Page 7

When Mal finished telling the tale, her father exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries resting heavy upon his broad shoulders.

‘We lived in peace once upon a time,’ the king said, his voice like a distant echo, lost in the corridors of history.

‘Eight kingdoms, powerful ones, said to have been created by the gods themselves. And yet, we stand divided, splintered by the sins of our ancestors. By what Prince Hadrian Blackburn did.’

Mal did not move, did not even dare to breathe as she listened.

‘He was to marry princess Aithne of the Kingdom of Fire, bound by oath, but instead, he gave his heart to a witch. He shattered his sacred vow, and in his betrayal, House of Flames sought vengeance, igniting a war that consumed the witches and our own kingdom alike.’

The words twisted like a dagger in the air, sharp with the ghosts of the past.

King Ozul rubbed his beard, his eyes fixed on the shadows shifting in the corners of the room, as if the specters of fallen kings and forgotten warriors lingered there, watching.

‘The king, Hadrian’s father, did not wish to turn against his own blood.

But his son had dishonoured an oath—a union meant to forge alliances.

Hadrian had chosen love over duty, and for that, the kingdom teetered on the edge of ruin.

The king could not afford war, not then, not over the whims of a son too blind with love to see the damage he had caused. ’

The king’s voice darkened. ‘So he did what was best. He allied with the Kingdom of Fire, denounced his own son, and waged war against the witches. And the other kingdoms, greedy for power, eager to strip the witches of their gifts, joined in the slaughter.’

Mal’s fingers curled tightly around the arm of her chair, but she did not interrupt. She was afraid that if she spoke, the fragile thread of this truth would snap, and she would be left with even more questions.

‘Ever since that war, the Kingdom of Fire and our own have lived in bitter hatred, unable to trust, unable to forget the betrayals that burnt both our lands. Though the witches were defeated, we lost something greater—our unity. And now…’ The king sighed, looking older than he had mere moments before.

‘Now, I have received a letter from King Egan of House of Flames. A proposal.’

Mal blinked. ‘King Egan?’

The king nodded. ‘Yes.’

A strange, cold sensation curled around her spine. ‘A proposal?’

Her father’s lips parted, but it took a moment before the words left them. ‘A marriage proposal, Mal.’

The world tilted.

‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, feeling something hollow open inside her chest. ‘You want Haven to marry—’

‘No, Mal.’ The finality in her father’s voice stole her breath. ‘ You are to marry the Fire Prince.’

The room, the fire, the very air seemed to collapse inward.

Her stomach plummeted into oblivion, her mind racing to grasp the cruel reality of what she had just heard.

This had to be a mistake. Her father could not possibly have agreed to something so absurd, so wrong—sending her away to an unfamiliar land, to marry a man she had never met, a prince whose name was whispered in stories of cruelty and recklessness.

A man who spent his days among soldiers, reveling in war, in conquest.

‘Why me?’

Mal knew the answer before he spoke it. She had always known .

Haven was to be queen—her duty bound to the Kingdom of Darkness. Her brothers had their own roles, their own futures. But Mal… Mal had no place, no purpose. A fourthborn, an anomaly, a child that should never have existed.

She was expendable.

The perfect solution.

‘Why would my marriage to the prince fix anything?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the king heard her. He always did.

‘Long ago, marriage was the bridge that bound kingdoms together. It was through these sacred oaths that peace was forged.’ His expression was unreadable, but Mal knew the truth sat heavy behind his eyes.

‘After the war, we lost that. Each kingdom turned inward, isolating themselves in their own grievances. But now… now, the Fire King wishes to atone. If House of Flames and House of Shadows unite, the other kingdoms may follow. We could return to an age of peace, Mal. A world where we are not enemies.’

She wanted to ask if any of this had to do with the whispers—the murmur of witches rising, of vengeance stirring in the dark—but she bit her tongue.

He had not mentioned them.

But she knew.

The world feared witches still, feared what they could become if they rose from the ashes of their ruined kingdom. But not all witches were gone. They never had been.

One only had to look into Mal’s eyes to see the truth.

Her father reached for her hand, his calloused fingers warm, steady. ‘I will not force you,’ he said softly. ‘If you refuse, we shall find another way.’

Mal nodded, but the movement was hollow.

There was no other way .

Her ancestors had already broken an oath once before, and it had unmade the world. If she refused, it would fracture beyond repair. If the whispers were true—if the witches were truly stirring, preparing to return—the kingdoms needed to stand together. They needed unity.

And that unity had been placed upon her shoulders.

‘Would I have to go alone?’

The thought struck her deeper than she expected. The reality of it—the loneliness of traveling to an unfamiliar place, of standing in a court of strangers, of facing the Fire Prince alone—was suddenly far more terrifying than the marriage itself.

Her father’s expression softened. ‘Of course not. Your sister and brothers will accompany you, they will stay for the wedding and for a time after. Your mother and I… we cannot leave our kingdom unguarded. But know this, my dearest child, we will be with you always.’

He raised two fingers to his forehead—a solemn, sacred gesture among wyverians.

Mal swallowed against the ache rising in her throat. Slowly, she stood, mirroring the gesture. Then, before her resolve shattered, she turned away, forcing herself to walk with steady steps, keeping her shoulders squared, her breath even.

Her world—her home, her family, everything she had ever known—was about to be ripped away.

And she would let it.

If it meant saving her people, if it meant forging peace, if it meant protecting her kingdom—she would sacrifice herself to the flames.

Even if it meant she would never rise again.