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It is terrifying how all those you love so deeply could so easily turn their backs on you.

Tabitha Wysteria

Wren sprawled across Kage’s bed, her arms flung wide, fingers tracing idle patterns into the fine fabric as she stared up at the ceiling, drowning in boredom.

The mattress beneath her was softer than her own, the pillows fuller, plush with the finest duck feathers—an infuriating fact that only served to sour her mood further.

She huffed, shifting restlessly, momentarily appeased by the mental image of Kage and Bryn forced into stilted conversation, drowning in awkward silence.

The thought drew a chuckle from her lips, a brief escape from her growing irritation.

‘So what is the plan exactly, Wren.’

Vera’s voice cut through the quiet, a sharp contrast to her usual dry exasperation. There was something colder in it this time, something that sent a slow, creeping chill along Wren’s spine.

She frowned, tilting her head towards the witch. ‘What do ya mean?’

‘You’ve all kept me locked in this room for days. How long do you expect me to stay in here?’

An itch nagged at Wren’s nose, but even as she scratched at it, she felt the slow coil of unease wrapping around her. It settled over her like a heavy woolen blanket, suffocating and unwelcome.

‘It won’t be long now,’ she answered carefully. ‘When Mal gets back with da dagger and she breaks da curse, then…’

‘Then what?’ Vera interrupted, her voice edged with something raw. ‘You’ll trust me?’

The blanket of unease was ripped away, only to be replaced by something worse—something suffocating, a pillow of doubt pressed firm against her lungs.

Wren felt it in her chest before she saw it in Vera’s face.

The witch was staring at her, her features twisting with something almost regretful. Almost… mournful.

‘You shouldn’t have ever trusted me, Wren.’

The words hit like a stone cast into still water. A ripple of cold spread outward.

Wren swallowed hard. ‘What are ya—’

‘I thought there would be more time,’ Vera continued, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t realise it would take Mal this long to retrieve the dagger.’

A prickle of dread crawled up Wren’s spine, sinking its claws into her ribs. ‘What are ya saying?’ she demanded.

Vera tilted her head, gaze calculating. ‘Where is your brother, Wren?’

‘In da Grand Hall,’ she answered warily, straightening from the bed. ‘Surrounded by guests and servants. And a room full of guards.’

Vera sighed, a sound that sent Wren’s pulse hammering in warning. ‘And you’re sure all of those servants belong ?’

Wren’s stomach twisted. ‘What do ya mean?’

A slow, humourless smile tugged at the corners of Vera’s lips. ‘You remember that servant girl I snuck into the castle?’ she murmured. ‘That wasn’t the only time, Wren.’

A sickening silence followed.

Wren shot off the bed. ‘ What have ya done? ’

Vera leaned back, her long white hair cascading down like strands of winter frost. ‘Me?’ she mused.

‘Nothing at all. I’ve been here, haven’t I?

Locked in this room. You saw me, didn’t you?

’ Her purple gaze sparked, sharp and knowing.

‘However,’ she added, tilting her head, ‘if I were you, I’d find your brother.

Quickly. By the end of the night, I doubt there will be anyone left. ’

The air in Wren’s lungs turned brittle.

Lies. It had to be a lie. A distraction. A trick.

And yet—

Vera was a witch. She could have left at any time, broken free with a whisper of magic. She hadn’t. She had stayed, locked up, biding her time. Why?

Wren didn’t stay to figure it out.

The first scream ripped through the castle halls.

And she ran.

…

Alina stepped into the dimly lit chamber, her gown whispering against the polished floor as she moved.

The room was modest, smaller than expected, but the enormous balcony bathed it in golden light, the dying sun setting fire to the horizon.

A long wooden table stretched between them, laden with delicacies she could not stomach.

Zahian was already seated, a glass of deep crimson wine in hand, idly picking at an assortment of fruits and smoked hams.

‘You look lovely,’ he remarked the moment she entered, his voice smooth, effortless.

Alina let her attendants guide her into the chair opposite him, the sheer expanse of the table and her trailing veil making conversation feel almost absurd. How was she meant to forge any semblance of intimacy with a man she barely knew, when even their seating arrangements felt like a negotiation?

She hesitated before asking, ‘Are you nervous?’ Immediately, she chastised herself for the question—too personal, too revealing.

Zahian chuckled, seemingly amused by her attempt at small talk. ‘It is quite alright, princess. Of course I am nervous. I am to marry the Fire Princess, the most beautiful drakonian to have ever lived. Any man would be nervous, do you not think?’

Alina tilted her head slightly, considering. ‘I am not a man,’ she mused, her tone dry. ‘Therefore, apparently, I do not think .’

His laughter was light, a pleasant sound that echoed softly between them. ‘Princess, in my kingdom, phoenixian women would not agree with such a statement.’

That, at least, was something to be glad for.

But the brief warmth of his words did little to chase away the shadows in her mind.

Against her better judgment, she stole a glance through the balcony doors, her gaze trailing towards the horizon where the distant floating island of the valkyrians sat suspended in mist. She wondered if Kai was thinking of her at all.

If he remembered what day it was. If he cared.

Or had she faded from his thoughts as easily as a candle extinguished by the wind?

She pushed the ache down. Soon . Soon, she would carve her own path, fight for her own destiny .

Zahian’s voice pulled her back. ‘Are you feeling well?’

Alina nodded before realising her veil likely concealed the movement. ‘Yes, just tired.’ She turned towards a nearby servant, intending to request tea, but none of them moved. They stood unnaturally still, their backs straight as statues, their eyes vacant.

A strange prickle crawled up Alina’s spine.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, but silence was her only answer.

Unease slithered into her gut. She turned to Zahian, intent on asking if he had noticed the servants’ odd behavior, but before she could, the heavy doors swung open, and Hagan stepped inside.

Alina barely contained her groan of frustration. Of all nights, did he truly have to linger like an unwanted shadow?

She pointedly ignored him, flicking her fingers in an attempt to beckon a different servant. Again, none of them moved.

‘They won’t answer you,’ Hagan said.

Alina stiffened. ‘Why not?’

Hagan’s expression did not change. ‘Because they are under a spell.’

Something inside her went cold. ‘A spell?’

‘They can see and hear everything happening,’ he continued, stepping forward leisurely, ‘but they cannot move a single inch of their bodies.’

Zahian shot to his feet, the back of his chair scraping harshly against the stone. The tension in the room thickened, coiling around them like a serpent.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Zahian demanded.

Hagan exhaled sharply, as though already growing impatient. His features twisted, irritation burning in his gaze. ‘Oh, do shut up.’

And then green smoke curled from his fingers.

Before Alina could react, an invisible force struck Zahian, slamming him back into his chair, which had already been lifted upright by unseen hands. His breath left him in a strangled gasp.

Alina surged to her feet, hands trembling with restrained fury. ‘Do not dare harm him, Hagan.’

The Red Guard cocked his head, bemusement fluttering across his face. ‘Or what?’

The mocking in his tone was unbearable. Alina’s mind raced for a plan, some means of escape, but the crushing weight of her gown, the tightness of her corset—everything about her attire had been designed for beauty, not for battle. Even if she bolted for the door, she would never make it in time.

Hagan sighed. ‘Actually, now that I think about it… I don’t really need him here for this conversation.’

‘What—’

It happened too fast.

Hagan stepped behind Zahian and, with a sharp, effortless motion, snapped his neck.

A sickening crack echoed through the chamber.

Alina screamed.

She stumbled backward, collapsing into her chair, her limbs numb, her world suddenly tilting sideways. The prince’s body slumped forward, his head lolling unnaturally to the side.

She couldn’t breathe.

‘What have you done? ’ she choked, voice trembling.

Hagan barely spared the corpse a glance. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did you actually want to marry him?’ He smirked, that once-handsome face now contorted into something monstrous. ‘Come now, Alina. I’ve done you a favour. You just don’t want to admit it.’

His voice, once charming, now dripped with something oily and cruel.

Alina could only stare, her hands trembling so violently in her lap she thought they might never stop. ‘Why?’ she whispered, the word breaking apart like shattered glass.

Hagan exhaled sharply, his sigh laced with something dark and jagged, as he leaned against the table, his presence sprawled like a shadow between Alina and the lifeless prince. The flickering candlelight did little to soften the cruelty twisting his once-familiar face.

‘Because my father was a drakonian cunt.’ His voice was almost casual, but the venom within it burnt. ‘I never met him. He was a lord who fucked my mother and then decided she wasn’t worth marrying. When she told him she was carrying his child, do you know what he did? He tried to choke her.’

A cruel smirk ghosted across his lips, eyes gleaming with something twisted and unsalvageable.