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I envy the love Hadrian shares with his brothers.

I long to have siblings, to have such an unconditional love.

I never knew what true love was until I met Hadrian—the way he does it so effortlessly and so passionately, without ever wanting anything in return.

As if loving you is a privilege. Hadrian and his brothers are gorgeous, and kind, and the fiercest protectors of their family.

I cannot help but cry with joy knowing that they consider me to be a part of their family too.

I cannot wait for our son to meet his father and uncles, to be blessed by their love.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal stood beneath the light of the sun, the sky ablaze with molten gold and embered orange, yet she felt nothing.

A hollow specter moving through the world, untouched by its beauty.

The voices of those around her blurred, distant, as though she were submerged beneath the weight of unseen waters, drifting further and further away.

Kage lingered beside her, his voice sharp yet futile as he had spent the last half hour summoning his wyvern.

‘Daku, venire!’ His command rang through the evening air, and at last, the creature appeared—a shadow slicing through the burning sky .

Daku was the youngest of the wyverns, the only male among their sisterhood. Haven’s beast Ayaru, eldest and wise. Nisha, as volatile and untamed as Kai. And Nyx—Nyx who had been the wildest of them all, the twin bound to the soul of the beast now descending from the heavens.

The wyvern landed in a violent sweep of wings, his roar shaking the air, his venomous tail cutting through the earth. Kage stepped forward, the authority of his presence alone soothing the creature into submission.

‘He is small, but swift. You should have no trouble flying over witch land. And he is fast,’ Kage said, his voice steady.

Mal only nodded. The thought of riding another wyvern that was not Nyx sent a sickening twist through her stomach, but she did not allow herself to feel it. Not yet. Let the witches cross her path—she would tear them apart without hesitation.

However, vengeance would have to wait. First, she needed the dagger.

A breeze curled around them, warm and dry, and she whispered into it, ‘Ash knows.’

Kage’s expression did not shift, but she felt the weight of his question before he even spoke. ‘How?’

She had already begun walking, her feet moving towards the waiting wyvern, her limbs heavy with unspoken rage. ‘Hagan ,’ she answered, her tone laced with quiet venom. ‘Be wary of him, brother. There is rot in his heart.’

Perhaps it was simple loyalty to Ash, a misguided attempt to protect his prince. But still, something about the drakonian guard unsettled her.

Climbing onto Daku, she exhaled slowly, pressing two fingers to her forehead. ‘May the shadows guide your way, brother.’

Kage mirrored her gesture, his bow slight but solemn. ‘May the shadows guide you.’

With a final, resounding roar, the wyvern launched into the sky, the land below shrinking beneath them.

The dry, sweltering heat of the Kingdom of Fire fell away as Mal soared past the great wall, its looming presence a grave reminder of what had been lost. She did not look down, not even when her heart whispered the question she dared not ask—did Nyx’s body still lay there, abandoned, but never forgotten?

Her teeth clenched, but she did not dare look back.

Instead, she forced Daku faster, the wind tearing through her hair, her body tilting forward with the beast’s momentum.

She was going home .

…

Wren found her brother basking in the easy charm of Princess Sahira, his laughter rich and untroubled as they waited for the evening feast to commence.

The Grand Hall gleamed in the warm glow of golden chandeliers, servants flitting between nobles like restless fireflies, gilded goblets of honeyed wine glistening in their hands.

Small delicate tarts, dusted in fine sugar, were passed around to keep the guests content as they awaited the grand entrance of Alina and Zahian.

Her gaze swept across the room, noting the king encased in a circle of advisors and sycophants, though the queen was conspicuously absent. Strange. A royal should not miss such an event.

But it was Ash Acheron who drew her attention most of all—the Fire Prince standing apart, rigid as a statue, his expression carved from stone. The Red Guard loomed at his side, their hushed murmurs only fueling the fire in his eyes. Something had unsettled him .

Wren still had a few moments of freedom before duty pulled her back—before she would have to abandon the revelry to return upstairs and watch over Vera. The valkyrian Freya was standing guard for now, but Wren knew she could not linger long.

She shifted, tugging at the fine fabric of her dress.

For once, she had chosen to dress as a lady, though the weight of it irked her.

The gown had belonged to her mother—an exquisite shade of deep blue, embroidered with silver-threaded wolves and delicate snowflakes, its beauty feeling out of place in the sweltering heat of the kingdom.

Her hair had been adorned with pearls, cascading in delicate chains across her forehead, weaving into the blue headband that kept her wild locks in check.

It was a fragile thing, this attire, and Wren detested feeling fragile.

How Hessa and Sahira managed to drape themselves in golden chains, their jewelry spanning from ear to nose, dazzling yet cumbersome, was beyond her.

‘There ya are,’ Bryn said as he seized her arm, his grin as sharp as a wolf’s.

‘Who are we hiding from?’ Wren whispered, mirroring his smirk.

‘Everyone.’ His grin widened. ‘Though I do like da desert folk.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the two princesses, who in turn shared a knowing look with Wren.

‘They are beautiful,’ Wren admitted, but her eyes drifted back to her brother.

He was a striking figure—tall and slender, with sharp, lupine features and the keen gaze of a hunter.

Once, people had remarked on their identical looks, but time had set them apart.

Bryn had continued to grow while Wren had remained small, though there was no mistaking their blood when they stood side by side.

His white hair tumbled to his shoulders, some of it bound in the warrior’s style of their homeland—braided by Wren’s own hands, as was custom for wolverians in their kingdom. The more detailed braid, the better the warrior, and Wren had made sure Bryn’s was suitably crafted.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she grinned. ‘Ooooh.’

Kage Blackburn had slipped into the hall with all the grace of a shadow, his arrival as discreet as though he had always been there. But it was not his lateness that intrigued her—it was the absence of his sister.

Mal was gone.

So she had left for the dagger.

Wren’s stomach twisted, but she kept her face impassive. It still didn’t explain why the Fire Prince was sulking like a kicked dog. Had they quarreled? Or had he finally learnt the truth?

‘Stop it,’ Bryn said. ‘Don’t be nosy.’

‘Yer worse than me.’

‘No, am not.’

Wren ignored him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards Kage, who was staring at the paintings along the walls with the same level of interest one might have for peeling paint. ‘Do ya see anything ya like?’ Wren teased, sidling up to him.

Kage’s lips barely twitched—a soft snarl more than a smirk.

‘This is me brother, Bryn Wynter, House of Snow,’ she introduced, waiting expectantly for Kage to acknowledge him. But the wyverian prince remained stoic, his dark eyes barely shifting.

‘Pleasure,’ the wyverian said flatly.

‘He also likes to brood.’

‘I don’t brood,’ they both snapped in unison.

Wren’s grin was triumphant. Kage turned his head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Bryn, subtle but calculating.

‘Kage, will ya be a dear and make me brotha company while I go and watch over that little situation in ya room.’

Bryn frowned. ‘Why ya going in his room? Wren, ya ought to act ladylike or as papa says ya will neva find a husband.’

Wren curled her lip in disgust, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. ‘Watch that mouth of yers, brotha, before I wash it out with soap for saying silly things like that. I’m neva marrying.’

‘Thank the gods,’ Kage muttered.

Wren whirled and elbowed him hard in the ribs, grinning when even Kage let out a small grunt of surprise. ‘Do not be a twat, Kage Blackburn!’ She turned to Bryn, eyes flashing. ‘Ya ought to be defending me honour!’

Bryn only lifted his hands in mock surrender, barely concealing his laughter. ‘I wouldn’t dare intervene, sista.’

And just like that, the two men burst into laughter, sharing an unspoken amusement at her expense. ‘Fine, make fun of me both of ya!’ Wren huffed, spinning on her heel, storming off with exaggerated irritation. But the moment she disappeared around the corner, a wicked grin spread across her face.

‘Oh boys, ya just too damn easy,’ she muttered, skipping all the way back to Kage’s room.

…

After hours of indulgent wine-drinking and the delicate strumming of soft music filling the air, the grand feast was finally announced.

Guests were ushered to their seats beneath the glow of golden chandeliers, the long tables dressed in lavish spreads of aureate and silk.

Kage had spent the better part of the evening uncomfortably stiff, forced—by none other than Wren—to spend time with her brother.

To his mild surprise, Bryn Wynter was nothing like his sharp-tongued, ever-chattering sister.

And yet, in some ways, he was eerily similar.

Though Kage would rather drown himself in molten steel than admit it to the wolverian princess, he found himself tolerating her presence more than he ought to.

Perhaps because she had the peculiar ability to make silence disappear, and for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind.