Chapter One
Avari
My heartbeat climbed in a relentless crescendo, each thud echoing louder than the last, as the assistant pushed open the squeaky door to the enemy king's office.
A pair of piercing amber eyes snapped to mine instantly.
They were unnervingly calm, even though something vicious simmered beneath the surface, a quiet hostility hidden behind practised composure.
His lips curved downward in clear distaste, as though my presence alone offended him.
It still caught me off guard, despite every warning I'd heard about the king's intimidating nature.
The man reclined in a worn leather chair, far beneath the dignity of his rank, my mother would have said, and watched me intently. His gaze lingered on my throat, calculating, as though deciding whether to end the meeting with a twist.
Shivers broke out along my spine, though I couldn’t tell whether from fear or thrill.
Not many had the chance to meet the prime Fogoyan monster, and the opportunity filled me with a quiet, dangerous excitement.
It wasn't what I should be feeling, but I couldn't contain myself; it was a chance to study and learn from the best.
Nothing suggested he shared the sentiment.
My gaze drifted across his foreboding features, lingering on the perpetual scowl and the way his brows drew together over narrowed eyes.
I hoped the uneasy alliance might benefit us both, but deep down I knew the king's scepticism ran too deep, and some divides were simply impossible to bridge.
While my attention remained fixed on the potential threat, my skin grew increasingly clammy, damp strands of hair clinging to my forehead. It wasn't nerves. It was him. The room was growing steadily hotter because he willed it.
‘King Dracon, you have a guest from Ortensia. Miss…’
The assistant avoided my gaze, looking towards his monarch even as I spared him several fleeting glances.
The way he introduced me made me wonder whether he had intentionally omitted my royal title as a sign of disrespect.
Matters of rank and decorum had never bothered me much, but my sisters would have punished him for it.
That was one reason the atmosphere in the Ortensian court remained so suffocating.
‘Ava,’ I said, offering a faint smile as he hurried out, ignoring me.
Left alone in the lion's den with a beast who looked all too eager to pounce, I waited for the wave of fear that was bound to come.
Hopeful or not, it was obvious that cooperation with someone who hated my kind would be nearly impossible.
I was a fool for believing otherwise. Only a week ago, he'd sent two dozen of our warriors back in boxes, disfigured and dismembered, some barely recognisable as bodies.
It wasn't a gesture of goodwill to reunite them with their loved ones.
It was a warning, a brutal display of what he was capable of.
‘My moth—’ I caught myself. ‘Queen Harper said it’s time to begin training. I believe it was a mutual decision.’
For a long moment, his glare, heavy with silent challenge, remained his only response.
He scratched at his beard as his unnaturally bright eyes assessed me, a look that would have caused heart palpitations in meeker souls.
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that harming me wouldn't serve him politically. Not yet.
As much as it must have bothered him, he needed my help, and I intended to use that to my advantage. If only it were as easy as I hoped.
Though it was the first time I’d ever met the King of Fire in person, flashbacks of the night one of his soldiers broke into the Ortensian castle haunted me still.
That cruel woman, a spy he’d sent into our court, had aimed to cause as much pain as possible.
To this day, I believed it was fate that sent a guard down that corridor; otherwise, I’d never have made it out alive.
The animosity between Ortensians and Fogoyans was a living, breathing testament to eternal war and unforgivable crimes, with neither side willing to relent.
‘The mysterious Avari...’
His long fingers tapped against the scratched desk in time with my racing heartbeat.
As a pure fae, his heightened senses gave him a tactical advantage.
I couldn't afford to dwell on that, not when he demanded my full attention, his glare tracking even the slightest of my movements, assessing me the way a soldier would an opponent.
‘Did you know Fogoya produces some of the finest spies?’ A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘They can uncover almost anything about anyone. Yet somehow, there's next to nothing to learn about you, Princess.’
Ouch. Did he mean mysterious or dull? Perhaps he wanted me to overthink. I let it go; it didn’t matter.
What mattered was the oppressive heat he wove into the room, rolling over my body in waves of deliberate discomfort. His fondness for causing unease reminded me of my sisters. They’d probably get along. Fellow psychopaths.
‘Perhaps you praise them too much,' I said, tossing waves of my dark hair over my shoulder, feigning a confidence I didn't feel. Then, I summoned a translucent shield to ward off some of the oppressive warmth.
People rarely noticed such magic. It was barely detectable. I hadn't expected him to. But he did.
Displeasure flickered across his face at the blatant display of witchcraft. Yet he made no attempt to break the shield, and eventually, the heat subsided.
‘You’re not what I expected.’ Reclining in his seat, his eyes darkened with contemplation.
‘What did you expect?’ The question escaped before I could stop myself. Few outside Ortensia knew me, just as the queen intended. And even if they did, it was only a carefully curated version.
The mountain of a man rose to his feet and stalked towards me at an agonising pace. My heartbeat quickened with every step. I gripped the fabric of my trousers, my fingers tightening around it the closer he came.
He circled me, his breath spreading across the back of my neck as though he were breathing me in, as if my scent could reveal more about me than he already knew.
Standing still took every ounce of restraint.
I wanted to run, yet I also wanted to stay and see whether he was truly as monstrous as they'd painted him, even if it put me in danger.
Even without the advantage of being over a foot taller and built like a weapon, his magic posed the greater threat.
He could do far worse than conjure a simple heatwave.
To my surprise, the crippling fear I’d expected never came.
The instinct to stay alert never left, but terror didn’t set in.
And judging by his reputation, he could snap me in half before I even realised it. If anything, it might improve his mood.
But the tales of his ruthlessness weren’t the reason my chest tightened or my thoughts scattered into panic.
It was because my power had begun to betray me in the worst way possible.
The unruly fire within me thrashed for release, reaching towards his.
Towards the one person in the world who would relish hurting an Ortensian princess the most. The urge made me question my sanity.
Connecting our powers would be suicidal.
I might as well offer it to him on a silver platter; he’d drain me dry in seconds.
The king’s grimace widened, followed by a scoff. ‘Short. Small. Weak. How did you ever learn to conjure?’
His hot breath brushed my ear, making it difficult to focus. The scent of mint, lemon and oak moss clashed with his brutality, but it was the spark of fire stirring in my palm that demanded my attention, straining towards the source of the disturbance that had left me hyperventilating.
Backing away, I put as much distance between us as the cramped office allowed.
Space.
I needed space to breathe.
Interacting with other fire-wielders was unfamiliar, and at times my powers felt as lonely as I often did. Isolation wasn't natural for our kind, but I had no choice. In the Kingdom of Water and Witchcraft, even a whisper of fire drew disgust. Sometimes, it drew swords.
I drifted towards the bookcase in the corner, running my fingers along the dusty, cracked spines and relishing the musty scent.
It was filled to the brim with tomes on fire magic, Fogoyan beasts and conjuring.
My fingers itched to explore them; I never received proper training, only mastering what I knew through blood, sweat and tears. And that wasn’t much.
The collection made sense. According to the Ortensian council, the Fogoyan King had been relentless in his attempts to conjure a dragon, longer than I had been alive.
They claimed he’d begun as a child, as many Fogoyan families forced their children to do.
The slim chance of success seemed to outweigh the value of their lives.
Our court called Fogoyans unethical barbarians for sacrificing their young to war, but I wasn’t sure we understood enough to judge.
Bonding with my dragon changed my life, improving it beyond measure in ways that could only be described as warmth and belonging.
Anya once told me that most dragons could sense when their bonds were born into the world, a connection coded on a molecular, soul-binding level.
While they couldn’t form meaningful ties with babies, some felt the pull so strongly that they protected their future bonds from afar.
‘I presume since I’m here, these haven’t helped.’ Gesturing towards the books, I aimed for a casual tone, but it came out mocking.
Just as the words left my mouth, I scolded myself, my mind drifting to the flashbacks of his brutality. Standing so close to the man responsible for so much suffering felt surreal. I shouldn't provoke him, but the pull of his fire was making it difficult to think clearly.
The king closed the distance again, and I was forced to shove my magic so deep it hurt, desperate not to let it slip. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I feigned calm.
Fire had always been temperamental and passionate, two sides of the man I did not wish to experience.
Given our history, I suspected the grumpy monarch would find pleasure, perhaps even satisfaction, in destroying me.
The thought of draining the daughter of Queen Harper, affectionately known as the Raging Bitch of the East, probably thrilled him.
Despite it all, I clung to a spark of optimism. His drive to conjure a dragon was rooted in more than hatred; I could sense it in the air. Besides, could anyone truly be that vile? I hoped not; otherwise, my chances of leaving this alliance alive were slim to none.
Fogoyans found Ortensians disgusting; our impurity made us worthless in their eyes. That a halfling like me had learned to conjure clearly stung his pride. The irony of besting a king was delicious.
As I skimmed through the first pages of The Beasts of Fogoya, his intense gaze followed the movement of my fingers. His mind was clearly turning. What I wouldn’t give to know what he was thinking.
He shifted, breaking the spell of the moment, then announced with the poise of a crowned ruler, his voice like ice, ‘I want to see it.’
The bluntness didn't surprise me. Royals were entitled by nature. But the idea that he could command my power, or my dragon, bordered on delusion.
‘Oh dear. Invite me to dinner first,’ I joked, trying to ease the tension. We would be spending the next several weeks together, after all.
‘Excuse me?’ His sharp jaw looked even more ruthless from this close. He kept advancing until I was trapped between the shelves and the wall. ‘What's that supposed to mean?’
‘Just that the art of banter seems lost in Fogoya. Back away, please.’
Using my hand to gently push him away, I prayed my power stayed contained. The flicker of flame from the fireplace mirrored in his eyes, its amber light catching in a mesmerising way. He stared like he wasn’t sure what to do with me, and it couldn’t be a good thing.
I stared back.
King Dracon of Fogoya wasn’t what anyone would call handsome.
Even in appearance, he was rough and violent, his jaw sharp enough to serve as a blade in battle.
Unlike other monarchs who favoured polish and ceremony, he made up for it with sheer, untamed presence that was as breathtaking as it was deadly.
‘This isn’t a show,’ I said, heart hammering. ‘I won’t be showing you my dragon. I’m here to teach you how to conjure yours, if you’re capable.’