Page 63

He stilled, his body taut, waiting for her. Giving her control. But Mal did not want control. She wanted him. Inside of her.

Slowly, she moved, guiding him, commanding him, until the pain melted into pleasure, until the fire consumed them both.

Ash groaned, his lips tracing her jaw, her ear, the line of her throat. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust—he worshipped her. And Mal broke, again and again, beneath the weight of his devotion.

Her name tumbled from his lips like a desperate prayer as he reached his peak, his body shuddering, his hands gripping her as though she were the only thing tethering him to this world.

Silence fell, save for their ragged breaths, the lingering echoes of their pleasure.

Mal laughed, breathless and spent, her chest rising and falling as Ash rolled onto his side, pulling her against him as though he could not bear the distance. His arm remained locked around her, keeping her close, keeping her his.

‘I think we might have scared the neighbours,’ she mused, the laughter bubbling in her throat.

Ash turned to her, his eyes filled with something that made her blush, something reverent, in awe. His fingers stroked the curve of her stomach, mapping her, memorising her. ‘You are making me nervous, Fire Prince.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Because you are looking at me as if…’

‘As if what?’

She bit her lip, watching him, feeling him, knowing. ‘As if you enjoyed this so much you want to do it all over again.’ He grinned—a slow, wicked thing that sent a thrill through her. ‘If you do that, I won’t be able to sleep.’

‘Who said you are g-going to sleep?’

Her pulse quickened.

‘Oh?’ Mal’ s purple eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘What will I be doing?’

Ash rolled on top of her once more, caging her in with his body.

She felt the heat radiating from him, the fire in his touch, the promise in his gaze.

Without hesitation, she reached up, her fingers wrapping around his golden horns as his hand slipped between her thighs once again.

‘You will be moaning all night long, princess.’

And Mal did.

Again.

And again.

And again—until the night surrendered to dawn.

…

Mal awoke from sleep to the soft shuffle of servants entering their chambers, their arms laden with trays of food.

At the sight of the entangled prince and princess—bare, limbs tangled like the roots of a forbidden tree—they faltered, cheeks aflame, before hastily setting the meal down and fleeing as though they had stumbled into something sacred.

Mal laughed, a bright, musical thing that rang through the chamber. Drakonians, it seemed, feared the sight of bare skin more than steel.

Her giggles stirred Ash, who had slept with one arm draped lazily around her, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. He hummed low in his throat, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades before trailing his lips lower, his fingers mapping the familiar landscape of her body.

It took mere minutes for his mouth to turn her laughter into moans.

And for a few more hours, they forgot the world outside.

By the time they finally disentangled themselves from the sheets and rose, the servants were allowed back in—though they did not dare meet Mal’s gaze as they prepared the bath and laid out their clothing.

Mal reached for her riding dress, a simple but well-fitted grey garment, slipping it over her bare skin. She fastened the laces at her waist, smoothing the fabric down with practiced fingers before stepping back into the bedroom.

Ash froze.

His golden gaze darkened, burning through her as if she were a stormcloud he longed to chase.

‘Everyone out,’ he commanded, his voice like embers smoldering in the wind.

‘Ash, we are going to be late,’ she chided, laughing as he closed the distance between them and lifted her into his arms, spinning her with reckless abandon. ‘Your men have probably been waiting all morning.’

He kissed the tip of her nose, his hands steadying her hips.

‘You are r-right. But tonight… I want to bathe with you and…’ His fingers brushed the fabric at her waist, toying with the laces as if he might undo them then and there.

His gaze dipped, hungry, to where the grey fabric clung to her curves.

He bit his lower lip as if pained. ‘And I also want you on this b-bed, with that d-dress on.’

The way he said it—breathless, like a prayer—sent a shiver through her.

They finally emerged from the castle to where the dragon keepers had prepared their mounts, the crisp morning air buzzing with the scent of embers and sun-warmed scales. A handful of Red Guards had gathered, their armour gleaming in the golden light.

Kai stood a few feet away from Hagan, his expression as sharp as the daggers he carried—a clear indication that his mood was as foul as a stormcloud gathering on the horizon.

Mal approached him, softening her tone. ‘Why are you here, brother?’

‘Surely you do not want to keep all the fun to yourself, do you, sister?’ Mal stuck her tongue out at him in response. With a smirk, Kai stepped closer and murmured, ‘Apparently the Red Guard are also permitted to ride dragons apart from the royal family.’

It made sense. If only men of royal blood could ride dragons, the skies would be left to Ash and the king alone. Of course the Red Guard would be given the honour—warriors had to be able to command the skies too.

Ash stood beside two dragons: one smaller and crimson as a dying star, the other large and golden, scales rippling like molten gold. He gestured, first to Mal, then to Kai.

Mal felt her chest tighten.

She had been foolish—so foolish—to believe that Ash would keep his promise.

To believe that the warmth he gave her in the sanctuary of their chambers would be offered in daylight.

Because now, before the eyes of the others, the Fire Prince had retreated into silence once more.

He was quiet. Distant. Unreachable.

Her hands curled into fists.

And then—a touch.

Fingers sliding into her black hair, threading through the strands like a whisper of wind through the trees.

Mal turned, heart hammering, and found herself staring into Ash’s molten gaze. He smiled—soft, sure, utterly hers. Then he bent his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his hand drifting down from her hair to rest at her throat, thumb caressing the pulse there.

All her anger melted into ash.

‘I promised,’ he whispered.

And then his lips found hers, and the world vanished into nothing.

…

Wren rested her chin on the rough wooden table, idly blowing at a crumpled ball of paper she had crafted in boredom.

Across the dimly lit chamber, Kage sat hunched by the window, flipping through tome after tome, his dark eyes burning with irritation.

He was sifting through endless pages, hunting for even the faintest whisper of the dagger’s whereabouts.

Vera, draped over a chair with the air of a caged predator, watched them both with silent scrutiny.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Vera muttered, her fingers tapping against the armrest with barely restrained impatience. ‘I do not need babysitting.’

‘It’s not babysitting,’ Wren corrected, smirking. ‘It’s kidnapping.’

The crow perched upon the shelves took flight, its wings slicing the silence as it landed with a sharp caw in the centre of the table. ‘What’s it saying?’ Wren asked, tilting her head at the shadowy bird.

Kage, still engrossed in his book, did not spare them a glance .‘It wonders why I am the only one actually researching when I am the least invested in finding this damn object.’ His voice was flat, unimpressed. ‘Instead of bickering like children, you might try lifting a book yourselves.’

‘I don’t much enjoy reading,’ Wren admitted, gnawing absently at her fingernail.

‘I spent most of me time outside with me brotha Bryn. We neva really enjoyed stories that much, but me younga sistas do. Gwenyth and Gwyneira love a good story. They’d make me listen to a few but I neva could get da point of them. ’

Vera arched an intrigued brow.‘Tell us a story then.’

‘Do not dare,’ Kage warned, his tone laced with quiet menace. ‘She just said she hates them.’

Wren’s eyes gleamed with mischief, her spine straightening as if challenged.

She would not be silenced—especially not by Kage Blackburn.

‘Fine,’ she said, pleased by their begrudging attention.

‘I can tell ya da story of me brotha Eirwen and how he got his name.’ She leaned in, her voice dipping into the cadence of a storyteller, her accent wrapping around the words like a song sung by the wind.

‘Wolverians are always born as twins. Always.’ Her gaze swept between them, gauging their reactions.

‘Bryn and I were da first, then Gwyneth and Gwyneira, and last was Eirwen. But Eirwen’s twin… died.’

A pause.

Even Vera’s expression darkened.

‘When a child is born, they are left outside in da snow so a wild wolf can claim them,’ Wren continued, her voice softer now, almost reverent.

‘If no wolf comes, da babe dies. That is da wolverian way. When da wild wolf chooses ya, yer bound to it for life.’ Her fingers drummed against the tabletop as if recalling something distant and cold.

‘Always two wolves show up, one for each twin. They take da babes, keep them warm through da night, and by morning, they return them.’ Her lips tightened.

‘But when Eirwen was born, his wolf came… but his sista’s neva did.

She froze to death in da snow. They gave me brotha her name, even though Eirwen is a girl’s name. ’

She exhaled, her breath feather-light.

‘He says sometimes he can see her. That she’s a wolf, watching over him. That he speaks to her.’ Wren shrugged, but something haunted lingered in her gaze. ‘We wolverians believe our dead are reborn as wild wolves. But… I dunno if me brotha really sees her.’

‘Why not?’ Vera asked.

‘Becas I neva have.’ Wren shrugged. ‘I’m a Seer. Surely I would have seen her, no?’

Kage, who had resumed flipping through his book, finally spoke, ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps not. Eirwen was the twin, they had a special bond. Their bond may transcend death in a way even a Seer cannot perceive.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

Silence settled over the room, save for the rustle of pages and the occasional caw of the crow. The weight of idleness pressed heavy on Wren’s shoulders. She glanced around the dreary chamber, restless.

‘Mal went patrolling,’ Kage mumbled from where he sat as if he could read Wren like one of his books. The thought made her suddenly uncomfortable.

‘What do you mean?’ Vera demanded, standing so abruptly her chair nearly toppled over.

‘The drakonian prince and her went to the borders. My brother Kai told me this morning they would be gone for most of the day.’

Vera’s face paled, her lips parting in horror.

‘Vera, what’s wrong?’ Wren asked.

The witch whirled towards them, her voice sharp as a blade. ‘Witches .’ Her eyes burnt with urgency. ‘They will be attacked at the wall by witches.’

‘How are ya so sure?’

Vera gritted her teeth. ‘Because…’ She hesitated, then shook her head, impatient. ‘Just listen to me. The borders are no longer safe. They will be attacked. ’

‘My sister knows how to fight,’ Kage said.

‘You are not looking at the greater picture. If Ash dies, or Mal does, the curse cannot be broken. They both need to be alive until Mal has that damn dagger in her hand. Even if she dies and we have the dagger, it won’t work. It has to be Mal who stabs Ash in the heart.’

‘How do ya know all of that?’ Wren’s stomach twisted.

‘I’ll explain on the way.’ Vera shoved past them towards the door. ‘We need to find a way to catch up to them.’

‘They’re on dragons.’ Kage exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘I have my wyvern but it might not even respond to me if it doesn’t want to, and we cannot travel on giant wolves because we would take too long.’

‘Then we fly!’ Wren declared.

Kage’s scowl deepened.’And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?’

Wren’s lips curled, wicked as the winter wind. ‘I have a few friends that will give us a ride on their flying horses.’