Later that night, beneath a clear dragon’s moon, on a private stone balcony at the Castle of Umbras, Dante folded his obsidian-black wings, waited as they receded into his back, and tapped lightly on the arched glass doors. “Ahavi,” he whispered in a dark, sultry voice, “come to me.” He waited patiently as Mina Louvet stirred in her bed, rubbed her tired eyes, then donned a robe and padded out onto the ornate terrace.

“My prince,” she greeted him sleepily. “How long have you been here?”

“I just arrived.”

She rubbed her eyes again, then squinted at the candlelit bedchamber. “Why didn’t you come in?”

He opened his arms to usher her next to his heart and glanced at the haunting sky. “I wished to speak outside,” he said. “The night air is cool and invigorating.”

Mina nodded and wrapped her elegant arms around him, snuggling seamlessly against his chest. “I’ve missed you.”

He placed a tender kiss on the crown of her head. “And I, you, my sweet Ahavi.”

They stood like that for several peaceful moments, each taking in the other’s warmth, reacclimating their souls to their union, until Dante finally stirred. “As you know, I spoke with Prince Damian and Prince Drake earlier this day in Warlochia.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

He sighed, and the exhale of breath sounded like the slow banking of a gentle fire. “It is time, Mina.”

Much to her credit, she didn’t wrinkle her brow or frown. She didn’t question the meaning of his cryptic words, or ask him a dozen questions. So much had been learned by the strong, noble woman over the past thirty-one years—she had come to understand Prince Dante’s moods, the way he spoke bluntly, or drew inward; the way his fire sparked into a sudden, roaring flame; and the way it receded, cloaked in silence. And Blessed Spirit Keepers, she was as beautiful now as she had been the first day he’d met her in the foyer of Castle Dragon, perhaps ten years older in visage, but no more than that. Immortality had treated her well, and soon, Prince Damian would be able to both claim and gift Mina’s sister with the same.

Mina nuzzled Dante’s strong jaw with her glorious raven hair. “When?” she whispered softly.

“Sunday,” he replied, and she stiffened, if only slightly.

“When will you tell the children?” she asked, her voice as enchanting as the starlight.

“Soon,” he said, chuckling at her motherly reference. Ari, Azor, and Asher would always be children to Mina—they were her babies, after all—but in truth, they had grown into fine young dragons: Ari, in his thirtieth summer; Azor in his twenty-sixth, and Asher about to turn twenty-one on Sunday. All three boys had their mother’s and father’s dark midnight hair, just as Dante had predicted they would the day he had first met Mina. They had their mother’s eyes and their father’s strength, but that’s where their similarities ended: Aurelio was brooding and serious, deeply intellectual and pensive—he had few smooth planes and many hard edges—whereas, Azor was a bit more sensitive. He had a penchant for art and sculpture, yet he could wield a sword like it was his second hand. His dragon’s fire burned bright. Prince Asher was an enigma: quick to laugh, quick to anger, but always loyal and faithful. He was his mother’s son, the baby of the three, and he would tear out the heart of any warlock, witch, or gargoyle that dared to glance at her sideways.

Mina didn’t need Asher’s fierce protection—she still had a spine of steel and a tongue as sharp as any warrior’s blade.

Dante gathered her more tightly to him, tightening his arms around her. “I will gather all three together in the Great Hall of Castle Umbras, so they are at home when they hear the news, and invite Prince Damian to join us. The dragons will need the support and conviction of both their fathers as they process this new revelation.”

Mina stroked the underside of his jaw with a gentle, seeking thumb. “And Dario?”

Dante sighed. Dario would be utterly devastated. His greatest pride in all the Realm was being the only son of the future monarch, believing himself to be made in Dante’s spitting image.

And he was…

To a degree.

He was tall, dangerous, and imposing.

He had Cassidy’s crystal-blue eyes and King Demitri’s honey-gold hair, albeit a few shades darker, but he had Dante’s iron will, to be sure. He was a fiercely independent thinker. And while he loved his cousins dearly, Dante was afraid he might come to resent them.

None of that could be afforded right now.

The Realm needed solidarity.

It would take every ounce of compassion, patience, and persuasion Dante possessed to make Dario understand what had happened, to help him accept his change in position: most notably, the shift in the line of succession. Ari, not Dario, was Dante’s eldest son, which placed Aurelio next in line, behind Dante, for the throne of Castle Dragon.

“You are deeply worried, aren’t you?” Mina whispered, pulling him away from his reverie.

“I am,” Dante replied. “We always knew this day would come, but it isn’t going to be easy. There are so many moving pieces.”

“Yes,” Mina agreed, “so many unseen dangers. So many possible unintended consequences.”

He grasped her by both shoulders, thrust her gently away, and stared longingly into her deep emerald eyes. “Are you with me…Queen Mina? Are you ready to play your role? To do your part for the Realm?”

She swallowed hard and regarded him thoughtfully, her enigmatic pupils growing cloudy with concern. “I have always been with you, my prince; and I will serve you until the day I leave this world. But yes, like you, I am concerned for all involved: Dario, the boys, even Cassidy. I am terrified that Raylea may resent me—she has spent decades alone without tenderness.” She forced a tentative smile and pressed her hands to her belly, as if shoring up her strength. “But I know that we can’t go on as we are. The Realm cannot continue as it is. The humans grow restless; the Lycanians face great peril from Thieves; and our alliances must be made stronger. I trust you, Prince Dante, and I trust the prophecy. All will unfold as it should.”

Dante closed his eyes, grateful for her wise, compassionate words, and then he crooked his mouth into a sly, devious smile and raised his brows in question. “You serve me still?” He placed undue emphasis on the second word, drawing it out with a snarl.

She smiled more brightly then and cupped his face in her elegant hands. “I love you still, Prince Dante. And I serve you out of that love.”

He bent his head to taste her, the sweetness and the softness of her lips, and his dragon purred like a predatory cat awakening. “Mm,” he murmured into her mouth. “Then perhaps we should go inside so you can serve me…much, much better.”

Mina giggled against his mouth, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and let her head fall back as he swept her into his arms. “Well, I think it’s a matter of semantics—who is serving whom.” She batted her long, dark lashes and sighed. “I am soon to be the queen of Dragons Realm—perhaps I should let the dragon serve me.”