SEVRIN

Sevrin seethed as he glared at his half-sister through the palace window. He silently cursed his father for not being able to control his desires. There she was, riding a horse alongside a black winger, the can never-stop smiling soldier with the dark blue eyes, and that winged female who never smiled. He rolled his eyes. Why did his father have to choose Ondina, of all people, and even father a bastard daughter? Now she was the heir, and he was just the placeholder until her powers emerged.

It was only a matter of time. Because he wasn't the true heir, Sevrin hadn't inherited the raw, malleable power that came with the throne. Instead, he was stuck with his mother's powers: the sight and her alchemy.

He had glimpses of the future. He'd seen the attack at Yulo village, and he'd also seen that black winger saving her. That was why he had given explicit orders to keep her away from the black winger, but no one ever listened to him.

Sevrin sighed, sipping his wine. His half-sister's powers had started to manifest. When she touched that child's leg, she amplified the girl's abilities. No child could create fire that powerful on their own—fire so strong it turned blue. That had all been his bastard sister's doing.

Darkness was coming; Sevrin could feel it in the air. He had tried to eliminate her that night, hoping the staff wouldn't reject him this time. But his plan had failed. She was alive, and now he had no choice but to ally with her if he wanted to save the kingdom.

When he sent the captain and his soldiers to fetch Ondina, he hadn't expected them to succeed. He had other matters to attend to and didn't need their prying eyes. Yet they brought back the one person Sevrin had hoped never to meet.

The moment he saw her, he knew. She looked almost exactly like Ondina. He barely remembered the mage, having been only three years old when she arrived, pregnant. But Sevrin did remember the excitement—the mage of legend had finally come! People rarely got to see her. Instead, she brought tragedy. His mother fell into five long years of grief, mourning her husband, whom she thought had been faithful to her and had immense love for her, but he had cheated. She never recovered.

Sevrin had hated Ondina ever since.

His first vision had been of Ondina. He'd seen her jump through a portal, pregnant and bleeding. She met a man who rushed her to safety, where healers dressed in white helped her deliver her child. Ondina died in childbirth, a mundane death for someone of such great power.

His father had wept for days.

On Sevrin's twentieth birthday, when it came time for him to ascend the throne, he had been elated, ready to achieve greatness. But when he touched the staff, it didn't glow. He couldn't move it. He tried everything.

To the world, it must've seemed like a mistake. After all, King Shiramo had always been faithful to his wife—there was no way he could've had another child. But Sevrin knew then that the bastard daughter of Ondina was the true heir.

He loathed the kingdom, the throne, the staff—everything. He wanted to ruin it all so that when she finally came, she'd find it in ruins. Yet a small part of him, that baby part that once loved the kingdom, wouldn't let him destroy it completely.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Sevrin said, masking his frustration.

"Your Majesty, there's been a problem in Yulo village. We—"

"I know," Sevrin cut him off.

"Dahera suspects a traitor. We're investigating—"

"It's Jahbed. Second division. Torture him for information, then kill him."

Orayon nodded but didn't leave. Sevrin turned back to watch his sister, now playing with the young black winger. She looked so scared, yet happy. Her laugh, her joy—so similar to Ondina's—it was frightening. Sickening. "Anything else, Captain?"

"You knew," Orayon said, his voice barely concealing his rage.

Sevrin turned to him, amused. "What if I did?"

Orayon's fists clenched. "People died, Majesty. Soldiers. Even your precious Ondina was nearly captured. We lost warriors we couldn't afford to lose."

Orayon's eyes glowed with fury, but Sevrin wasn't afraid. He knew Orayon was too much of a coward to act.

"If you saw it in your vision, why didn't you warn us?" Orayon shouted, his anger spilling over.

Perhaps Sevrin had been hasty, but he didn't care. He loathed his sister and had hoped to rid the world of her.

Sevrin straightened. "Do you dare question me, Captain?"

"I have every right to," Orayon replied, his voice steadying. "I risk my neck and my soldiers' lives every day for this kingdom."

Sevrin laughed, derisive. "This is the last time you'll raise your voice at me, Orayon. I'll have you dismissed, imprisoned even. Someone else will deal with the witches, not you. So if you want your revenge, I suggest you back off and fetch Ondina."

Orayon stood for a moment, his face hard with hatred, before giving a stiff bow and leaving.

Sevrin rolled his eyes at the nerve of the man. Just then, a sharp pain shot through his chest. His breath caught as a vision overtook him.

This time, he was in the witch kingdom. He saw flashes of spells being cast. "To return, they need hosts—non-magical beings," one witch said. He saw shadows entering two dead bodies. More flashes, then one thing became clear:

"I, Queen Ishani of the Witch Kingdom, betroth my firstborn, Ananya, to Prince Kofi of the Daematii, and my second daughter, Mira, to Princess Ayeley of the Daematii."

Sevrin snapped back to reality, gasping for breath. He was too late.

"Are you alright?"

He scrambled backward, eyes wide, until he recognized the face before him. His half-sister.

"I'm fine," he said, straightening his clothes.

She frowned but dropped the subject. "You summoned me?"

"Yes, I did," he said, mind racing. The Daematii had returned, and now Ondina's daughter had to ascend the throne, much to his dismay. "First, what's your real name?"

"My real name?"

"You're not Ondina. What is your actual name?"

"Aerwyn. Aerwyn Sparrows."

Sevrin nodded, unimpressed. "Well, Aerwyn, I hear you did nothing but whine like a child during the battle. You were a weak link, constantly needing to be saved."

Aerwyn stiffened. "Is that why you called me here? To mock me?"

"Yes," Sevrin replied, "and to help you."

Aerwyn raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You want to help me?"

"In exchange for something, of course."

"Not interested," she said, turning away.

"I have a potion," Sevrin said. "It will give you powers."

She was manifesting. She needed to train her powers. She couldn't be walking around untrained, not with the witches already here. She was too valuable—to the throne and the kingdom.

Aerwyn halted, turning to him with suspicion in her eyes. "What do you want? I've had a very bad day, and I'm not in the mood for jokes."

Sevrin hesitated. For a brief moment, he wanted to tell her everything—the truth about the Daematii, the witches, and the throne she rightfully deserved. But he couldn't; he couldn't let go of his jealousy at the thought that the throne was supposed to be his.

He crossed the room to his wardrobe, retrieving a small glass vial. He needed her to believe her powers came from him, that they weren't truly hers. When the time came, and if he was prepared, he'd tell her the truth.

"Drink this potion," he said, handing her a vial filled with water instead. "It'll give you magic, make you strong enough to not be useless in battle. I'll have Dahera train you, and the captain will teach you swordsmanship. I'll also arrange for someone to instruct you in politics and the history of our world."

"Why are you doing this all of a sudden?" She eyed the potion suspiciously. "How do I know it's not poison?"

"What would I gain from killing you?"

Aerwyn sniffed it. "It smells like water." She took a sip. "Tastes like water too."

"Keep drinking."

Her eyes narrowed, but she finished the potion. "I feel normal."

"You need to give it time."

"And in return?" she asked, skeptical.

"In return, you'll assist me for three nights. No questions asked."

She raised her chin, meeting his eyes. "I'll make the deal if I see my powers."

"Suit yourself," Sevrin said, watching her leave. Would they have been closer in another world, another time? He shook his head. There was no time for such thoughts. He had to prepare for the Daematii.

Sevrin sighed.