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I have discovered something that changes everything.

Princess Aithne has told me there is a reason she convinced Hadrian to break the marriage oath.

It was not truly to marry prince Sorin. I was always right.

She never did truly care for him. She did it all because the Great War had to happen.

I still do not understand the purpose, she claims I never will.

But I must trust her—it all happens for a reason.

I have asked her why, why has she done all of this.

Why does she think she knows what she knows.

I should have guessed long ago the truth about the princess.

Princess Aithne is a Seer.

Tabitha Wysteria

Alina sat motionless, her gaze locked on the slender sword propped against the wall—an unspoken farewell, a silent confession of abandonment. Kai had left it behind, a final offering, a cruel reminder of his departure.

Of his choice to leave her.

Her teeth grazed the edge of her nail, fury simmering beneath her skin as she glared at the damn thing.

He had vowed to train her, to teach her the ways of steel and survival, and yet he was gone.

Who would guide her now? Who would show her how to wield the weapon not just with her hands, but with her heart?

She could not do it alone, and her brother…

her brother ha d long since drifted from her grasp.

The thought of Ash sent a bitter twist through her stomach, a sharp pang of something that was neither anger nor sorrow, but an aching absence where once she had belonged. He did not need her anymore.

She had been discarded, replaced by another.

And though it stung, Alina knew, deep down, that it was for the best. She did not want to live a life of servitude to those she loved. She wanted to stand on her own feet, unshackled from the expectations that had bound her since birth. She wanted to be free.

But first, she had to learn how to let go.

And that—more than swords, more than war, more than duty—was the hardest lesson of all.

A knock at the door shattered her thoughts, pulling her from the quiet storm within her chest. She exhaled sharply. She would find another teacher. The palace was brimming with warriors, and surely one of them could train her in secret. Already, two names came to mind.

The maid cleared her throat, shifting her weight nervously.

‘What is it?’ Alina asked, barely sparing the girl a glance, her name lost in the haze of the princess’s preoccupations.

‘The queen requests an audience.’

Alina rolled her eyes, smoothing out the folds of her crimson dress.

An audience . How grand a word for something so trivial—her mother summoning her like a child in need of reprimand.

No doubt it was another lecture, another weary chastisement about how she was not lavishing enough attention upon Zahian Noor.

As if she cared.

In two days, the castle would be filled with music and wine, draped in gold and silks, to celebrate an engagement she had never wanted.

The banquet would be lavish, the guests brilliant in their jewels, the air thick with the perfume of false smiles.

And when the revelry ended, the other princes and princesses would finally return to their kingdoms, their duty to the celebration fulfilled.

But Alina would not.

In less than a week, she would be taken to a foreign land, a stranger among strangers, where yet another feast would be prepared in her honour. Another crown of flowers placed upon her head. Another night of gilded chains before the wedding.

Her stomach curled at the thought.

She followed the maid through the halls, the familiar walls closing in on her like a cage of red stone and gold.

She adjusted the sleeves of her dress, her fingers repeatedly smoothing her hair, ensuring that no unruly strands had fallen free.

A foolish effort—no perfect facade could disguise the fury that simmered beneath her skin.

She had not seen her mother since the slap.

The memory of it burnt, raw and humiliating, threatening to rise to the surface like bile. But Alina swallowed it down like the bitter remedies forced upon her as a child, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the dragon’s den.

Alina’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of her brother seated within the dimly lit chamber.

He should not have been here—not yet, not so soon.

His skin, still pallid from the strain of his wounds, was a stark contrast to the loose shirt draped over him. He looked fragile, frayed at the edges.

But there was no time to dwell on that.

Queen Cyra dismissed the last lingering maid with a sharp flick of her wrist before turning on Alina. Her fingers, cold and unyielding, latched onto Alina’s arm, dragging her further into the room with a force that belied her regal grace.

‘Finally, child! What took you so long?’ Her voice, strained and breathless, barely masked the undercurrent of desperation laced within it.

Alina wrenched her arm free, rubbing the lingering imprint of her mother’s grasp. ‘What is it, Mother?’ Her gaze darted to Ash, who sat motionless, his expression unreadable but watchful. ‘Ash should not be out of bed yet.’

‘This is far too important,’ the queen snapped.

‘Could it not have been discussed in Ash’s room?’

The queen’s gaze sharpened, suspicion flaring behind her steel-like eyes. ‘No . The wyverian princess might have heard.’ She gestured vaguely around the room. ‘This place is safe.’

Alina pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience thinning. ‘What is it? You are making us nervous.’

The queen halted her pacing and turned to Ash, a fire burning in her gaze.

‘My son, what I am about to tell you is of utmost importance. You must listen first—listen and do as I say—for if you do not, we will all perish.’ A shiver ran down Alina’s spine at the weight of her mother’s words.

Perish ? She had never seen their mother like this before—so fraught with unease, so unhinged.

Ash exchanged a look with Alina, mirroring her confusion.

‘Mother, what are you saying—’

‘You are the key to everything!’ The queen surged forward, cupping Ash’s face with trembling hands.

Alina stilled. Never in her life had she seen their mother display such tenderness. And that—more than the feverish glint in the queen’s eyes—was what frightened her the most.

‘The moment you were born, I felt the stars align,’ the queen continued, her voice hushed with reverence.

‘I saw you rise from the ashes. It was all predestined, arranged for this moment. I feared the dagger would never be found, but I have seen its hiding place in my dreams.’ She gripped his hands tightly.

‘Now, at last, you can break the curse. ’

‘Mother, what dagger? What are y-you talking about? Surely y-you do n-not believe in the curse,’ Ash said. ‘We have m-more pressing matters to wo-worry about. Witches attacked the w-wall and fa-father is brushing it off as if it n-never ha-happened.’

‘Listen to me,’ she implored. ‘The witches do not matter right now. If the curse is not broken, something terrible will happen to you.’

‘What does Ash have to do with the curse?’ Alina’s heart pounded in her chest.

Her mother turned to her, eyes brimming with certainty. ‘I already told you. He is the chosen one. And if the curse remains unbroken, he will suffer.’

Alina cast a quick glance at her brother, who sat still and silent, his jaw clenched. He was not listening to her words—he was assessing his mother, searching for the cracks in her logic, the fracture of madness that had taken root.

Everyone in the Eight Kingdoms knew of the curse—an old whisper passed from tongue to tongue, slowly withering into legend. Few believed it. How could they? It was easy to dismiss a prophecy when the threat loomed in the distance, untethered from the present. It was a story, nothing more.

And yet, here their mother stood, shaking with conviction.

Ash exhaled through his nose. ‘What must I do to b-break it?’ The queen’s face lit with desperate hope. But Alina knew—she knew—that Ash had asked not out of belief, but in an effort to soothe their mother’s hysteria. If there was something simple he could do to ease her mind, he would do it.

But the queen’s answer was anything but simple.

‘You must stab Mal Blackburn in the heart.’

Silence. A deafening, soul-crushing silence .

Colour drained from Ash’s golden face, his features carved from stone. Alina felt her own stomach lurch violently, bile rising at the words their mother had so carelessly uttered.

She wanted him to kill Mal?

Ash’s body went rigid before he forced himself to stand, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through him. Whether it was from his wounds or from the horror in his mother’s words, Alina could not tell.

The queen reached for him, her fingers curling around his wrist like a lifeline.‘Ash, my sweet boy, listen to me.’

‘Do. Not. Touch. Me.’

The voice that tore from Ash’s lips was something else entirely. A growl, a snarl, a warning forged in molten fury.

Alina flinched.

She had seen her brother angry before. She had seen his temper burn bright and unforgiving. But this… this was different.

His golden eyes, once warm as the sun, burnt with something lethal.

With rage.

‘Please try to understand…’ Queen Cyra’s voice trembled, fraying at the edges like a tapestry left too long in the sun.

Alina had never seen her mother like this before—this was not the queen of ice and precision, not the woman who orchestrated her world with ruthless efficiency.

This was someone unmoored, unraveling before their very eyes.