Chapter Eleven
Avari
The wind tore through my hair as I fixed my gaze on the thorns jutting from the rose bushes, poised as if to impale anyone who came too close.
They demanded attention and awe, swaying gracefully in the breeze as though reluctant to reveal their wild nature.
The sight of something so fragile, yet so fierce in nature, appeased me.
‘These bushes never used to grow here until about six months ago,’ Michael said as we crossed the courtyard along the pebbled path that wound towards the forest—the same forest that had mended my broken body, though I still hadn’t found the words to thank it.
Recovering from the curse had been brutal.
Though the king’s power had saved my life, weakness lingered in my muscles, pulling at my joints.
My skin remained pale, as if the ordeal had drained me of colour entirely.
I wasn’t sure how long it would take to regain my full strength, but considering one of the most powerful fae I knew had needed two days to stabilise me, it wouldn’t be prompt.
Too bad no amount of magic could soothe the mind.
‘The wind probably blew the seeds from the forest,’ I said, grateful for the hint of normality and for being able to heal surrounded by nature. ‘How old is it anyway?’
‘Nobody knows for sure. They built the castle around it centuries ago. Our ancestors chose this place because of its proximity to the Cave City. River could tell you more; the castle grounds are his pride and joy.’
‘River?’ I asked, frowning. I’d never heard that name before.
Michael froze mid-step, paling slightly as his brow furrowed in rare unease. ‘It wasn’t mine to share.’
‘What are you talking about?’ The shift in his tone unsettled me.
‘He doesn’t like strangers knowing his name. He’s been on edge lately, too.’ Michael’s jaw tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared ahead.
‘That’s his real name? King River?’
Michael grimaced. ‘Don’t tell him you know, please.’
‘I won’t. The last thing I want is for him to lose his temper again.’ I patted his shoulder lightly, trying to reassure him as we walked on in thoughtful silence.
The path wound between the willow trees I had connected with days earlier. Unable to resist, I brushed my fingers along one of their rough trunks. The bark tingled faintly against my skin, the tree’s essence reaching for mine, craving connection as much as I did. But I wasn’t sure I was ready.
Michael’s solemn voice broke through my thoughts. ‘I’ve heard what happened during that training session.’
At least he didn’t mention the incident in the forest. I still dreamt of it, his hand around my throat, my lungs burning as I clawed for air. Even now, my body tensed at the memory.
Hoping to shake off the heaviness pressing on my chest, I forced a crooked smile. ‘Well, let me tell you, he did not conjure a dragon that day. Did he confess?’
Michael chuckled. ‘Emily did.’
‘The girl who saved me?’ I asked, remembering the woman’s fierce energy and the flame that reminded me of my own.
‘She’s my brother’s mate. She couldn’t believe it either. Fogoyan men…’ He trailed off, his expression twisting with something between shame and pain. ‘People call us savages because fire is rough and violent, but that’s not all we are.’
I caught the shadow in his eyes, the weight of old wounds, but I didn’t pry. Everyone deserved privacy, and if it was something that he was ready to share, he would.
We walked on in comfortable silence, and I found myself reflecting. Though I was technically the king’s subject now, I didn’t know what that meant. Twisted as it was, I’d begun to think he might genuinely protect me if only to uphold his word.
The Fogoyans had saved me when no one else could. For all their violence, there was honesty here I’d never found in Ortensia.
A sudden laugh escaped me, surprising even myself. ‘I mean, really, King River of the fire-breathers? Were Creek and Pond already taken?’
Michael snorted, laughing freely for the first time. It broke the sombre atmosphere and transformed him, making him look years younger. I couldn’t help but smile too. Maybe there was more warmth in this cold land than I allowed myself to believe.
The only constant warmth in my life had always been Anya.
Since reopening our bond, guilt still gnawed at me—how easily I’d shut her out when fear took over.
It had taken hours of apologising and promises never to do it again before she even considered forgiving me.
The wound to our connection was still there, faint but raw.
It would take time to rebuild the trust I’d broken.
Changing the subject, I asked, ‘How long have you been his assistant?’
‘I’m not his assistant,’ Michael corrected, his brows shooting up.
Oh. I winced. ‘I’m sorry, do you have another title?’
‘River’s got enough staff. But in a way, it was my job to meet you, I suppose.’ His cheeks coloured faintly, and he looked away.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I couldn’t find any information about you, so naturally, I worried your mother had sent you to kill my brother.’ His voice carried an awkward edge, as though he were embarrassed. ‘He wanted me to stay away, actually, but I thought I should be close, just in case. Not that he needed me to.’
I blinked, stunned. The king was his brother. Which meant Michael—the kind, gentle Michael—was the Prince of Fogoya.
The more I observed him, the more I noticed the similarities between them.
Their height was the obvious one, both easily over six foot five, but where Dracon…
or River was all muscle and sharp edges, Michael was leaner, quieter strength.
Even their eyes crept the same way when they smiled, though their colours set them apart.
‘I’m sorry, are you saying you’re some kind of royal spy?’ I teased, half-joking.
‘You could say that,’ he said lightly, clearly unwilling to elaborate.
I studied him anew, remembering how harmless he once seemed. Maybe he wasn’t so docile after all. Still, his sincerity felt real, and I found myself believing him when he added, ‘I realised I was wrong the moment I met you, princess.’
‘Oh, don’t bother with the title. Your brother made it obvious that it means nothing here.’ I mimicked River’s gravelly tone and exaggerated expression, earning a chuckle from his brother.
‘He does like to push your buttons,’ the prince said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
‘Hey,’ I nudged him lightly in mock offence. ‘I’m not that easy to provoke.’
‘You should see how quickly you lose your temper. It’s quite entertaining.’
His laughter was infectious, and despite myself, I joined in.
We finally reached the stables, and I couldn’t help but cringe at the field of horses behind them. It reminded me of one of the first times I had travelled with my dragon. As we soared through the skies, Anya had spotted a field of sheep.
I instinctively ran a hand through my hair, just as I had back then, when I returned home and was forced to wash it seven times to rid it of the coppery stench of blood.
It had been life-changing, and it marked the beginning of my life as a vegetarian.
Reminiscing, I made a mental note to forbid my dragon from treating the horses as snacks.
‘What’s with that face?’ Michael asked, intrigued.
‘I might have my dragon come here,’ I admitted, biting my lip. ‘But I will probably need to camp out here to stop her from becoming the sole cause of the dwindling horse population in your court.’
Michael laughed, then grew unexpectedly serious. ‘Ava, I don’t think you realise how much it would mean to our people to see a dragon fly over Fogoya again.’
I smiled faintly. Maybe I didn’t. But I was beginning to believe that the fire-breathers weren’t as monstrous as I’d been taught.
Perhaps there was still hope for me, for them, and for the fragile peace that bound us all together.
The King
How had it come to this?
Within a matter of days, the life I’d built out of sheer resolve and discipline had crumbled, all because of one girl.
My hatred for her kind had blinded me to the obvious signs that something was wrong, and with it, my chance to learn to conjure had almost vanished. And she with it.
I couldn’t decide which was worse. Either way, I was knee-deep in shit.
She was a witch. Our kinds were enemies. I couldn’t want her.
Yet, my fire wouldn’t rest, straining against my control at the mere thought of her, desperate to burn through my skin just to reach her.
Whether it was the magic itself or my stupidity, I knew one thing for certain: I wouldn’t be able to hurt her like I had planned. The little witch had ruined everything, and I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her for it.
Gods, what a pathetic excuse for a king I was.
I was a legend among my soldiers, the kind of name that turned blood cold. The ease with which I'd slaughtered her kind had made me what I was.
And now what?
I was supposed to care for this one?
My legs, my arms, my fire, my instincts... everything strained to reach for her and keep her close. To wrap her in my warmth, in my flames, to make sure she recovered from the fucking curse I'd failed to notice.
How had I even missed it?
Because my body and my power had been honed to break their necks and bathe in their poisonous blood. I'd been shaped by vengeance and the need to protect my people.
It was a battle of wills—power against reason, instinct against logic.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t know which side I wanted to win.