tight fists banged on his oak door. A sharp pain shot through Kellan’s temple; a headache is the last thing he needed in the early morning. An empty bottle clattered to the ground, leaving red droplets on the stained stone floor. He kicked the fallen bottle under his bed, the sliding glass stirred his dog awake. He murmured to his pet and watched as Lupo stretched and walked behind him. Three guards stood outside, displeased with him and his evening activities. Silently, they walked single filed down the grand hall towards the throne room.

The Queen of Fire and Air was never without her crown. Kellan doubted his mother would even take it off for bed. That crown forever glints, scorching its image on his brothers’ and sisters’ minds. Planted on his mother’s head, the crown would not come off until the fae queen would fall, forever taunting his siblings. She dangled it before them, as if they were dogs begging for a bone.

He never wanted it. Never had. Never would. It was far too much responsibility; Kellan would rather drown himself in drink or fight in battles than sit in a throne room all day.

A voice, smooth like silk, echoed in his ears.

‘Interesting times are ahead of us, my son.’

The prince marched forward and bowed. Lupo padded in and stayed by the door. The dog curled himself in a ball, peacefully falling back asleep.

With a quick glance around the meeting room, he found it void with her usual guards that surrounded her, the ones who led him into the throne room mysteriously vanished.

It was enough for Kellan to know that this was one of her secret conversations, one she didn’t want his brothers and sisters to know about.

How interesting, he thought to himself.

‘You wanted to see me?’ he said, skipping any sort of formality.

His mother’s emerald eyes narrowed on him.

Her disappointment crawled up his spine. A thick, clear wall of tension built up, and Kellan wondered if he could cut his dagger through it.

‘You’re turning twenty-five in the summer,’ she said. ‘I hope you know what it means.’

He fought back, rolling his eyes. Of course he knew what it meant—every fae in Zakros knew what it meant.

‘Do you honestly think I’m stupid?’

The queen smiled—or smirked. Kellan wasn’t sure.

‘I think you are many things. And, no, stupid is not one of them.’ His queen shifted in her seat, dragging her hand up the armrest, her gaze fixed on him. ‘Your prophecy will be read on your birthday; your place in the line of succession will be cemented.’

He raised a brow and tilted his head back. He was too hungover for this.

‘Is that all?’ he said, hoping his voice conveyed his boredom. ‘What’s the point? It’s obvious I’m not going to be king.’

‘That’s not all.’