Page 82

I grew up learning the Sandhii language because I have always enjoyed learning the different tongues.

Recently I discovered they do not have a way of saying “I love you”.

Instead they say, “Waa kair janta” which means “we fall together”.

To the desert folk dying for another is the greatest form of love one could have, and therefore it is the only way to express the emotion of love in their language.

Waa kair janta.

Tabitha Wysteria

Kage maintained the perfect distance, his body coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

His dark eyes raked over the witch—a mirror image of Vera, yet different in the subtlest ways.

Her eyes, rounder and lacking the sharpness of her sister’s.

Her hair, just a touch shorter, less wild.

Close enough to be mistaken, yet just different enough to feel wrong.

She blocked the door like an executioner awaiting the final order. His only way out.

‘Where is my sister?’ The witch’s voice was silk laced with steel.

Kage offered a nonchalant shrug. ‘No idea.’

‘Liar.’ The accusation hissed from her lips, her purple eyes glinting with something venomous.

He tilted his head towards the three still figures at the table, their lifeless forms a grim painting of betrayal. ‘Why did you kill them?’

A slow, pleased smile curled across her face, a predator delighting in its own savagery. ‘Because by tonight, all the princes and princesses will be executed.’ She sighed, almost wistfully. ‘And I’m afraid that means you won’t be leaving this room alive.’

Kage exhaled, his boredom deliberate, his stance deliberately at ease. ‘Just turn around and walk away,’ he said, his voice as soft as a lullaby. ‘I’d rather not harm Vera’s sister.’

The words had the exact opposite effect. The witch’s fingers twitched, and magic—thick and pulsing green—unfurled from her hands like a living, writhing thing.

A pity. He truly hadn’t wanted to harm her.

Kage Blackburn had never been weak. His mind was sharp, his body sharper. A scholar, yes, a strategist, but not a stranger to war. He was wyverian. And wyverians were not bred for mercy.

Before the witch could react, before her spell could lash out, he moved.

One heartbeat, he was across the room, still as a nightmare. The next, he was upon her. His fingers wrapped around her throat, slamming her against the cold stone wall, the impact rattling through her bones. Her magic flickered, faltered.

‘Why are you doing this?’ His grip remained firm, tight enough to control, loose enough to prolong.

The witch’s lips curved, her breath uneven but her arrogance unwavering. ‘You should be less concerned with why and more worried about where your loved ones are right now.’

A quiet chill swept through Kage’s veins. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t show it.

‘Killing us will not erase the past.’

She laughed. Laughed . A bitter, twisted sound. ‘Nothing will erase the past.’ Her voice turned to something darker, something frenzied. ‘But razing the other kingdoms to the ground? That would be a fine beginning.’

A slow, deliberate blink was the only indication that Kage was taken aback.

Destroying the other kingdoms.

Not just vengeance. Not just war. Total annihilation.

He kept his face blank, his tone indifferent. ‘You aren’t foolish enough to think you can bring down seven kingdoms .’

The witch’s smirk widened, baring teeth. ‘No.’ Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, laced with quiet malice. ‘But seven Houses ? Now that is an attainable dream.’

Her fingers curled.

A blast of magic struck him square in the stomach, a searing force of raw power that sent him hurtling backwards, crashing into the shattered remains of the table.

Pain bloomed through his ribs, white-hot and punishing, but he barely had time to register it as he caught a glimpse of the witch’s retreating form before she vanished beyond the door, disappearing into the castle.

The prince of darkness exhaled, slow and controlled, rolling his shoulders as he pulled himself from the wreckage.

The witches were not merely seeking retribution.

They were coming to burn the world down.

…

Vera could not help but chuckle as she stood before the open doorway.

The screams that echoed down the grand corridors only seemed to grow in intensity, a haunting symphony of chaos.

Time was slipping through her fingers like fine grains of sand, and she could not afford to waste another moment.

The castle loomed eerily empty, its silence an unsettling contrast to the distant howls that rose from below—likely from the Grand Hall, where the evening’s revelry had been reduced to slaughter.

The Red Guard standing before the double doors barely spared her a glance before stepping aside, granting her entry without hesitation.

Infiltration had been almost too easy. Over the years, witches had seamlessly woven themselves into the fabric of drakonian society, glamoured and unnoticed, like wolves masquerading as sheep.

Many had risen through the ranks of the Red Guard; those who had not been witches had been. .. replaced .

The royal family had no protection. No one to shield them. No sentries, no warriors standing between them and their fate.

Not that it mattered. By the time the night had reached its bitter end, House of Flames would be nothing but cinders.

Mal Blackburn would return with the dagger.

She would pierce it through Ash Acheron’s heart, ending his life, and with it, the curse.

The rest of his family would already be long dead.

Vera stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over the dimly lit chamber. How utterly pathetic. Queen Cyra sat against the towering headboard, her back straight, her face expressionless. She neither wept nor begged. Instead, her voice was calm as she murmured, ‘Make it quick.’

Vera sighed, dragging a chair from the lavish writing desk and positioning it at the foot of the queen’s bed. She folded her arms over her lap, reclining as if settling into an evening of pleasant conversation. ‘Now why would I do that?’

The queen’s gaze remained sharp, unwavering. ‘Where are my children? ’

Vera let her gaze wander, taking in the chamber’s grandeur.

Tall, imposing bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that, to an outsider, served as mere decoration—but Vera knew better.

She had spent countless nights under this very roof, disguised as one of the queen’s many servants, listening to her read aloud, her voice carrying into the still hours of the night. How tedious it had been.

‘You do love your books.’ She cast her attention towards a gilded spine, annoyed at how many hours she had wasted feigning interest in their contents.

The queen’s voice was steady. ‘ Where are my children?’

‘You do not seem surprised to see me.’ Vera tilted her head, feigning disappointment. ‘Ah, but I suppose that’s because I’m not wearing glamour, am I?’

With a slow, lazy wave of her hand, the illusion settled over her face, revealing the drakonian features that had once belonged to an unassuming palace maid. The queen’s eyes widened—not in shock, but in recognition.

‘So you were a witch all along,’ Queen Cyra murmured.

Vera smirked. ‘You never suspected?’

‘I am a Seer, not a mind reader, child.’ The queen’s cool defiance amused her.

Years spent biting her tongue, bowing, pretending—all leading to this moment.

She would not rush it. Not when she had waited so long.

‘Did you suspect I was a Seer?’ The queen’s question slithered through the room like smoke curling in the dark.

Vera leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. ‘I had my suspicions with all those headaches. But I could never be sure.’ Her voice lowered, rich with mockery. ‘You know you got it wrong, don’t you? Ash is not the chosen one. He is the one who must die.’

‘No!’

Vera drank in the horror that washed across the queen’s features, savoured it. For years, Queen Cyra had clung to the belief that her son was destined to break the curse, that he was the saviour, the salvation. And yet, in the end, he was nothing but a sacrifice waiting to be made.

Her voice was soft, almost pitying. ‘You brought Mal Blackburn here to die… and yet, without realising it, you delivered your son’s killer right into your home.’

‘No!’

Vera chuckled, the queen’s anguish like the sweetest of wines. She inhaled it, let it settle in her lungs, drawing strength from it.

‘Mal is on her way to retrieve the dagger even as we speak,’ Vera continued, watching as the colour drained from the queen’s face.

‘She will return, and when she does, she will drive that blade through his heart. Fortunately for you, you will be spared the agony of watching the light fade from those golden eyes. But your daughter… oh, she will witness every second of it.’

The queen’s composure finally fractured. ‘Please,’ she whispered, desperation lacing her words. ‘Kill me. But let my children live. Let Ash and Alina live. They have done nothing wrong.’

Vera tapped her chin, considering. ‘Nothing wrong?’ She scoffed. ‘Would you say the seven Houses are innocent?’

‘They are children!’

‘They are not children, Queen Cyra. Do not insult me with such foolishness.’ Vera’s voice turned sharp, edged with the fury of a century’s worth of betrayal.

‘Prince Hadrian and Tabitha Wysteria were the same age when your ancestors slaughtered thousands. When they razed a kingdom to the ground for the crime of love.’

The queen’s voice trembled, but she did not waver. ‘Tabitha Wysteria interfered with an oath marriage.’

Vera’s expression darkened, the mere mention of it igniting something murderous within her.

‘And for that, an entire kingdom deserved to burn?’ She hissed, venom dripping from every syllable.

‘Elders, infants, mothers—all reduced to ash by dragons. And why? Because Hadrian dared to choose love over duty?’