Prince Dante Dragona maintained a heavy silence next to his two royal brothers—Prince Drake and Prince Damian—as the three dragon males sauntered through the lavish royal gardens at Castle Warlochia.

He was trying to collect his thoughts.

Finally, when the silence had grown too thick to bear, he cleared his throat and slowed his pace. “Thank you for coming to Warlochia on such short notice. As Cassidy is away, shopping in the city, and Dario isn’t expected to return from Lycania until tomorrow morn, with Princess Gaia at his side, I felt this was an appropriate time to meet in private. That we could consort with discretion, speak with candor, beyond the reach of curious ears.”

Prince Drake nodded cordially, and Prince Damian glanced at him askance, but nether male uttered a reply. Undoubtedly, they could sense Dante’s tension, his rising vexation, and his need to share something of great significance—they could feel the weight of the moment hovering all around them like a dark, looming cloud.

The eldest prince sighed, linked his hands behind his back, and stopped walking. Turning to face Drake and Damian squarely, he furrowed his brow. “It is time to speak of that which we never mention: the prophecy, the omen, the fact that I have come of age.” Before either one could interject, show concern, or begin asking questions, he continued: “Three sons, three decades, three great deceptions—all have come to pass, save the latter, and I’m certain this Sunday will qualify as such.” Drake opened his mouth to speak, and Dante silenced him with the wave of his hand. “I know that I told you, each of you, that I wanted to wait until you had also come of age—three fully mature dragons are far more powerful than one—but I’ve seen the white owl in my dreams every night for a week, and I have a horrible sense of foreboding. The transfer of power, the succession of thrones can no longer wait. The Realm is growing restless, and since all will be gathered at Castle Dragon on Sunday to celebrate Asher’s twenty-first birthday, I plan to fulfill the prophecy then. It is time to remove our father from Castle Dragon’s throne and to place Dario in my stead at Castle Warlochia.”

Damian visibly blanched. “At Asher’s twenty-first gala, with all assembled in the royal hall? Dante…” His voice grew thick with caution. “You do realize that as of this afternoon, Asher still believes he’s my son; he still names you as Uncle. And that is to say nothing of Ari and Azor, who also believe the same. If I recall, the prophecy was clear: The three children are the three sides of the triangle, the three legs on which you will stand—on which you will rise—yet they don’t even know who you are. If you expect them to go to Castle Dragon with you, to be revealed to the Realm as your sons, they may need some time to make the adjustment, to process and assimilate the facts.”

At this, Prince Drake chimed in. “And don’t forget Prince Dario, returning to the Realm on the morrow. He loves you; he reveres you; he believes he is your only son, that once you succeed King Demitri, he is next in line. The balance of power in the Realm will shift, inconceivably—have you truly thought this through?”

Dante pinched his nose at the bridge, and hung his head in exhaustion. The whole damn thing was so convoluted…

Thirty-one years earlier, their father, King Demitri, had given a Sklavos Ahavi, along with a royal province, to each of his three dragon sons. He had given the commonlands and Tatiana Ward to Prince Drake; the territory of Umbras and Mina Louvet to Prince Damian; and Castle Warlochia, along with Cassidy Bondeville, to Dante, his eldest living heir.

But that was before Dante’s treachery.

That was before Dante had committed an unthinkable act of treason on the sands of Dracos Cove—that was before he had murdered his brother Damian and placed the soul of Matthias Gentry into Damian’s butchered corpse, resurrecting the body with the help of a soul-eater and a warlock. That was before he had fathered three sons with Mina—Ari, Azor, and Asher—and allowed Damian—Matthias—to raise them as his own.

And that was before he had discovered that Cassidy was pregnant from an illicit dalliance with the king, that she was carrying Prince Dario in her womb and planning to pass him off as Dante’s offspring, as his first—and presumably only—son.

Since then, Damian had remained at Castle Umbras with Mina, both of them aware of the ruse, and Dante had visited when he could, bonded with his children as their uncle, and bided his time until the omen could be fulfilled. All the while, Matthias Gentry—in the body of Prince Damian Dragona—had played his auspicious part, assuming the role of the prince of Umbras and using Damian’s memories, training, and aptitudes as a complement to his own tempered soul to bring prosperity to the region…and to control the wicked shades. He had hidden his love for Mina’s sister, Raylea, far from prying eyes, even though Raylea felt the same for Prince Damian. It was a matter of decency and honor: Raylea believed that the male she loved was consort to her beloved sister, sire of her three cherished nephews, and though she never looked twice at any other suitor, she never pursued her feelings for Damian. She allowed the prince of Umbras to feed her dragons’ blood in order to slow her aging, to keep her youthful and in her prime…to buy her more time with Mina, who had long since been made immortal by Prince Dante, even as Damian took credit for the conversion.

And through it all, Prince Damian was denied the woman he truly loved, unable to gift her with immortality or take her to his bed. It had been a lonely existence and an unfathomable sacrifice, yet the fewer souls who knew of the secret, the better.

The safer life was for all concerned.

Dante sighed, his burden feeling impossibly heavy, his heart growing increasingly weary. At least Prince Drake lived an honest life…

All five of Drake’s children belonged to Tatiana, and they had done wonders with the human province. They had managed to tame the wild Malo Clan—or at least three-fourths of its members—they had pacified the incalcitrant giants. Drake had also been privy to the Realm’s dark secrets, brought in on the betrayal by Dante, told about the Great Deception. He was one of only seven who knew—Dante, Damian, Drake, Mina, Willow, the king’s new witch, Aguilon Jomei, and Thomas Gael, also known as Thomas the squire—and to his great credit, Prince Drake had stood back in silence as the deception continued to unfold.

Year after duplicitous year.

Meanwhile, Dante had raised Prince Dario as his own flesh and blood, refusing to lie with Cassidy out of deference for his beloved Mina. As far as Cassidy Bondeville was concerned, she had gotten away with adultery and gone on to become Dante’s consort, even if the couple had remained infertile ever since. It took little effort on Dante’s part, and even less complicated magic, to convince the Sklavos Ahavi that they coupled from time to time—he simply planted memories of their intimacy, much to Mina’s chagrin, whenever Cassidy grew restless or too lonely. While it may have seemed cruel, it was the best he’d had to offer. Cassidy had never cared for anyone other than herself, and Dante’s heart and his fealty remained with Mina Louvet, just as he had promised. And far beyond fealty or love, he intended to make Mina queen of the Realm, should he be strong enough to succeed his father and reign.

“Shit,” he mumbled coarsely. This was truly a mess of epic proportions. He had one week to tell the truth to Ari, Azor, and Asher; one week to tell the partial truth to Dario—could he ever bring himself to tell the lad that Demitri was his biological father, that his mother had slept with the contemptible king?—and he had one week to marshal his generals and solidify his allies, prepare for the dangerous coup.

He had one week to plan the greatest sedition the Realm would ever see.

But it was time…

It was time.

The balance of power had been illicit too long.

The deception had grown too untenable.

King Demitri was not a moral monarch, even if he was a ferocious beast, and Dante had no doubt that he could now protect the Realm himself, that his dragon, fully formed, could keep all enemies at bay.

It was time for Damian to stop living a lie with Mina and to claim the woman he loved, even if she could never bear him sons. It was time for Matthias to gift Raylea with immortality, and it was time for Dante to honor Mina…and to change the ways of the Keep…before nine Sklavos Ahavi were chosen for the new generation.

For a new Autumn Mating.

It was time for Dante’s alliance with the Lycanians to bear more economic fruit. It was time for restless humans populating the Realm’s commonlands to start exporting the goods they were producing in secret, to ship them to distant lands and provinces, utilizing the twenty Lycanian ships already received by the Realm. It was time for Dante to honor his end of the bargain and start making payments to King Thaon Percy and to provide Lycania with a dragon’s protection, in return for Thaon’s favors—even if the original deal was struck with Damian Dragona, behind all the monarchs’ backs. The neighboring country of Thieves, which abutted Lycania across the restless sea, was “this close” to invading King Thaon’s territory with their vicious, muscle-bound legions, warriors with human bodies, the heads of serpents, and scorpion tails. They were a nation that thirsted for blood and expansion—and it was time for Prince Dante to stop them.

And, alas, it was time for Dante to honor Desmond’s memory: the life of the twin he had lost…

It was time.

It was time.

The Realm needed the sapphire dragon with three fiery, glowing eyes, the third eye symbolizing Dante’s rare gift for magic.

“Brother?” Prince Drake prodded, interrupting Dante’s musings. “You’ve drifted away in thought.”

Dante snorted, coming back to the present moment. “Indeed. My apologies.” He regarded Drake and Damian squarely. “You both know that it is time. We cannot wait forever.” He shrugged, but it was anything but indifferent. “I’ve turned it over in my head a thousand ways: It will never be less dangerous; there will never be a more opportune moment. The secrets, once revealed, will never be less painful or damaging. But this Sunday at Asher’s gala… While the king will have the fealty of the Castle Guard, I will have the whole of the Warlochian army and its generals, faithful to me. I will also have the assistance of our new high mage and Willow the witch, Wavani’s powerful niece and successor, on my side. Willow is wholly and unambiguously dedicated to me and my reign, and she has also kept our secret all these years. For what it’s worth, she also agrees: The time is now. Beyond that, my three sons will be there, the three sides of the triangle, as will you, my loyal brothers, and my magic is at its peak. It has risen with my coming of age and will never be stronger than it is today. Princes—brothers—we must strike while the iron is hot. I wish to give Father the opportunity to step down, to live out his years unmolested, to remain respected and revered as the defender of our Realm throughout the seasons of the diamond king, but we all know, he will not go quietly into the night. He will not go down without fighting; his dragon will be incensed.

“He will seek to tear my throat out, and he may very well succeed. If he does, then the Realm will go on as it has always been, and little will be lost. But if I succeed—if I take the throne—we can usher in a new beginning.” He exhaled slowly as if releasing a decade of angst. “The bottom line is this: None of us can go on much longer as we are. King Thaon is growing restless—Lycania needs our help; the new Sklavos Ahavi are coming of age; and Father has been asking questions, snooping around our provinces, staring at Dario like a piece of delectable meat. He knows the boy is his son, though he has kept the lie all these years. However, if he discovers my alliance with Lycania, if he discovers that we have plotted and proceeded behind his back, I believe he will reveal the secret of Dario’s birth and appoint Dario as successor to the throne in my stead. Once Demitri brings Dario to Castle Dragon, we may never get him back. I believe he would put Ari and Azor and Asher to the sword. I believe he would strike down Mina as well.” He shook his head, belying his fear. “I cannot take that chance—the Realm cannot wait.”

He clasped his hands together and stiffened his spine. “What say you, brothers? Are you with me? Shall we take our homeland back? Damian, are you ready to finally tell Callum Gentry that his son still lives, before the blacksmith passes away? Are you ready to claim Raylea?”

Damian closed his dark brown eyes and shuddered, a hint of his soul’s compassion revealed in the telling gesture. Of course he was ready to reunite with his father, Dante thought. And everything in his primordial dragon’s body wanted to tell—and claim—Raylea, which is why he didn’t expect the prince to answer either question.

Some things went without saying.

“In the thirty-one years that have passed since that fateful day at the beach,” Damian spoke with the brogue of Matthias as he slowly reopened his eyes, “the Umbrasian army has become faithful to me as well—their allegiance no longer lies with our father. I believe my shadow-walkers can neutralize the king’s Dragons Guard.” He glanced at Drake and declined his head in respect. “And you, Prince Drake; you hold the fealty of the powerful Malo Clan in the palm of your hand, at least the vast majority of the fearsome goliaths—and those who still oppose you hate Father with all their hearts—they still blame him for the history of their slavery. They will side against the king. In other words,” he added solemnly, “we can contain and counterbalance the Court, but as you already know, Dante, neither I nor Prince Drake can shift into a fully formed dragon. If you are forced to fight to the death with Father, you must do so on your own.”

Dante nodded thoughtfully, then turned his attention to Prince Drake, his youngest brother. “Prince? What say you?”

Prince Drake crossed his arms in front of his muscular chest and sniffed. “My five sons—Tabor, Tristan, Teague, Thane, and Troy—have grown into strong young dragons. And while I’ve never revealed the depth of our secrets—the totality of the Great Deception—they sense that there is a rift between Uncle Dante, Uncle Damian, and their cruel, aloof grandfather, the king. They will do as I bid, stand where I choose, and offer whatever support I decree.” A glimmer of such deep, unrelenting sadness passed through Prince Drake’s eyes that it almost brought Dante up short.

“Brother?” Dante asked, seeking to unveil the cause.

Prince Drake shrugged what looked like heavy shoulders. “All my memories of Father are painful. Brutal. He was always so punitive and harsh—never capable of kindness or even impartiality. Yet and still, he is our sire, the dragon that gave us life. He is the king that made us princes and the greatest defender, bar none, the Realm has ever known. My heart is saddened at what has become of our family and the Realm at the legacy of Father’s rule. That said, I understand the stakes, and I would die for this kingdom that we love. I am with you, brother, one hundred percent. I have no aspirations for the throne, nor does Damian. If you feel it is time to take your rightful place, if you know it in your gut, then I, for one, am with you. I will do whatever you require.”

Dante felt like the feral, blood-filled chambers of his primitive dragon’s heart were slowly shutting down, like they might simply cease to beat, burdened by too much treachery. Despite his own horrific memories of King Demitri—having all but seven of his bones broken as a child and his flesh repeatedly scorched; losing his twin to the impossible fealty and stifling obeisance demanded of King Demitri’s sons, and the fact that King Demitri had lain with Dante’s Ahavi and to this day concealed the obvious paternity of the child—Dante also felt great sorrow. It would be the end of an era and a betrayal, beneath his honor.

Unworthy of a Dragona.

Nonetheless, it had to be done.

Hardening his heart and allowing the metaphorical chambers to close, he vowed to succeed at all costs. He still had to speak with Mina, with Cassidy, with Dario, and with his true, blooded sons. He still had to meet with his generals, marshal his army, and cavort with the kingdom’s most powerful witch and warlock.

There was much to be done in seven days.