foot of the bed where the occupant stored their belongings. But it was the trunk that caught her attention.

It had not been closed properly.

Wren clicked her tongue, shaking her head. The desert princesses were meant to be masterful in the ways of secrecy, their stealth unmatched, and yet— sloppy. A paranoid maid would surely notice such carelessness.

She knelt, lifting the lid just enough to peer inside, her fingers never grazing the contents. There, nestled among the folds of modest dresses and servant garb, was the object of interest—a tiny black notebook, unassuming to an untrained eye.

Wren grinned.

Hessa had searched in the wrong place. If she had possessed Wren’s particular talents, she might have found what she was looking for.

Humming softly to herself, Wren plucked the notebook from its resting place and slammed the trunk shut .

‘Well, I can’t blame them either,’ she said to no one but the shadows. ‘They aren’t Seers.’

Then she was gone.

She slipped into the darkness as effortlessly as mist rolling over a lake, weaving through the corridors, scaling walls, vanishing into hidden alcoves.

When she finally settled, it was on the rooftop of one of the castle’s towers, her legs dangling over the edge, the city sprawled beneath her like a breathing beast.

Beneath the morning’s glow, she flipped open the notebook.

Pages turned beneath her fingers, the words etched in careful handwriting. The daily routines of a maid. Musings about the cook she fancied. Mentions of friendships and gossip shared among the castle’s lower ranks.

Wren exhaled sharply. This was useless. No maid went to such trouble to hide a simple diary.

It must be under a glamour, she thought, its true ink veiled beneath layers of enchantment.

Without magic, she would see nothing but meaningless scribbles.

And though she was a Seer, though her eyes could pierce through veils most others could not—she did not possess that kind of power.

Tucking the notebook into the inner folds of her shirt, Wren leaned back against the cool stone and stared out over the city.

She had uncovered the game.

Now she only needed to decide how she wanted to play it.

…

‘How is married life treating you, sister? Is it everything you’ve always dreamt of?

Or is it as horrid as everyone claims it to be?

’ Kai lounged in his chair, legs sprawled in the way only a man unbothered by propriety could manage.

His grin was sharp, teasing, but there was something else lurking beneath it—something unreadable.

Mal had found her two brothers in Haven’s chambers, the table buried beneath an array of half-eaten dishes and scattered goblets.

They had explained that Haven had gone to dine with Princess Flora Hawthorne—a curious pairing, though unsurprising.

The future queen of the Kingdom of Darkness was working tirelessly to weave connections that had long been severed, repairing alliances that had frayed over a century of cold silence.

‘Seeing as I have been married for only a day, I would not be able to comment, brother,’ Mal replied, sinking into a chair.

Her gaze drifted to the tomes Kage was poring over, thick volumes filled with words that only he could decipher with such devotion.

Above him, his shadow crow perched atop a bookcase, its round black eyes fixed on them, unblinking.

‘Why are you in Haven’s room instead of yours?

’ She flicked a finger between the two of them.

The brothers exchanged a glance before shrugging in perfect unison.

‘Kage, what can you tell me about the Library of Flames?’ She needed to get inside. If there was any place in this kingdom that might hold the answers she sought—the witches, the prophecy, the curse—it would be the library. Perhaps even something on the Great War.

‘I can tell you that you are not allowed to enter.’ Kage did not look up from his book.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Mal’s jaw tensed. She already knew, of course. Another absurd rule, another restriction, another way this kingdom sought to bind its women beneath the weight of archaic traditions.

‘Women are not allowed to enter the library,’ Kage confirmed, still focused on the text before him.

‘That’s ridiculous.’ Mal’s fingers curled into fists. ‘Why would women not be allowed in a library?’

Kage finally lifted his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes.‘Because there is knowledge in the written word. Why would they want their women to hold such power over them?’ He grinned. ‘That would not be beneficial to the Fire King.’

Mal inhaled deeply, leaning back in her chair, fingers drumming against the table’s surface. She needed to get inside. ‘Kage, I need to ask you for a favour.’

Her brother returned to his reading. ‘Will this favour be dangerous?’

‘No.’ She exchanged an amused look with Kai.

‘I’m assuming our brother knows what you are going to ask of me.’

‘I have no idea.’ Kai snorted. ‘Does anyone ever know what our dear sister wants?’

Mal stilled her fingers. ‘I need you to get me a few books from that library.’

‘Why?’

‘For investigative purposes.’

Kage sighed, his finger tracing an unseen pattern along the edge of the book. ‘About what?’

‘Witches.’

A small, almost imperceptible twitch danced at the corner of Kage’s eye—an involuntary tell that most would miss. ‘Anything else?’

‘About the prophecy and the curse. And maybe you could find some tomes about the Great War.’

This time, Kage hesitated. His fingers stilled, his shoulders tensing the barest fraction. His gaze slid away from the book, fixing itself on Mal with quiet scrutiny. ‘You’ve read about these things back home.’

‘And yet, this is not our home. They surely must have information we do not.’ She did not miss the way Kai flinched at the word home.

She ignored the way her own chest tightened around it.

This was home now. Whether she wanted it to be or not.

And in a few short weeks, everyone else would return to their own lands, their own castles, their own lives—forgetting the wyverian princess who had tethered herself to a drakonian prince to save them all.

‘I’ve already been to the Library of Flames.’ Kage’s voice was flat, unreadable. ‘Their scriveners hardly allow someone to breathe without them frowning about it. I doubt they will let me take whatever they have without permission from the king himself.’

Kai smirked. ‘You could ask your husband—the Fire Prick.’ There was something sharp in his tone, something that made Mal glance at him.

‘No, he will start asking questions.’ Though, in truth, she doubted he would.

Ash hardly spoke to her as it was. But she didn’t want him watching her movements too closely, didn’t want him suspecting her intentions.

‘If they won’t give them to you, we will just have to steal them.

’ Her attention slid to Kai. The naughtiest of the three.

He groaned. ‘Sister, I adore you. Truly I do. But I will not steal old dusty books for you. You are married to the Fire Prick and stealing from his kingdom—sounds incredibly tempting—is not advisable when we are trying to unite lands that hate each other.’

‘It is not stealing, it is borrowing.’

‘No, it is precisely stealing,’ Kage corrected. ‘You are taking something without permission. That is the definition of stealing.’

Mal sneered. ‘But I will be handing it back. That is the definition of borrowing. Look it up.’ Kage grabbed a dictionary, flipping it open. Before he could speak, Mal snatched it from his grasp and smacked his arm with it. ‘Enough with you, brother. Are you going to help me or not?’

Kage resumed his reading. ‘Are you in imminent danger?’

‘If I say no… Will that change your answer?’

‘Most probably.’

‘Then yes, I am in terrible danger, brother.’