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Queen Cyra’s hands trembled where they rested atop the sheets. ‘Tabitha didn’t love him. She used him. I will admit my ancestors committed terrible crimes, but we should not be punished for their sins.’

‘Then why have the witches suffered for a hundred years?’ Vera snapped. ‘Why are we the only ones forced to pay the price?’

Silence.

‘We are not like your ancestors,’ she continued, her voice smoothing into something almost gentle. ‘We will not slaughter innocent drakonians. All we have to do is eliminate the seven Houses. And how lucky for us—all of them are gathered under one roof.’

She rose to her feet, moving with slow, deliberate steps towards the queen.

Queen Cyra’s voice was barely a whisper now. ‘Even if you kill every royal in this castle, they are only princes and princesses. The kings and queens are safe in their palaces.’

Vera tutted, a cruel grin tugging at her lips. ‘Except for you.’ She slipped a dagger from the folds of her sleeve, the glint of steel catching in the candlelight. ‘You see, Queen Cyra, you forget one thing.’

She inched closer, her shadow stretching over the queen’s trembling form.

‘Who will rule the seven kingdoms if their heirs are dead?’

The blade slashed through flesh, like an artist with a paintbrush, a harsh stroke against a canvass. Vera stepped back, admiring the red paint as it dripped down, down, down into the abyss.

The queen of flames slumped forward, her body stilling, her final breath lost beneath the hush of the wind through the open balcony doors.

And Vera smiled.

…

Alina drifted between worlds, consciousness flickering like a candle caught in a storm.

Somewhere, in the vast abyss of her mind, she heard her name—an urgent cry, a desperate plea.

Hands gripped her, pulling her upright, their touch firm but not unkind.

Another pair worked swiftly, cutting through fabric with the sharp whisper of a blade.

‘Qat har fustan, sastaa,’ a voice said, smooth and commanding.

Alina moaned, her gaze swimming over the pieces of cloth falling away from her body in great, tattered swaths. Her dazed mind clung to one thought, irrational but insistent. Hadn’t the dress been white? Yet, as her fingers traced the ruined fabric, all she saw was red. A violent, endless red.

Blinking through the haze, she forced her attention on the two figures bent over her.

Desert princesses. She knew them, their faces blurred but familiar.

One crouched beside her, a dagger gleaming in her grasp as she tore at the voluminous skirts, while the other held Alina steady, her arms a brace against the trembling of her weakened body.

‘Why is it all red?’ Alina asked, voice thick with confusion. ‘The dress was white.’

Hessa barely spared her a glance, her expression set in stone. ‘Do not worry about that now. We need you to move.’ She turned towards her sister. ‘Harra, sastaa.’

Alina tried to make sense of their words, but her thoughts moved sluggishly, weighed down by something dark and heavy. Her head ached. Her stomach churned. Something was missing—something important.

‘My head feels strange.’

Hessa ignored her. ‘We are going to lift you up now.’

On the count of three, the sisters hauled Alina to her feet. Her legs wobbled, unsteady as a newborn fawn, but she managed to remain upright. The remnants of her dress lay in a heap at her feet, and she swallowed hard against the growing nausea at the sight of so much red.

A terrible thought clawed its way through her mind. With trembling hands, she lifted them towards her head.

‘Do not,’ Hessa warned sharply.

‘I need to know.’ Her fingers pressed into her hair, sticky and damp with something warm. Her breath hitched as she reached further, up, up, until—

Nothing.

No curve of polished gold, no familiar weight of the horns she had carried her entire life.

Only jagged stumps.

Alina screamed.

It was a raw, wretched sound, torn from the very marrow of her bones. She staggered back, her vision spinning in wild spirals, bile rising in her throat. Then she was vomiting, her body rejecting the horror of what had been done to her.

Her horns were gone. Hagan had taken them from her.

A sob broke free, but Sahira's voice cut through her grief like a blade. ‘We need to leave before he returns.’

Alina turned, her limbs still sluggish, her mind still trapped in the fog of agony.

‘He’s looking for your brother,’ Sahira explained. ‘The castle is in chaos—this is our chance to escape.’

Alina barely registered her words, her thoughts lingering on him.

Hagan. She tried not to look at the bodies scattered across the room, at the lifeless servants who had suffered at his hands after he was finished with her.

If she thought about it—about any of it—she would collapse beneath the weight of it all.

Her sword. The one Kai had given her. It was in her room. She had been a fool not to keep it at her side. Now, it would be lost forever.

Sahira moved first, stepping into the open hallway—

And immediately crumpled.

Alina gasped as a figure shoved Sahira backward, her body colliding into her sister’s arms. Purple eyes. A twisted, cruel smile.

Hagan.

Alina barely breathed as her gaze dropped, horrified.

A dagger jutted from Sahira’s stomach.

‘No,’ Alina moaned, her voice hoarse, her body frozen in place as Sahira’s trembling hands pressed against the wound, trying, failing, to stop the blood.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Sahira’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Her sister whispered soft reassurances, hands trembling as she cradled Sahira against her, as if she could keep her anchored in this world.

But it was not enough.

Sahira exhaled one final breath.

Then, nothing.

Alina did not move. Could not move.

Hagan exhaled, a bored sigh. ‘I’d ask for the knife back, but…’

His gaze slid to Alina, full of quiet amusement, but his steps were anything but leisurely as he crossed the room.

In an instant, his hands were on her.

She yelped as he slammed her against the stone wall, pinning her there with ease. The breath was knocked from her lungs, the world blurring around the edges.

His voice was a slow, venomous drawl. ‘Do you like your new look, Alina?’

She whimpered, her fingernails digging into his wrist, struggling to breathe past the terror clogging her throat.

‘I went searching for your brother so I could show him,’ Hagan continued, ‘but the coward is hiding. Such a shame. I wanted him to watch me carve out your eyes next.’

A choked sob escaped her.

Hagan pulled another dagger from his belt, the steel catching the candlelight, gleaming with promise. He lifted it, the tip hovering mere inches from her eye.

‘They won’t call you the prettiest drakonian in the world once I’m done with you.’

Alina barely noticed Hessa creeping behind him.

But then, in a swift motion, Hessa’s arm locked around his throat.

Now .

Alina kicked him.

Her foot slammed between his legs, the force of it making him grunt in agony. His grip on her loosened, just enough for her to rip herself free.

Alina tried not to think of Sahira’s body left behind in a pool of blood, cooling under the indifferent moon. She could not think of it. Not if she wanted to keep moving.

Her fingers tightened around Hessa’s, a silent demand, and together they ran—down the winding staircases, through dimly lit halls where the flickering torches cast monstrous shadows upon the stone.

Their breaths came sharp and ragged, feet barely skimming the steps as they flew towards the castle’s main floor.

She did not dare look back.

She could not look back.

She knew what she would see—Hagan.

His purple eyes gleaming with wicked delight, his lips curling into that same, mocking grin. She felt him behind them, even if she could not hear him yet. A predator in the dark, enjoying the chase.

Then the screams began.

The castle came alive with fire and death, witches spilling into the halls like a tide, sweeping through the corridors, through the rooms, tearing everything apart. The air crackled with sorcery, the scent of burning fabric and flesh curling around them like a smothering fog.

Alina longed to stop. To turn around. To find Ash, to find her family.

But there was no time. There was only survival.

She and Hessa zigzagged through the gardens, past fountains reflecting the burning sky, past the gaping mouths of statues that now seemed to scream in silent horror.

They did not stop when Hagan’s laughter followed them, a taunting, drawn-out sound that slithered through the air, a cruel reminder that he was toying with them.

Allowing them to believe they had a chance.

The moment they reached the tree line, hope flared in Alina’s chest. They could lose him in the woods.

‘Hide!’ Hessa hissed, shoving her aside before veering in the opposite direction, an intentional sacrifice to distract the warlock.

Alina hesitated for only a second before she sprinted into the trees. Run. Do not trip. Do not fall . The uneven earth grabbed at her feet, branches snagging her dress, but she pushed forward, deeper into the shadows.

Then—silence.

She threw herself behind a tree, pressing her body against the rough bark, heart hammering wildly in her chest. She could not hear him.

He had followed Hessa.

Her lungs ached from holding her breath as she reached for the branches above her. She could climb. She could wait him out. It was something she had done countless times as a child, when she’d play games in the forests of the Kingdom of Fire.

But she had never climbed while drowning in a gown of silk and blood.

Her limbs trembled as she pulled herself higher, settling against the thickest branch she could find, tucking herself close to the trunk. She would wait. She would live.

Then—movement.

A shadow.

A flash of red.

Her stomach twisted as she watched Hagan stalk through the woods.

‘Hagan!’ A voice cut through the silence, breathless and sharp.

Alina leaned forward ever so slightly, peering through the tangled branches. A girl stood several feet away, her white hair cascading down her back in silken waves.

Tattooed hands. Purple eyes.

Alina’s stomach churned in fury.

Adara .

The witch that had once whispered love into her brother’s ears, the woman who had shattered Ash into something brittle and tired. Was it all a lie? Had she ever loved him? Or had she simply been waiting—twisting the knife before the final blow?

‘I lost her!’ Hagan snarled, his voice cracking through the trees like a whip.

Adara barely seemed to care. ‘Forget her. Vera has already killed the queen, and the king’s head is hanging in the Grand Hall. They’re all dead.’

No .

Alina’s breath caught in her throat, a wounded, broken thing.

No. No. No.

Her chest constricted, her vision blurred.

Her family was gone? Her parents, Ash —

The dizziness returned, pressing into her like an iron weight, forcing her to stay silent when all she wanted to do was scream.

She could not return to the castle now.

She had nothing left.

A tremor of rage curled through Hagan’s body. ‘I don’t care about the fucking castle,’ he spat. ‘I’ve waited too long to let that bitch go.’

Adara’s voice was mild, uncaring. ‘Let it go, Hagan. The castle belongs to us.’ She turned, disappearing into the trees, humming softly to herself.

Hagan remained behind, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet, tilting his head. His voice was light, sing-song.

‘Aliiiiiiiiiiiiiina.’

Alina stilled.

Below her, Hagan stopped.

His nose flared, his eyes narrowing—

Blood.

A single drop fell from her temple, from the wound where he had butchered her horns.

He grinned. Then blasted the tree apart.

Alina barely had time to scream. The force of the magic sent her plummeting, the air vanishing from her lungs the instant she struck the earth. Pain. Bright and searing.

Hagan was already moving towards her.

He crouched over her, voice deceptively gentle. ‘There you are.’

Her fingers dug into the earth.

As he reached for her, Alina threw the dirt into his face, her aim perfect, blinding him instantly. He roared in fury, hands clawing at his eyes.

She ran.

Her feet barely touched the ground as she burst through the last line of trees, emerging into the vast golden fields beyond.

Ahead, a camp.

Hessa was there, waving her arms, calling for the desert folk.

The ground shuddered beneath them as the creatures stirred, their great serpentine bodies rising, fangs gleaming in the moonlight.

Faster .

Alina did not stop. Not when she heard Hagan's magic explode behind her. Not when she saw the desert warriors rushing towards him, their serpents lunging, their hissing fangs snapping inches from his body.

She grabbed onto the rope hanging from the beast’s side and hauled herself up, her muscles burning, her dress tearing further as she scrambled onto the makeshift saddle.

Hessa leapt onto her own, their bodies instinctively shifting forward as the serpents coiled and lifted, their massive forms rising into the night, undulating across the earth with impossible speed.

At the last second, Alina turned, locking eyes with the warlock below.

She let him see it—the promise in her gaze, the cold certainty of it.

The next time they met, it would not be her running.

It would be Hagan who begged for his life.