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Our son was born in the late hours of the night.

He is healthy and he is strong. The war is only growing more vicious and bloodier each day.

I know Hadrian is restless and wants to be out there, doing something, anything he can to stop what is happening.

But right now all we can do is hide. His kingdom has turned on us, and I hear him crying at night when he thinks that I am sleeping.

Absolutely everyone we loved has walked away, siding with the drakonians to save themselves.

My kingdom will not survive against the others, there are too many of them.

I wish I could help the Council somehow, but even they have sworn us off, blaming the war on Hadrian and me.

Now all we can do is hide and wait, praying for the war to end soon.

I fear for our son and the future that awaits him.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal burrowed herself deeper against Ash’s chest as if she could anchor herself there, away from the storm that loomed on the horizon.

She had not closed her eyes once throughout the night, had not dared to, for fear that if she did, morning would come too soon, dragging her back to reality.

Now, as the early light filtered through the silk-draped windows, she wanted nothing more than to forget the world existed—to lose herself in the quiet sanctuary of her husband’s arms, where the weight of destiny did not yet press upon her shoulders.

Ash stirred beneath her, the warmth of his lips brushing over her forehead in a lazy, half-conscious caress. ‘Good morning,’ he said, his voice thick with sleep.

‘Not yet,’ she pleaded, her arms tightening around him, as if sheer will could stop time from moving forward.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her cheek. ‘We should get up. It’s m-my sister’s e-engagement party.’

Mal sighed, knowing he was right, yet loathing the thought of leaving their bed.

Her limbs stretched like a cat luxuriating in the warmth of the sun, her body savouring a final, fleeting moment of peace before the weight of her mission threatened to suffocate her.

Today, she would leave. Today, she would begin the journey that would lead her to the dagger—the very weapon meant to end Ash Acheron.

Her throat tightened at the thought.

‘Can’t we just stay here?’ she whispered, trailing her fingers over the hard lines of his jaw before pressing a soft kiss to his chin. ‘Maybe I can convince you to stay a little longer in bed with me.’

Ash’s golden eyes darkened, a slow, smoldering fire igniting behind them.

Mal knew that look, the way his pupils dilated, his lips parting ever so slightly as if waiting—hoping—for her to close the space between them.

And she did. Their kiss was slow, indulgent, filled with something dangerously close to devotion.

His lips were soft at first, a delicate tease, until the moan caught at the back of her throat unraveled something inside him.

In a heartbeat, he was over her, his body pressing her into the sheets, his mouth taking hers with newfound urgency.

Mal gasped, her hands tangling into his hair, but then her concern broke through the haze. ‘Your injuries,’ she said, her palm pressing lightly over the bandages wrapped around his torso. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself. ’

Ash huffed a laugh, lowering himself just enough to nuzzle her nose against his. ‘I’ve survived worse,’ he teased, before dragging his tongue over the corner of her mouth, the gesture so unexpected that she squealed, squirming beneath him.

‘Ash, stop it!’ she laughed, half-heartedly pushing at his chest, but he only smirked, the wicked glint in his eyes making her stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with nerves.

She traced her fingers lightly over his skin, feeling the solid muscles beneath, her hand coming to rest over the wound that had nearly taken him from her. Her brow furrowed, worry knotting in her chest. ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Ash stilled beneath her touch, his golden gaze drinking her in, something deep and reverent glimmering in his expression. ‘Not as m-much as looking at you,’ he said.

Mal’s brows knit together. ‘What do you mean?’

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers brushing idly along her bare shoulder. ‘Each time I see you, it’s li-like my chest cra-cracks open and I’m left b-breathless.’

A pang struck deep in her heart. ‘Why?’ she asked, though part of her already knew the answer.

Ash’s lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Because you are mine. Because I was never t-truly lucky until they f-forced me to an oath marriage. Because I was n-never happy until I met you.’ He paused, his gaze searching hers, waiting—always waiting—for permission to kiss her.

Mal’s heart clenched so tightly she thought she might shatter beneath the weight of it.

She wanted to tell him that it hurt to look at him too.

That every time she met his eyes, she felt as though she were standing on the precipice of something vast and unrelenting.

That the gods were cruel—so unbearably cruel—to place him in her hands, to let her taste what it meant to be loved, only to wrench it away in the end.

She wanted to tell him all of it.

But she couldn’t.

So instead, she reached for him, her fingers slipping into his hair, pulling his lips back down to hers—silencing him, silencing herself, silencing the truth that neither of them was ready to face.

Mal’s fingers tangled in his golden hair, gripping his horns with the desperation of a woman losing herself in the only thing that still felt real.

Ash’s strong hands spread her legs apart, his breath a ragged whisper against her ear before he thrust into her.

She gasped, her nails sinking into his back as his movements grew faster, rougher—both of them clinging to the illusion that they still had time.

The doors to their chambers burst open just as Mal’s body trembled, her voice shattering on Ash’s name, pleading, begging him not to stop.

He didn’t. His body moved against hers, relentless, desperate, his calloused hand kneading her breast as she turned her head, locking eyes with the intruder who had dared to interrupt them.

Hagan.

The Red Guard’s eyes widened before he spun around and slammed the doors shut, clearing his throat as if trying to banish the image from his mind.

But Mal did not stop. She licked the sweat from Ash’s neck, delighting in the groan that rumbled from deep within him as he spilt himself inside her.

A smirk played at her lips as she arched an eyebrow at Hagan, silently daring him to speak.

Ash, however, had suddenly remembered he was a drakonian.

He climbed off her, gripping a sheet to shield himself from view, his face flushing with an embarrassment that did not belong to her kind.

Mal made no effort to cover herself, her nakedness on full display, and she was pleased to see the guard’s cheeks redden as he averted his gaze.

‘What is it, Hagan?’ Ash demanded, his voice still ragged with the strain of pleasure and injury alike.

‘I’ve come to warn you,’ the Red Guard replied.

Ash exhaled heavily. ‘About w-what?’

Hagan’s dark eyes flicked towards Mal, his features unreadable.

‘About her,’ he said simply, gesturing towards her as she lazily climbed out of bed, reaching for the white cotton dress draped over the nearby chair.

‘She is lying to you. I heard her plotting to murder you with her brother last night.’

Mal froze.

For a split second, the world stopped spinning.

She had felt something last night—an intruding presence in the shadows, a whisper of something out of place.

But she had checked. No one had been there.

How had Hagan hidden from her? He was Red Guard, yes, but she was a wyverian princess. She was better.

It didn’t make sense.

Ash laughed, a deep, disbelieving sound. ‘Do not be ri-ridiculous.’

‘She mentioned a curse,’ Hagan pressed.

Ash’s amusement vanished. A muscle in his jaw twitched, fury darkening his eyes. ‘That bloody c-curse,’ he roared. ‘There is no fucking cur-curse, Hagan.’

‘There is,’ Hagan insisted. ‘Ask her. She’s willing to stab you in the heart for it.’

The room held its breath.

Mal did not move. Did not speak. Could not breathe.

And then she felt it—the moment those golden eyes fell upon her, sharp and searching, peeling back the layers of her silence.

The air grew heavier, thick with unspoken truths.

He pulled on a pair of trousers and crossed the room in a single breath, his fingers hesitating before grazing her arm, so softly, so hesitantly, as if afraid to discover that Hagan’s words were not madness.

‘Mal, it’s okay,’ Ash said. ‘I do not b-believe him. I know it is not t-true.’

Her heart cracked.

Even now, after everything, he trusted her. He believed in her goodness, believed in her love.

And she did not deserve it.

She turned to him, and as her purple eyes met his, she saw it—the precise moment realisation dawned upon him. His expression changed, shifting from certainty to something else, something fragile and wounded. The trust he had so freely given began to splinter.

Her voice trembled. ‘I thought it was the only way to save us all. But then I finally found you, Ash. I wasn’t going to go through with it. I promise.’

‘She’s planning on leaving today to retrieve the dagger,’ Hagan interrupted.

Mal snapped.

With a flick of her wrist, her magic surged forward, sending the Red Guard flying backward into the double doors. The impact rattled the chamber, knocking the breath from his lungs. Before he could recover, Mal clenched her fist, and the doors slammed shut, sealing him out.

She turned to Ash, her anger dissolving into raw desperation. ‘I can explain,’ she whispered.