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Presents have been arriving all morning.

Hadrian’s engagement to princess Aithne is all anyone can talk about.

We are currently in the Kingdom of Fire where the celebrations are taking place.

I have been sent on behalf of the Council to congratulate the couple, but I cannot help but suspect my mother has done this on purpose—wanting me to see how the wyverian I love celebrates his engagement to another.

I think she believes it will make me fall out of love with him. It won’t. I will always love Hadrian.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal had stumbled upon the lonely tree by chance.

It stood at the edge of the forest, perched atop a sun-scorched hill where the grass had faded to brittle yellow. She had discovered it during one of her many restless walks, those endless aimless strides beneath a merciless sky, leaving her breathless from the sheer weight of the heat.

She could not go to the Fire Temple to pray—their god was not hers. Their altars, their incense, their prayers… all of it belonged to a world she would never claim as her own.

But this tree, with its solitary presence against the vast emptiness of the hill, made her think of home .

So she returned, her hands carrying a small cloth bundle of fruit left behind by the maids.

It was not a true lonely tree—not in the way her people knew them.

Its bark was not white, its branches not bare.

This land did not recognise her gods, and perhaps the gods would take offense at her kneeling upon unholy ground, but she had to try.

She had petitioned for a sacred space—a simple altar, a single lonely tree planted in its rightful place.

The drakonians had regarded her with disinterest, their expressions unreadable, leaving her uncertain whether her request would ever be fulfilled.

She had considered asking Ash, but lately, he seemed even more hesitant to be near her.

Mal sighed.

Instead, she knelt beneath this unblessed tree.

With careful hands, she dug a small hollow in the dry earth, placing the fruit within, covering it gently. Then she lowered herself, pressing her forehead to the ground, whispering her prayers into the dust.

It was said that once, long ago, the gods answered. That they had spoken, their voices threading through the fabric of the world, binding their creations to their will. But then, something had happened. Something had angered them, and now, they remained silent.

Mal did not believe they had abandoned them entirely. No, the gods were listening. They simply chose not to reply.

The sun was merciless, sinking its teeth into her delicate skin, warning her that she had lingered too long. With a final glance at the offering, she turned to leave—

Crunch .

Footsteps.

Mal stiffened, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck rising.

She twisted around sharply, scanning the empty expanse of land. There was no one. The tree, the golden grass, the wide stretch of sky—it all stood still. But the sound had come from somewhere, and the only place it could have come from was the forest.

Perhaps another traveller, wandering as she had.

And yet…

There was something else. A sensation slithering down her spine, an awareness that she was not alone. That she was being watched.

Mal moved quickly. She stepped into the woods, weaving between the trees, walking without direction, but listening—always listening.

Someone was following her.

They were good.

Too good.

She could hear them, but she could not place them.

She had learnt from her brother long ago: If something is chasing you, do not run. Running makes you prey. Stop. Wait. Let it come to you.

So Mal stopped.

She exhaled slowly, planting her feet, tensing her body in preparation. If this was an enemy, they would not stand a chance. She was one of the most skilled fighters in all the kingdoms. She would end them before they could even reach for a blade.

‘Oh, hellooooo.’

The voice came from above .

Mal jumped, her body betraying her as a startled yelp tore from her throat. She barely had time to recover before glancing up—

There, hanging upside down from a thick branch, was a girl. She grinned down at Mal with all the mischief of a trickster spirit, swinging slightly, utterly at ease.

‘Ya don’t recognise me. That’s okay. I wouldn’t either. But ya did meet me brother when our House was introduced. He’s Bryn, of House of Snow. And I’m his twin sister, Wren Wynter. He was born two minutes before me so now he gets to become king and I get to enjoy everything else.’

Mal opened her mouth to respond, but Wren kept talking , words spilling from her as easily as breath.

‘I’m sorry if I gave ya a fright. I’m sometimes so stealthy I scare meself at night when I see me own shadow as I head to da kitchens for a snack.

Has that ever happened to ya? Me papa says that I was born a natural snow-walker.

We wolverians have a special way of walking on snow, and some, those that are really skilled, can even do it without leaving footprints.

So walking on normal grounds, especially this sturdy stuff they have in this land, makes it even easier to move around without being heard. ’

With effortless agility, Wren flipped herself down from the branch, landing lightly on the forest floor.

She was small—smaller than Mal—but identical to her twin.

Same sharp features, same piercing eyes.

Mal remembered the twin, Bryn Wynter, from the royal introductions.

He had congratulated her politely alongside the other noble Houses.

The wolverians were a people of ice and snow, their kingdom a frozen expanse in the farthest reaches of the north.

They were famous for many things—their frost-bound castles, their ability to hunt through raging blizzards.

And, of course, their wolves.

Great white beasts, large enough to carry three riders upon their backs.

Mal studied Wren, this strange wolverian girl who had somehow managed to follow her through the forest without leaving a single trace .

Wren Wynter was made of winter itself. Her skin, her hair—both as pale as untouched snow, as though she had been sculpted from frost and ice rather than flesh and bone.

All wolverians bore such features, designed by the gods to blend into the frozen landscapes of their kingdom, to move unseen beneath the silver hush of snowfall.

The only thing that set them apart, that marked them as living rather than apparitions of winter’s breath, were their eyes—a blue so pale, so diluted, that it was nearly white as well.

A creature of ice standing beneath the sweltering sun.

Mal studied her, intrigued. ‘Were you following me?’

‘Yes.’ Mal’s brows lifted in surprise at her blunt confession.

‘But hear me out. Ya see, I was walking through da castle grounds, swearing becas da heat was going to melt me. I was planning on going down to da kitchens to see if I could steal some ice to put down me shirt…’ Wren winced, correcting herself.

‘I mean, not steal. I was just planning on borrowing it.’

‘How can you borrow ice?’

Wren hummed thoughtfully. ‘Good point. So I was headed towards da kitchens when I noticed something very odd. A maid that is meant to be sick in bed, sneaked another maid into da castle. What is odd about this is that that maid that was sneaked in I’ve neva seen before.’

Mal frowned. ‘And you know every single servant that works in this castle?’

Wren shrugged, utterly unbothered. ‘I get bored easily.’

Of course she did.

‘My point is,’ Wren went on, ‘since I’ve arrived to da castle, no servant has been changed for another.

No new ones have arrived, no old ones have left.

So why all of a sudden is this new maid brought in?

And in such a sinister way? And most importantly, da maid that was sneaking in da other was yer old maid Vera. ’

‘Vera?’ Mal shook her head. ‘That cannot be. I was told she was ill and bedridden. Well, perhaps she is better now.’

‘It’s okay, ya don’t have to pretend. I know ya know that yer maid Vera is actually a witch.’

‘I never said she was a witch.’

‘Well, she is, ’ Wren said, pulling a face. ‘Vera is meant to be gone off to da Kingdom of Magic to find a magical dagger on petition of Queen Cyra so that Ash Acheron can stab ya in da heart with it.’

Mal’s stomach twisted. Her vision wavered for a moment.

A dagger.

A weapon meant for her heart.

Her voice was hoarse. ‘Ash is planning on stabbing me?’

‘Oh, no. He has no clue. His mother is da one that’s planning on getting him to stab ya.’ Wren laughed, a light, almost musical sound, as if the very idea was absurd. ‘Don’t worry, he isn’t going to actually do it.’

‘And you’re sure he won’t?’

‘I am. I didn’t see him do it.’

Mal frowned. ‘You didn’t see him? He doesn’t have the dagger yet so…’

‘Oh, I forgot to mention.’ Wren smacked her forehead. ‘I’m a Seer.’

The world shifted beneath Mal’s feet. A Seer. Her mind reeled at the revelation. She had only ever known one before—the woman who lived deep within the Forest of Silent Cries. She had never even considered the possibility that there might be others .

And yet, here stood Wren Wynter, a scrawny young wolverian woman dressed in boy’s clothes, looking entirely wrong for the title she claimed. But Mal had learnt long ago that power did not always come in expected forms.

She steadied herself.

‘So I need a special dagger?’ Mal asked. ‘Do you know where it is?’

‘Unfortunately, no. I don’t get to decide me visions. And most of da time they are quite ambiguous, almost more like a puzzle. I’m given pieces that I then have to sort through and put together.’

‘What visions have you had so far?’

For the first time, Wren hesitated. She chewed the inside of her cheek, clearly reluctant to speak. ‘Well…it’s complicated. Some I do not fully understand until I am given da full picture. Oh, but ya do definitely stab Ash Acheron in da heart and kill him.’

Mal gasped.