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The Council has always made sure that we keep the extent of our powers a secret.

The other kingdoms are unaware of what we can do.

Yes, they have seen our magic in action but only what the Council deems appropiate.

From a young age we are taught to keep our magic reigned in when others are around.

We are never to show strangers what witches and warlocks are truly capable of.

I have always found that rather odd. Why must we keep our magic hidden from the rest of the world?

Only showing small pieces of it, leaving a path of crumbs for the rest to feast on.

I think the Council believes this will keep us safe if one day someone wishes to stand against us.

But this makes me wonder…What is the Council doing that would make them worry over betrayals?

We are the ones that are meant to keep the eight kingdoms together.

But each day that passes I worry that we are the reason for the fracture.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal had spent the remainder of the day tucked away in her chambers with the Fire Prince.

Everything else—the cryptic conversation she still owed Vera, the unread pages of the stolen tome, the elusive dagger that continued to evade her—all of it faded into the background.

For now, the witch would not be running anywhere.

For now, the cursed blade would remain hidden in some forgotten crevice of history.

And yet, time was slipping through her fingers like sand in an hourglass .

They were running out of it.

But for a few stolen hours, Mal allowed herself to forget. She abandoned thoughts of curses and daggers, of war and duty, and instead let herself focus on him .

They had eaten together, side by side, speaking of books and the strange differences between their worlds.

She told him about the tree she had chosen to pray beneath, the only place she had found in this kingdom that made her feel tethered to something greater.

And Ash—he had listened with quiet intent, his eyes burning with unspoken promises.

He swore he would find her a place where she could pray properly. And she believed him.

She had never seen him talk so much. He was no longer the silent prince, grunting out words in half-hearted response.

He spoke freely now, a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there before, and it mesmerised her.

He laughed . He recounted old memories—childhood mischief with Hagan, a sulking Alina left behind in the corridors of the palace, their mother scolding his sister for climbing walls and swinging swords she was never meant to touch.

‘I should have taught her, in se-secret,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘But we grew up and s-she seemed con-content and ha-happy.’

‘Did you ever ask her?’

A pause. A gleam of something unreadable in those golden eyes. ‘Not enough.’

The sky outside had deepened into a breathtaking red, the last traces of day bleeding into dusk. Mal stepped onto the balcony, drawn by the distant echoes of wyvern cries, her gaze scanning the darkening horizon. Somewhere, her beasts called to her.

‘Tomorrow I shall be go-going on patrol,’ Ash explained, stepping beside her. ‘To the b-borders.’

‘I want to come.’ He opened his mouth, and before he could form the words, her fingers pressed lightly against his lips.

‘Do not even think of telling me I cannot, Ash Acheron. I am not drakonian. I am a wyverian princess, and where I come from, I do not sit back to watch the men do what I can also undertake. We are equals. I do not need protecting. The sooner you understand that, Fire Prince, the sooner we will understand each other.’

His answering smile was so dazzling, so devastatingly radiant, that Mal felt something twist deep in her gut—something unfamiliar, something dangerous. The sharp crests of his cheekbones lifted, his dimple appearing in a way that made her breath stutter.

Sunlight. That was what he was.

And she had been sent here to snuff it out.

His fingers curled gently around her hand, pulling it away from his mouth. ‘What I was going to say, princess, is if you would like to ride a d-dragon tomorrow when you come on patrol with m-me.’

Oh.

Mal blinked at him, her momentary defiance crumbling into something softer.

She nodded, curiosity gleaming in her purple gaze.

She had ridden wyverns her entire life—wild, untamed creatures with clawed wings and eyes as sharp as steel.

Dragons, by comparison, were smaller, with four legs instead of two, built for precision rather than chaos.

She wondered what it would feel like.

The last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, and darkness wrapped its arms around them. Ash moved back towards the table, plucking a few grapes from the tray, utterly unaware of the way her eyes drank him in.

Gods, he was beautiful .

She had not allowed herself to truly see it before, but now it was undeniable.

His golden skin glowed under the candlelight, as if the Sun God himself had carved him from flame and set him loose upon the earth.

His movements were effortless, his bare arms taut with strength, the elegant arch of his throat betraying his exhaustion.

She had come here prepared to kill a monster.

And yet, in the fire-lit hush of their chambers, she found only a man—one who laughed and carried burdens far too heavy for any mortal to bear.

How in the gods' names was she supposed to plunge a dagger into that heart?

She followed him into the study, lingering in the doorway as he sank into the armchair, pulling at the laces of his boots. The soft rustle of fabric and the crackling hearth were the only sounds between them, but the silence was charged. Tense with something she could not name.

Ash glanced up, his golden eyes questioning.

‘Don’t go,’ she whispered.

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. ‘I’m not g-going anywhere.’

Mal stepped forward, stopping just before him. Hesitant. She had never touched his hair before, though she had often wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Like spun gold, the colour of molten sunlight. Carefully, she threaded her fingers through it, brushing against the base of his horns.

Ash stilled beneath her touch.

A heartbeat. Then another.

His eyes darkened, searching her face.

‘Don’t hide from me.’

His throat bobbed, and then— soft, reverent, a promise carved into eternity.

‘I promise.’

Mal swallowed, pressing her lips together before holding out her hand to him. A silent invitation. A familiar ritual. ‘Are you sleeping in here again tonight?’ It was the same question she asked every night.

A test. A hope. A quiet plea.

She waited, bracing herself for rejection—for the weight of his uncertainty to settle between them once more.

But something had changed.

And they both knew it.

Ash’s calloused hand slid into hers, rough against the delicate lines of her palm, a contrast she found herself craving.

Mal guided him back into the bedroom, their footsteps whispering against the cold stone floor.

Before the great, sprawling bed, she turned to face him, her breath hitching in her throat.

Slowly—hesitantly, reverently—her trembling fingers found the buttons of his crimson shirt.

One by one, she unfastened them, the fabric peeling away like fire parting from embers.

Her hands roamed the expanse of his chest, smoothing over the firm muscle and golden skin stretched beneath her touch.

Her lips parted, her breath faltering at the sheer magnificence of him.

Ash’s hands traced the gentle curve of her collarbone, his touch featherlight but burning nonetheless.

He reached for the straps of her dress, his fingers slipping them off her shoulders with deliberate slowness, watching as goosebumps chased the retreating fabric.

His golden eyes—molten, alight with something deep and insatiable—drank her in as she unraveled before him.

She shivered, anticipation lacing her spine as the dress slipped down her body, pooling at her feet like ink.

Naked, bared beneath the flickering candlelight, she was his to behold.

The tip of his finger brushed over her bottom lip, tracing the shape of her mouth before gliding lower, down the elegant curve of her throat.

Mal arched her back in silent invitation as his touch traveled like a whispered prayer between her breasts, trailing lower, lower, ever lower.

Heat slashed through her, pooling between her thighs.

He halted just before reaching her core, a wicked smile curling his lips—a promise, a tease.

And then he guided her onto the bed.

‘Ash…’

His name escaped her in a breathless plea just as his mouth found hers—soft, claiming, all-consuming. Then he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, over her throat, his tongue following the same path his fingers had moments ago. Mal gasped, her back arching, surrendering, needing more.

His hands found her breasts, kneading, teasing, worshipping, while his mouth ventured lower. The sound of his breath, the warmth of his lips ghosting across her skin, sent her body spiraling into madness. Then his mouth was between her thighs, and she was lost.

Her moan shattered the air, her fingers tangling into his golden locks as she tugged, desperate and wild.

She felt herself unravel, the pleasure mounting—gathering like a storm ready to break.

Just when she thought she might combust, his fingers joined his tongue, sending her careening over the edge.

She screamed, her body trembling as waves of ecstasy consumed her.

And still, he was not finished.

Before her pulse had even settled, he was on top of her, his mouth capturing hers in a slow, devastating kiss. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, her nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretching, claiming, setting her ablaze.