Page 79

‘Ya seem like a fair prince,’ Bryn said, his voice as thick as the northern snows of his homeland as he dipped a spoon into the steaming bowl of soup before them—a drakonian delicacy, thick with mushrooms and honey. ‘But I would like to know why me sista is in ya room.’

Kage snickered, his dark eyes gleaming with mild amusement. ‘She’s looking after something for me.’

Bryn’s blue gaze sharpened, flashing with suspicion. ‘She getting herself into trouble?’

Kage leaned back against the chair, fingers tapping against the carved wood. ‘I do not know Wren so well, but the little I do know about the wolverian princess is that trouble seems to follow her wherever she goes.’

Bryn chuckled, nodding as if this was a universal truth. ‘Aye, that’s me sister. Small, but mighty.’ His tone was full of pride, and he took another bite of soup. ‘Ought to know what trouble she’s in, or can I trust she can handle it?’

Kage had barely touched his food, pushing the bowl aside. He would eat later, when the kitchens sent something palatable to his chambers. ‘She can handle it.’

‘Good.’

Kage opened his mouth to shift the conversation, to inquire about the wolverian prince himself, when a flutter of movement across the hall caught his attention. Haven.

She strode into the Grand Hall with the grace of a shadow, her presence subtle but sharp, her every movement a study in quiet command.

Kage stiffened, immediately rising from his seat to catch her eye.

She saw him at once, but took her time approaching, stopping here and there to exchange pleasantries with familiar faces, her expression unreadable.

When at last she lowered herself into the chair beside him, offering a courteous nod to Bryn before turning to Kage, he wasted no time. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I left last night,’ she said. ‘I could not miss the engagement celebration, Kage. It would not look right when our sister is married to the Fire Prince. Kai decided to stay behind.’

Kage absorbed that information, his mind spinning. Interesting .

‘Mal left early this morning.’

Haven’s sharp, black eyes gleamed with confusion. ‘What? Where?’

‘She took Daku and flew home.’

A sigh slipped from Haven’s lips as her fingers drifted to the shadow-serpent curled about her neck, caressing its smoky form with absent familiarity, just as a servant approached with a steaming bowl of soup cradled in their hands.

She declined with a quick shake of her head.

‘Well, at least Kai will be there when she arrives,’ she said, more to herself than to him.

Then she frowned. ‘But why did she leave now? She will miss the engagement party.’

Kage gave her a look. Later .

She read his expression instantly. She always did. Haven had not been gone long, yet in her absence, it felt as though an entire lifetime had passed.

‘How are our parents?’ Kage asked, his voice softer now.

‘Worried,’ Haven whispered.

‘Any trouble flying across the wasteland?’

‘No, none at all.’ But there was something in her tone that made Kage glance at her more closely.

Haven’s fingers curled over the goblet before her, but she did not drink.

Instead, she leaned in, her voice dropping lower.

‘It was the oddest thing, Kage. The entire land felt… empty . It looked empty, too. As if all the life had been drained out of it. As if the witches had vanished.’

‘Well, the land is always deserted when Kai patrols. At least that’s what he claims.’

Haven shook her head, her expression grave. ‘It’s different this time, Kage. It felt… purposeful. Not as if they were hiding from patrols—as if they were somewhere else.’

A slow, unsettling thought crept into his mind.

He let his gaze drift across the hall, scanning the faces of the gathered nobles, the flickering candlelight reflecting off of silks and golden goblets, of glittering gowns and high collars. A sea of wealth and decadence. Yet his stomach twisted with unease.

Vera had already proven that witches could slip inside the castle, blending seamlessly among the staff.

If she could do it, how many others had followed?

How many of the smiling courtiers were not who they claimed to be?

The servants pouring wine, the guests whispering over their meals—how many of them were watching, waiting?

Surely he was being paranoid. If there were witches in the hall, the Fae would have sensed it. Princess Flora Hawthorne, with her sharp, knowing gaze—surely she would have seen them.

But as his dark eyes scoured the room, searching for that unmistakable cascade of silver hair, his stomach clenched.

She wasn’t there.

Neither were her sisters.

‘Have you seen Flora Hawthorne?’ he turned sharply to Bryn.

‘Kage, what is the matter?’ Haven straightened beside him, sensing his sudden shift in tension.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. ‘Nothing,’ he said, but the word tasted like a lie. His body was already moving, already rising from the table. ‘Stay here. I need to speak with Wren about something. I’ll be right back.’

Kage moved through the castle with the quiet precision of a shadow, his expression a mask of cold indifference, betraying none of the unease curling in his gut.

His sharp eyes, however, took in everything—the flickering torchlight against the stone, the heavy silence that pressed upon the halls like an omen.

Every soul had gathered in the Grand Hall for the engagement celebration, save for a few notable absences.

Queen Cyra, bedridden with one of her infamous headaches.

Mal, who had already vanished into the night.

And Alina and Zahian, who would be presented shortly before their betrothal was officially sealed.

And then there was Flora Hawthorne.

Or rather, the absence of her.

The Fae princess was nowhere to be found. Neither were her sisters, Willow and Sierra.

A sliver of dread snaked down his spine.

Kage tilted his head up towards the dark figure perched along the stone arches. ‘Spirox, find the Fae.’

The shadow crow ruffled its wings, cawed once in acknowledgment, and took off into the void of the castle.

Kage exhaled sharply, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he continued forward, following the silent path Spirox carved for him through the winding corridors.

He could not explain the tension settling deep in his bones, the prickling awareness that something was amiss. The castle felt… hollow. Deserted .

Where was the Red Guard?

Why did the air taste of something rotten?

Spirox let out a sharp caw ahead of him, hovering outside a door. Kage slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing. Flora’s room.

He knocked, waiting.

No answer.

Spirox flapped its wings furiously, the urgency in its movement unsettling. Kage tried the handle—locked. His unease deepened.

Bracing himself, he slammed his shoulder into the door.

It groaned but did not give. Again. The wood shuddered but remained stubborn.

With a third, brutal push, the door burst open beneath him, and Kage stumbled inside, barely managing to keep himself upright.

He huffed in irritation, brushing dust from his sleeves, grateful that no one had been present to witness such an ungraceful entrance.

Then, he looked up—and the breath in his lungs stilled.

The room, drakonian in style, was much like his own—gilded with excessive decor, rich reds and golds draped over light wood. There were no balconies, only high windows barely large enough to let in the sunlight.

And yet, the grandest thing in the room was the silence.

An unnatural, suffocating silence.

The three Fae sisters sat at the table in eerie stillness, unmoving. Unblinking.

Kage took a step forward, his muscles coiled, every fiber of his being screaming in warning.

Something was wrong.

Flora sat at the head, her face tilted slightly downward, dreadlocks falling over her shoulder in thick, white ropes. The very tips of them were dark. Red. So were her hands, where they rested delicately upon the table.

Kage moved to her side, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out.

Gently, he lifted her chin.

His breath hitched.

A single, perfect line cut across her throat, her skin parted so cleanly it looked almost delicate. The deep crimson spilt down her chest, soaking the fabric of her dress, pooling upon the table in a grotesque display of elegance.

Her sisters had suffered the same fate.

A murder executed with precision. With skill. With intent.

The door behind him clicked shut.

Slowly, Kage straightened.

A figure stood in the doorway, her silhouette outlined in the dim glow of torchlight.

A woman.

Young.

Familiar .

A dangerously wicked smile painted across her face.

‘Vera?’ Kage’s voice was barely above a whisper. His mind warred with what his eyes saw. It was her, and yet… it was not. The likeness was uncanny. Identical, even. But there was something wrong, something in the air that sent every instinct in his body into battle readiness.

The girl’s dark brows furrowed slightly before amusement kindled in her eyes.

A heartbeat later, she lifted her hands, and green magic crackled across her fingers like vines of fire. Before he could react, a blast of power erupted from her palms, slamming into his chest.

Pain tore through him as he was flung backward, his body colliding with the heavy wooden table. The force sent the legs snapping beneath its weight, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the room as he crashed onto the floor amidst the wreckage.

His head spun.

His ribs burnt.

But it was the way she stood over him—grinning—that unsettled him the most.

She crouched, fingers curling as her nails traced over his cheek in a mockery of curiosity. A slow, deliberate scratch, just enough to sting.

Her gaze flickered to the bodies surrounding them, then back to him, her lips parting, tongue darting out as if she could taste the chaos in the air.

Then, she whispered, ‘How do you know my sister?’