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Princess Aithne has no brothers. The future ruler of the drakonians shall be her son—if she has one.

I am pretty certain the king does not want his daughter marrying a phoenixian because he does not want them ruling his kingdom.

That is why, I am almost sure he wants her to marry a wyverian.

If she marries Hadrian, he will still be bound to his duties in his own land so their son will be trained to become the next Fire King.

It is a perfect solution for the drakonians.

The wyverians will not get involved as they will have their own affairs to deal with and all Hadrian will have to do is create a male heir for the drakonians.

I am pretty sure the phoenixians have caught on, and they are not happy.

Tabitha Wysteria

Alina moved through the castle like a storm roiling on the horizon, a tempest barely restrained, ready to break at the slightest provocation.

Her fury crackled in the air, thick as thunder, and those who sensed it quickly stepped aside, pressing themselves to the walls as she passed.

Servants dipped hurried curtsies, their eyes darting nervously after her, wondering what—or who —had ignited such wrath in their princess.

Her rage simmered, coiling tight in her chest, but she kept her stride purposeful, her breath measured.

She reminded herself, again and again, that her parents loved her.

Even if they were distant, even if they so often stood in opposition to her and Ash, they cared .

That was the only thought keeping her from running.

She had dreamt of it since she was fifteen—of leaving, of slipping past the castle gates and never looking back. But she had never done it. She would never do it. Not with Ash here. Not now. Even though he had a wife.

It hardly counts , Alina thought bitterly.

Mal Blackburn was not a real wife to Ash. She could never be. She knew nothing of him, nothing of his burdens, his struggles, the quiet battles he fought beneath the weight of expectation. And worst of all—she did not care to know him.

Alina snorted. Of course she didn’t. The wyverian princess had been forced into a marriage she had never wanted. Alina wouldn’t care for her husband either, if she had been shackled to a stranger in such a way.

Still, the thought did little to soothe her.

The guards at her mother’s chamber doors stepped aside at the sight of her, pushing them open without question.

Alina strode in, keeping her expression composed, her voice steady.

Queen Cyra sat by the window, the golden light illuminating her sun-kissed hands as she dragged a paintbrush across canvas—long, deliberate strokes of yellow forming the curve of a fruit bowl.

‘Mother.’

‘One second.’ The brush did not pause. Alina clenched her fists, forcing herself to still as she dropped into a chair, irritation curling in her gut. The seconds stretched into minutes, her mother utterly engrossed in her painting.

At last, Queen Cyra exhaled through her nose, setting the brush down.

She turned, her gaze sweeping over Alina with sharp scrutiny.

Then, with a slight squint, she gestured towards a nearby servant.

‘Bring me my glasses.’ The thin golden frames were placed delicately in her hands, and the queen perched them upon her nose.

Her frown deepened. ‘The seam in your dress needs repairing. How did you not notice such a thing?’

Alina huffed. ‘That is not important!’

‘Elegance is always important, dear.’

‘Mother .’ Alina pushed to her feet, pacing, unable to keep still. ‘I awoke this morning to discover that my maids had brought in a new dress for me to wear. One that you had the tailor make for me. Which I was unaware of.’

‘And for some reason you are not wearing it.’

Alina rubbed her hands together, a nervous habit she had never quite broken.

‘Do not fidget, Alina. A princess must not have such ugly habits.’

Alina stiffened, shoving her hands behind her back. ‘Mother. The dress brought to me was gold and white .’

Silence.

Queen Cyra’s expression did not shift. She merely reached for her brush once more, turning her back to Alina as if the words meant nothing—as if the matter was inconsequential.

But it was not . Colours mattered. They defined the boundaries of kingdoms, signified loyalties, separated bloodlines.

They told stories without words, speaking of history, of alliances, of war.

And white and gold…

Alina stepped forward, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.

‘We do not wear white and gold, mother. Those colours belong to House of Sun.’

‘I am aware, Alina,’ her mother replied, dipping her brush into a pot of orange. Irritation tinged her voice now, though she remained composed. ‘Why do you not ask me the question you wish me to answer? That way we can stop with this silly conversation that is going on right now.’

Alina inhaled sharply, trying to keep herself from lashing out.

A voice in her mind whispered for destruction.

Urged her to rip the sheets from the bed, to shatter the paint jars across the floor, to burn the dresses hanging neatly along the walls.

Instead, she moved back to her chair, lowering herself into it with forced calm and said, ‘Is father planning to announce something today?’

‘He is.’

The air thickened.

‘I am to marry the phoenixian prince? Zahian Noor.’

‘Yes, you are.’

The words fell like stones into the silence between them.

And the storm inside Alina finally broke.

She sank into her chair, letting the weight of her mother’s words settle over her like a thick, suffocating shroud.

She had always known this day would come.

She had understood—since the moment she was old enough to grasp the cruel intricacies of royal blood—that she would never choose her own husband.

That choice had never belonged to her. She was nothing more than a piece on the board, a marionette to be maneuvered by hands stronger than her own.

Just like Ash. There had never been freedom in their fate, no possibility of love or even preference.

They would do as those before them had done—nod their heads, smile in compliance, and surrender their futures to the will of the throne.

In her mind’s eye, she could already see it.

She would be draped in phoenixian white and gold, seated atop Zahian Noor’s great phoenix, flown away into a kingdom of light and ember, far from everything she had ever known.

There would be endless feasts, ceaseless celebrations, a life spent smiling at men who saw her only as a political triumph.

And then, soon— sooner than she would like —there would be an heir.

A child to hold the world’s attention for a moment before it shifted, waiting for the next announcement, the next child, the next duty fulfilled.

Years would pass and she would fade into quiet irrelevance, no longer a princess, merely a woman who had done her part.

Zahian would continue plotting, arranging matches for their offspring, deciding who was worthy, who could be used, and she—she would simply exist, a princess long forgotten.

Alina clenched her jaw.

‘Why Zahian Noor?’ she asked, voice steady despite the storm rising within her. ‘He is not to inherit the throne.’

Queen Cyra lifted a single shoulder, a motion as dismissive as the words that followed. ‘Three sisters.’ She said it as though the number was insignificant. ‘I have heard of others that had many more siblings ahead of them and became kings.’

‘But why would father—’

The queen twisted, her icy gaze sharp as a blade.

‘We need allies, Alina. The witches are growing in power, plotting their revenge against us all. They will have our heads on spikes if we do not plan properly. The more kingdoms on our side, allied to us through marriage, the safer our House will be.’

‘Witches ?’ Alina rose to her feet. Her mother abandoned her painting, gliding towards the table where the wine sat, unbothered by the rising tension in her daughter’s voice. ‘The witches are weak. No one has even seen a witch in over a decade. They are probably all dead.’

Queen Cyra snorted, an elegant, derisive sound. ‘The witches are far more powerful than anyone believes them to be. I have spies all over, child. They tell me what they see.’

‘Even if it’s true. Marrying prince Zahian does not change anything. I could marry any other prince. Prince Bryn of House of Snow is close to me in age. Why not him?’ She didn’t really want to marry him, but she needed to understand. ‘He is to become king.’

‘Do you really want to spend the rest of your life trapped in a castle made of ice and snow?’ Queen Cyra scoffed, her tone sharpening.

‘The phoenixians are similar to us. They believe in the same god. They have similar traditions and they are our neighbouring kingdom. Besides, I do not understand why you are acting as if Zahian Noor were a frail old man. He is a handsome young man who is a few years older than you.’

‘But surely father—’

Queen Cyra laughed . Not a soft chuckle, not a breath of amusement—but a sharp, knowing cackle .

‘Do you really believe that your father actually plans anything at all? Do not be foolish, Alina. I do not have a voice in this kingdom, so I whisper in the ear of the one who does.’ Her voice dripped venom.

‘Your father wouldn’t know if a war was coming to his gates until it hit him in the face, and even then he would not know what to do.

’Her lips curled, the beautiful lines of her face momentarily darkened by disdain.

‘Who do you think gave your father the idea to marry Ash to the wyverian bitch ? You truly think he came up with that all by himself?’

‘Why?’ Alina’s stomach twisted.

‘Because, Alina, there is a prophecy in place. And Ash is the chosen one. He will save us from the witches when they come. Until then, we must prepare for war.’