Alina paid no heed to the white gown draped across her bed like a ghost of the past. She would not don a dress again. Never, not while she still drew breath. Instead, she wrapped herself in her phoenixian combat attire, fastened her curved desert dagger to her hip, and slipped her feet into the worn leather boots that had carried her across more dunes than she cared to count. She imagined the king would frown upon a guest arriving at his luncheon clad for battle, but she found herself quite beyond caring.
By the time she reached the grand terrace where servants fanned cool air with great plumes and bustled about perfecting the floral arrangements along the vast stone table, she spotted Kai emerging from the palace. He slowed at the sight of her, one brow arching high at her attire.
‘Not a word,’ she warned.
‘Never, princess,’ he said, voice threaded with humour. ‘From these lips? Nothing but love.’
The servants rushed to usher them to their places. Isla and Arena emerged, adorned in elegant gowns that had evidently been laid out for them in advance. It was a strange, almost surreal sight—these fierce warriors, so often clad in battle-worn leathers and armour, now draped in silken finery. Alina couldn’t suppress a smile as she watched them. There was something tender, almost enchanting, in the way they giggled like young girls granted a rare indulgence, their laughter light as petals caught in a summer breeze.
Kai, too, had shed his wyverian garb in favour of phoenixian silks. The sight was strange, almost jarring, but undeniably striking: the warrior cloaked in white, the loose shirt and linen trousers bright against his deathly white skin. Even the simplesandals upon his feet made her smile.
‘Not a word, princess,’ he muttered, pinching her arm in retaliation.
‘Never, wyverian,’ she echoed with mock solemnity. ‘From this mouth? Nothing buttruth.’
The jest faded as their gazes met. The air between them shifted, weighted suddenly with something unsaid, something old and aching. And though she hadn’t spoken it aloud, he understood. She saw it in his face—the subtle paling, the darkening of his eyes as truth settled between them like a shared burden.
‘Alina—’
‘Not now. Later.’
She dismissed him with a quiet firmness, refusing to meet his concerned glare as she lowered herself onto one of the grand white cushions arranged around the low stone table. Kai settled to her left, but she turned away from him entirely the moment Mareena stepped onto the terrace.
As always, Mareena moved like poetry in motion, draped in flowing white, her gown trailing behind her like wisps of cloud, a delicate headpiece glinting in the sun like the halo of a forgotten goddess.
But it wasn’t Mareena who stole Alina’s breath.
It was the man she guided gently to the table.
He was not yet aged, though time had begun to press its fingerprints upon him. His skin, a rich brown hue, bore no deep-set wrinkles, but his hands trembled faintly as Mareena helped lower him into the seat at the table’s head. He wore robes of white and gold, regal and flowing, the attire of a king. His hair, obsidian and gleaming, fell in a straight curtain, save for a few rebellious curls that tumbled onto his brow, so heartbreakingly reminiscent of Zahian’s that Alina’s throat closed around herbreath.
But it wasn’t his hair.
It wasn’t even the trembling hands.
It was his eyes.
They were no longer the vivid crimson that marked his bloodline. The colour had all but faded, reduced to a pale wash of red, like wine thinned with water. Around them, the skin bore the unmistakable traces of burn scars, delicate and raw, like ancient wounds still learning how to heal.
The king stared into nothingness and smiled, his voice warm and strangely serene.
‘Ah, I see you’ve all noticed these,’ he said, lifting a finger to his eyes. ‘I’ve always had a fondness for study, a weakness for curiosity. Alchemy, in particular, has long held my interest. Some inventions open doors to wonder. Others, I fear, teach us humility.’
He chuckled softly, as if telling a story rather than revealing tragedy.
‘A small price to pay for knowledge, wouldn’t you agree?’
Servants moved with graceful urgency, gliding between cushions and alabaster columns as they filled goblets with fragrant wines and cooling elixirs.
‘My daughter tells me we now have wyverians among our guests,’ the king continued, his voice smooth as still water. ‘An intriguing reunion, wouldn’t you say? A century past, these three—drakonians, wyverians, and phoenixians—were the kindling of a war. All sparked because two souls refused a binding of crowns. Prince Hadrian Blackburn and Princess Aithne Acheron. Imagine the world, had they wed.’
‘Perhaps nothing would have changed,’ Kai said, his tone measured, but edged with quiet defiance. ‘The kingdoms sought any excuse to purge the witches. Their power made them a threat. That wasenough.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ the king murmured, his fingers skimming across the table until they found his goblet, polished and cool to the touch. ‘Yet I find it curious, how the choices of a few can ripple down generations. How a single defiance can shape the world in its wake. Fascinating, isn’t it? It begs the question, do we shape fate, or does it shape us?’
‘By whom?’ Kai asked. ‘The gods?’
The king gave a languid shrug. ‘That depends. Few among us truly believe in the pantheon anymore. We acknowledge their tales, but we place our faith in only one. Not in many gods but one. The true creator of all things.’
