Mira leaned over her parchment, carefully grinding a mixture of dried herbs. The pestle and mortar worked well, but something about her river stones made the process feel more rewarding. Her small, quaint room smelled of earth and crisp leaves, the scent of pressed flowers mingling with the sharper aroma of tinctures and solutions left to settle overnight. She was no practitioner, but to the untrained eye, she was a natural witch. The priestesses would have been proud, if not a little shocked, since they’d never taught her outright.


    Her focus should have been on her project—an advanced formula for healing salves—but instead, she found her thoughts disrupted by the all-too-familiar presence lingering just beyond the threshold.


    Haros had been persistent. Awkwardly so. The past few weeks were an endless cycle of interruptions, failed attempts at meaningful conversation, and his poorly concealed embarrassment whenever she brushed him off. He stood there like he’d been sucker punched, scoffed, and half the time called her a bitch under his breath. Clearly, he didn’t handle rejection very well. And it wasn’t that she was rejecting him, and it wasn’t that she disliked him—if anything, she was growing strangely accustomed to his clumsy efforts—but she was busy. Too busy to entertain whatever game he was playing at.


    “You’re scowling,” Lazroth observed, sprawled across the worktable beside her, idly twirling a pestle between his fingers as he waited for her to forfeit her effort and just use the tools as they were meant to be used. “Something troubling you? Or is it just your usual disdain for our social obligations?”


    Mira sighed, returning her attention to her work. “You mean the Homecoming Gala?”


    “Indeed. A dreadful, ghastly, and overly pompous affair.” Lazroth sighed theatrically. “I should take someone, I suppose. It’s expected. A prince can’t exactly go alone, or gods forefend, not go at all. But who could I bring?” He paused. “I mean, I know who, but…”


    Mira gave him a sidelong glance, weary from the constant dodging. “But you don’t want to say it out loud.”


    He hesitated before offering her a small, sheepish smile. “It’s not exactly conventional.”


    “I think you should be honest about who you are,” Mira said, her voice gentle but firm. “There’s no shame in it.”


    Lazroth chuckled dryly. “Easy for you to say, Lady Secrets.”


    Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t wrong. Here she was, urging him to be honest, while she herself concealed the greatest truth of all. Four years, and she’d kept it so tight to her chest she’d only made a few friends at most.


    “No one is going to think less of you for who you are, Laz.”


    “Nor will they think less of you,” he said, slipping off the table and strolling around her. “I promise, your secrets are safe with me. And you don’t have to keep acting like I don’t know.” He set a hand beside hers, leaning on the table. Mira gulped, just as he expected. It wouldn’t have been the first time, nor likely the last, that from a glance or the corner of their eyes, someone mistook Laz for Haros. They looked strikingly similar, but straight on, the differences were obvious. Laz was smaller, his face more squared, and his shoulders were broader. He had a more regal look to him. But they shared the same black hair, the same pale skin, and the same piercing blue eyes.


    Laz leaned in, whispering, “Just because we’re brothers doesn’t mean I—”


    As Mira snapped around, holding up a finger in defense, an argument on the tip of her tongue, a sharp knock on the door interrupted them. They stared at each other, dumbfounded for a moment. Mira huffed, then went to the door. The girl on the other side, an acolyte, smiled brightly and handed her a letter. Mira thanked her, sent her on her way, and then returned to her room.


    She sat on the side of her bed, turning the letter over. As if summoned, Lazroth dropped beside her. Though he was a year younger than her, it was often hard to believe he was the little brother to perhaps the most persistent prince she’d ever met. And more surprising was both how close and not close they truly were. They didn’t talk half as much as she’d expected and yet managed to know everything about each other. Maybe it was just a thing between siblings. She had always wanted one.


    “What’s that?” Lazroth asked, peering over her shoulder.


    “It’s from the High Priestess,” Mira said, her fingers running over the priestess’ seal, dark and unmistakable, stamped onto the letter to hold it shut. Her stomach tightened as she cracked it open. Carefully, she read it over once, then again.


    “Do they miss you back at the temple?


    Mira swallowed. “Its summons.”


    Lazroth’s brows furrowed. “Summons? But that would mean you’re a priestess, and priestesses aren’t allowed formal schooling. Why would—” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze sharpening. “Mira.” His voice was different now, filled with the weight of realization about a detail he’d missed for years. “You were never a priestess, were you?”


    Mira exhaled slowly. “No.”


    Lazroth stared at her, a sort of sadness dragging his face down. “Oh, you poor thing, you didn’t pass the exams.”


    “I never took them,” Mira said sourly.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    “What?” He reeled back. He looked her up and down, taking note of how she dressed, sat, and the fire flickering in her eyes as she read the letter again. It wasn’t the behavior of a would-be priestess. He had seen so many of them offered to his brother that he could pick one out from three kingdoms away. No, she was something else. “Wait. Wow, I’m an idiot.”


    “What?” She looked over at him, baffled by his sudden shift.


    Laz threw his hand through his hair. “You’re not even Styxin, are you?”


    “Yes, I am,” Mira’s gaze darted toward the herbs and books stacked up, full of spells only a true Styxin could use. “Blood and bones.”


    He scooted closer, cocking his head, and for a moment he looked more like Haros that she expected. Mira blinked, pulling back. He leaned in, lifting her chin with his fingers and examining her face as if he expected to find something there. “You’re something different…”


    She breathed out, dropping her shoulders. He could see it but didn’t recognize it, and lying to him wouldn’t change anything. Besides, she wasn’t keen on lying. It set a bad precedent. “I am the Styxin heir, Laz.”


    Silence stretched between them before he let out a slow breath as he sat back. Then, a small smirk. “Well. Isn’t this ironic?”


    Mira allowed herself a tiny, wry smile. “We both have secrets to keep.”


    He nodded. “Yours is about a crown.”


    “And yours is about a boy.” She set the letter down between them. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”


    <hr>


    Haros pressed the dean’s daughter against the wall, thankful Danren was gone for the afternoon. His fingers traced the line of her spine under her shirt. Their breaths mingled, the air between them heavy with heat and haste. Her hands tugged at his shirt, and he let it fall carelessly to the floor, his lips trailing down the side of her neck.


    For weeks, he’d tried all he could to reach Mira. She entertained him for as long as she could, but as far as he could tell, she didn’t think much of him, and certainly never thought of him outside of those little moments. His heart twisted into knots at the thought of the blank stares she gave when he crossed a line with her. Lines he didn’t expect and never knew where he’d mistakenly find them. Gods, that look was the worst. It was entirely unreadable.


    The only thing that balmed it over had been Everin. She was gorgeous. All bouncy breasts and pouty lips that looked good with his cock between them. Best of all, she was the dean’s daughter. He slid his hand up her skirt, sliding her panties down, then found his way between her thighs. A throaty groan crawled up and buzzed against her mouth between hurried kisses. She wasn’t just wet; she was soaked, and he was harder than a rock.


    “Haros,” she rasped as his fingers explored her, delving in and out at a steady pace. “Do you have… you know… protection?”


    He paused, his lips curling into a grin. “You don’t trust me?”


    “I do,” she whispered against his lips as he pressed another finger into her, drawing out a sharp gasp. “It’s just my last boyfriend—”


    “Then it’s a good thing I’m not your boyfriend,” he chuckled, reclaiming her mouth with his and unfastening his pants. It wasn’t a secret that the last boy she’d dated, rightly a man too old for her, had it in his head that he’d get her pregnant and make a young wife of her. Haros happened upon them, and he corrected the nature of their relationship with a beating worthy of legend. Everin had thanked him generously for saving her, and between adrenaline and testosterone, he came more than he thought he could.


    His cock slid along her stomach as she yanked her shirt off, discarding it on the floor. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her hands slid down his chest. Every bit of her was soft and delicate, and her stiff nipples were velvety. Haros kissed her neck and shoulders, maneuvering to slip himself between her legs. Her arousal ran long his length as he shifted, positioning for her, and—


    Then, a sharp knock came at the door.


    Haros groaned, pulling back just as she let out an exasperated sigh.


    “You’ve got to be joking,” she muttered, slumping down as he stepped away.


    Haros rolled his eyes, raking a hand through his hair before pulling his pants back into place. He grumbled, looking around for his shirt as another knock sounded. It wasn’t Danren, and he hoped like hell it wasn’t the dean. Haros looked over at Everin, who offered only a shrug as she wrapped in the blanket from the couch, hair already tossled in a mess. Without wasting another moment on finding a shirt, he answered the door.


    There was no greeting.


    “You’re being summoned back to Edithir,” the official announced, dressed in royal colors, handing him a sealed notice.


    Haros stared at it. His jaw tightened. “Unbelievable.”


    Everin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. It was no secret that King Faliam had gone mad in the last few years. Or at least mostly mad. That was the problem that happened to anyone who carried a full dragon. When the beast wanted to move on, it didn’t matter whether or not its host was ready. It would try to pry its way out from their bond by any means it could, and for Faliam, it had chosen trying to make him eat himself to death. His weight swelled with his agitation, and the nightmares kept him snacking through the smallest hours.


    Normally, a king would keep his dragon until his first born matured to adulthood, twenty at least. But Faliam’s time was ending too soon and dragon wanted Haros. People had long taken bets on how early it would be; even Everin’s family suspected he’d make it no longer than eighteen. She smiled, half to herself. “Well, looks like your time’s up.”


    He sighed, rubbing at his temple. She was right. His parents had bothered to write him, generous by his mother’s standard, to inform him of his anticipated return in a few weeks. What should have been another round of rejecting women he’d rather fuck, he was being assigned one and taking the Legacy the same day. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and tossed the letter aside. “Unbelievable,” he said again.


    “What’s the big deal? A lot of people have inheritances.” Everin forced a smile, though she knew this wasn’t the same as partial shifters. This was a full dragon, one passed down from the gods themselves.


    “This is going to fuck everything up,” he said, sitting beside her and holding his head in his hands.


    Everin smirked. “Maybe this a sign that you should tell that girl you’ve been mooning over how you feel before you disappear again.”


    Haros narrowed his eyes. “I don’t moon over anyone.”


    She laughed, leaning against him, fingers teasing at the hem of his pants. “Oh please, you’re head over heels for that girl.”


    “Are you jealous?”


    “Do you want me to be, your highness?”


    With a growl, Haros shoved her down on the couch, capturing her lips once more and carefully positioning over top of her. He tugged his pants down and guided himself to her. There was something about her jealousy that had him on edge. No, it wasn’t her jealousy; it was his own. Everin was beautiful, but she was only enough to satisfy a craving. As his hips pushed forward, and her breath caught with delighted satisfaction, he decided then that he’d figure out how to tell Mira later that their little rendezvous would go on hold and when he came back he wouldn’t entirely be who he’d been—at least not for a while. And to not take it personally. It was just his lot in life. Hopefully, she wouldn’t resent him for what inheriting the Legacy would do to him.