Page 37

I’d always believed in fables. Cully used to read them to me in the dead of night, his voice the only sound above the snowfall outside our estate. Tales of princes and princesses, of true loves and daring rescues. Stories where the damsel is always saved.

But this time, I didn’t want saving.

I wanted to stand on my own.

I would not wilt like the beetroot in Father’s garden. No, I would flourish like a purple hellebore, the only bloom stubborn enough to survive a world gone gray.

First, Demetria needed shielding.

I warded the outskirts with ash and flame, tracing protections where Archer’s had once held. His magic still clung faintly to the stones, but the strength of it was fading. And I was still a stranger to this land.

At the village center, Amria stood beside me as the people gathered in silence, their eyes flicking between us. They had endured months without a leader, and now they stared at me like I was a spark they didn’t trust not to burn.

Because when flame devours shadow, people whisper.

They fear. Especially when that flame belongs to a girl crowned without a drop of Night blood. But they didn’t come for the dark. They came for the glow .

“The rumors are true,” I said, voice steady. “Archer Lynch has been imprisoned.”

Murmurs stirred, dry and restless. I raised my hand, not to silence them, but to shield them. From everything that had failed them. From everything that might become.

“Then why wait?” a voice called from the crowd. “Get him out!”

“I’ll try,” I said. “But until then, my flame will protect you. If it dies, consider me gone.”

Power surged through me like molten light. I let it pour into the earth, threading ash and ember through the bones of this place.

“You’re only an heir,” someone called out. “A flame-wielder can’t protect us.”

“I’m not asking for loyalty,” I said. “Or reverence. Only understanding.”

Silence followed.

Then, a child no older than six stepped forward, eyes wide with starlight and wonder. Her mother reached to pull her back—but others followed. Two, then five. Heads bowed. Knees touched stone. Hands rose toward the lilac sky in quiet, cautious surrender.

But I could feel Archer’s shadows were thinning. His shields wouldn’t hold much longer. And even if it killed me, I would ensure this land was protected. And if I wanted to save him, I’d need leverage. A barter. The kind only the most powerful man alive could offer.

Find him an heir, and maybe he’d let Archer go.

But I couldn’t stay here. Not while my father prepared to drag me back to Ravensla. Not while Damien waited with a ring I never wanted.

And I wasn’t done running yet.

Amria waited by the seamstress’s room, looping scarlet thread between her fingers. I passed the bathing hall where Archer had once healed me. I didn’t look inside. I couldn’t face the girl I’d been then. The one who didn’t yet know what she would lose.

I rifled through the drawers in his study—notes, letters, old bargain offers. Even a few marriage proposals from bold civilians and women I sincerely wished I could unsee.

“There’s nothing here,” I whispered.

Amria knocked softly before entering. “What are you looking for?”

“A map,” I said. “I’m going to the prison. After that… I don’t know.”

“They’re near the Day Realm,” she said. “The light keeps the prisoners half-mad, half-awake. Torture-ready. That dragon of yours… I imagine he’s been near it.”

“I don’t know how much time I have.” I rifled through a few more drawers, slamming the last one shut.

“You won’t get in,” she added. “Only guards and journalists have clearance.”

My head snapped up. “Journalists?”

“They log the prisoners. Sometimes they even write about them, if the name is big enough.”

“You read the prison logs?” I asked, arching a brow.

“I confess nothing,” she said with a smirk. “Though… some aides have prison pen pals.”

“Do you have a prison pen pal?”

“Enough small talk.” Amria drew a small glass vial from her pocket, the chain wound delicately around her fingers. Inside, red liquid swirled with a few faded flower petals. “Chirdose,” she said quietly. “One drop knocks you unconscious. Two will kill you. ”

I stilled, eyes locked on the vial as the liquid shifted. “Why are you giving this to me?"

“If death is more kind than the light that breaks you,” she went on, “take it. Some beg for it in those cells.”

“Where did you get this?” I asked, voice cracking.

She stepped forward and fastened the chain around my neck. The glass rested against my sternum. “My mother,” she murmured. “Before I was sent here. Not all aides serve kindly. We didn’t know what to expect.”

“I’ll change that,” I said. “Whatever I can do, I will.”

I turned to leave, but Amria’s hand caught my elbow, her grip featherlight but firm.

“Your brother… he was the Seeker, wasn’t he?” Her eyes drifted to the bookshelf behind Archer’s desk. “The one whose words line his study?”

I froze.

“They burned his writings,” I said quietly. “At least, that’s what Archer told me.”

“Perhaps not all,” she murmured. “He kept what he could. The prison wouldn’t need much reason to execute him if they found these.”

My heart pounded. Archer had said Klaus’s journals were gone.

“Maybe,” she whispered, “they were never meant to be burned. Maybe someone only said they were. A Seeker, perhaps. Maybe they were waiting, for you to be the one to decide.”

I reached for the spines. These were Klaus’s words. His stories of an untold future. And Archer had kept them.

“I have to burn them,” I whispered.

Flame sparked from my fingertips as I struck the first book. The fire curled around the pages. I didn’t read a single line. I couldn’t .

The parchment cracked and folded in on itself. Ink bled into fire. Klaus’s thoughts vanished before they could ever reach me.

Gods, did I ever want to read them.

If Malvoria found out Archer had kept them, Amria was right, it would end badly. Klaus had trusted him. And Archer had trusted me to finish what he couldn’t. Maybe he hadn’t been strong enough to do it himself.

“Charles killed him,” I murmured. “But this... this is worse.”

She nodded once. “This was necessary.”

I burned every last page, smoke curling up the chimney until nothing remained but ash. Then I turned and walked away. Outside, the night churned wild and deep. Stars scattered like loose threads across the sky. I stepped into it.

Behind me, the land glowed with new borders of flame. Every home in Demetria was warm now. Safe. Even in his absence. Even in mine.

Naraic waited near the cliff’s edge. I ran a hand over his snout, and his pearl scales shimmered beneath the starlight and drifting ash. A scar cut along his neck, a reminder of the night I bound him with flame.

We were both a little broken.

“We need to fly to Malvoria,” I whispered. “I need Cully.”

He pressed his snout to my chest, a low hum rising from deep within him. “We fly.”

Enlisting my scholarly brother to break Archer out of prison might be the most reckless thing I’d ever done. Then again, breaking into Malvoria might top it.

The sky sagged low, clouds streaked with slush. Howls echoed from somewhere deep in the trees. It should have taken five hours, but Naraic flew like hellfire. We made it in four.

We landed just outside the perimeter. I took the last stretch on foot.

Through a barred window, I spotted Delair’s father, his chin resting on his palm, sword balanced down his back.

His stillness wasn’t idleness. It was patience.

The kind a predator wears like armor. But his eyes betrayed him.

Grief lived there, buried just beneath the steel.

I crouched beneath a moss-laced overhang, heart pounding in time with the flickering lanterns above. I kept low, shadows skimming my boots as I veered toward the journalist dorms. Abducting my brother had been a desperate plan, but Cully was still my only way to get close to Archer.

I paused.

The dungeons loomed behind me, stone dark and silent. It was the kind of quiet that warned of death, the kind that meant the guards were distracted.

I stopped beside the door. Cold rust pressed against my palm. This was where I’d spent so many sleepless nights. Where they had broken me down piece by piece.

Giesel was still down there. And she had no chance of escaping. So I gave her one, because the woods were safer than these walls.

I leaned close to the stone and whispered into the wind, “Be free.” Then I wrenched the iron door open, the hinges shrieking louder than I meant. Air rushed into the chamber like a scream let loose.

It wasn’t enough, but it was all I had. Maybe Giesel would hear it. Maybe she’d run. I spun and bolted down the hall, breath short, heart in my throat. Then came the sound of boots and voices. I dove behind a stone column, pressing myself against the cold, slick surface.

“The Forgotten plan to strike the Capital. The institute still has no idea how they got in.”

Callum.

Another voice followed. “I’ve tried everything, sir. I don’t think she knows where her mother is.” He paused. “It’s like she suspects me. ”

Ellison.

“Try harder. Charles is starting to question why I’ve let a guard ‘escort’ an heir across the damn Continent. I don’t care what it takes for her to trust you.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

“You’re the only one close enough. Charles is keeping secrets, no doubt to protect his family. He can’t be trusted.”

I peeked from behind the column. They were in the main corridor, and if they came this way, I was screwed. Then Callum turned. His gaze landed right where I hid. My breath hitched. I swore my weakened shadows stirred, cloaking me just as his eyes locked on the space I filled.

“She’s in love with Archer Lynch,” Ellison said. “Those weren’t rumors. And now… there’s no way I can interfere with a Serpent marriage bargain.”

That asshole. Holy shit. He was playing courtship.