Flames clawed at the darkened skies of Aeryndale, the once-proud kingdom reduced to rubble and ruin. The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh choked the air as Ashur raced back toward the castle, hurrying towards the royal Beast stables. Around him, Velentis soldiers dragged parents and children from their homes, cutting them down in the streets. Ashur ducked into the back alleys, his feet skirting around the blood and bodies lining his path. All he could hear were screams.
How had everything gone so wrong?
Just hours earlier, the Festival of Radiance had filled Aeryndale's streets with joy. Lanterns had danced in the breeze, their golden glow casting halos of light onto laughing faces. Dancers twirled in brightly colored silks, jesters juggled torches for delighted children, and musicians filled the air with lively tunes.
Ashur had been at a food stall, trading wine and chunks of roasted meat with one of the other stable hands, Rev. They'd spent the morning preparing the royal Kinnarions for the ceremonial procession, polishing armor and grooming fur until it gleamed under the sun. By afternoon, they'd had permission to leave the castle grounds for the festival. It was a good day—Ashur loved festivals. He loved the energy, the music, the collective joy. The air practically buzzed with life, and he couldn't help but feel giddy, even when he wasn't drunk on the wine.
The best part, though, was knowing he'd see Caelan later.
The prince would be in the great hall with the rest of the nobility, enjoying an evening of toasts, food, and entertainment. For servants like Ashur, the real fun was always in the city streets, where the wine flowed freely and there was less pressure to stand at attention. But it was tradition, once the festivities wound down, for him to stumble back to the castle, flushed and warm with drink, only to have Caelan find him. He could almost feel it now—the firm grip of the prince's hand around his wrist, the way Caelan would pull him into the shadows of the stables or a quiet alcove. The kisses would start sweet and soft before turning heated, desperate, their stolen moments a rebellion against the world that would tear them apart soon enough.
This was Caelan's last Festival of Radiance as a single man.
Ashur swallowed hard, shaking the thought from his mind. Tonight wasn't about that. It was about wine and laughter and the buzz of the crowd.
He was just starting to think about sneaking a flask back to the stables for later when the first explosion shook the city.
It was followed by another. And another. Fires sprang up too fast to put out, spreading with a terrifying hunger. The festival's joyous music was replaced with screams as people scattered, running for their lives.
Ashur and Rev leapt to their feet, their drinks forgotten. "What's going on?" Rev asked, his voice tight with panic.
Before either of them could move, a young squire came barreling down the cobblestone path, his face streaked with tears and terror.
"The king is dead!" the boy screamed. "The king is—"
An arrow pierced his throat, cutting off his words. He collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
Then the arrows rained down like a storm.
Ashur dove under the table, his heart hammering in his chest. Rev wasn't as lucky. The arrows cut him down before he could take cover, his body slumping lifelessly to the ground.
Ashur's breath hitched, but there was no time to mourn. The thunder of marching boots echoed down the street as Velentis soldiers flooded in, their swords gleaming in the firelight. Ashur clenched his fists, his mind racing.
Why was Velentis attacking? They were Aeryndale's closest ally. Their princes were friends. So what was happening?
And if the king was dead…
Ashur's stomach turned. No. Caelan had to be alive. He wouldn't just die—not without a fight. Not without saying goodbye.
Ashur scrambled out from under the table, his eyes darting around the carnage. The castle was too dangerous to approach—if the king was dead, the attack must have started there. He had no weapon, no armor, nothing that would help him survive the chaos in the main keep.
But there was something he could do.
The Beast stables.
If he could get to the Kinnarions, he could free them—maybe even mount one and find Caelan in the chaos. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than nothing.
By the time Ashur reached the stables, fire had claimed the walls, the roof sagging under its weight. Smoke curled like a living thing, wrapping itself around the cries of the tiger-foxes trapped inside. Their roars cut through the crackle of flames, desperate and wild. Ashur's heart clenched as he pushed forward, the heat blistering his skin.
"Easy, easy," he murmured, his voice hoarse as he reached the first stall. The Kinnarion cub inside thrashed against its enclosure, its golden eyes wild with fear. Ashur fumbled with the latch, coughing against the smoke. "Go!" he urged as the door swung open. The cub bolted, disappearing into the night.
One by one, he worked his way through the stalls, freeing the cubs first before carefully approaching the adults. The larger Kinnarions were more dangerous, their claws sharp and their panic palpable. But Ashur moved with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years earning their trust.
The last Kinnarion growled low as Ashur unlatched its stall. The beast brushed past him in its haste to escape, its massive tail knocking him off balance. Ashur stumbled, his back slamming into the wall.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment, all he could do was gasp, his vision swimming. The smoke was thicker now, suffocating. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.
His mind flickered to Caelan. He remembered the first time he'd seen him, a boy of barely eight standing tall in a royal caravan as it paraded through the streets. Ashur had watched from the shadows, captivated by the prince's confidence, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown.
He remembered the first time they met properly, in the stables of his old master. Ashur had been little more than a servant, a boy used to cruel words and harsher punishments. And Caelan, a ten year old prince, had stepped in, his sword flashing as he demanded Ashur's release.
He remembered their stolen kisses, their quiet evenings by the brooks, the mornings spent tracing hearts into Caelan's chest.
Ashur's eyes burned with more than just smoke. So this is death, he thought bitterly.
He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not without seeing him one last time.
"Ashur!"
His heart stopped.
At first, he thought he was hallucinating. But then he heard it again, louder, more desperate.
"Ashur, where are you?"
He coughed, his throat raw as he forced the word out. "Caelan?"
Through the haze of smoke and flame, he saw him. Caelan, his armor battered and bloodstained, his dark hair even darker with soot. His eyes widened when he spotted Ashur, and he rushed forward, dropping to his knees. Ashur both wanted to kiss him and kill him.
"You shouldn't be here," Ashur rasped, his voice barely audible.
The prince was the jewel of Aeryndale. If he died here…
Caelan ignored him, pulling him into his arms with a fierce determination. "I will not lose you," he said, his voice breaking. "Not now."
This was the selfless fool he'd fallen in love with? A man more stubborn than a mule. A man who was to rule this fallen kingdom, the prince whose bloodline carried centuries of power and promise. And yet, here he was, tearing through fire and death for a stablehand. Ashur's heart ached with love and frustration in equal measure. Did Caelan not understand? Ashur's life didn't weigh as heavily as his, not in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't fair for him to risk everything—for this to be his last act of love.
Ashur coughed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fire. "My prince, you should leave at once. You must go. If you live, our kingdom will thrive again."
Caelan tightened his grip on him, his eyes held the fury of a storm. "It's too late for that, my love. Our kingdom has fallen. Velentis betrayed us. Edric betrayed me."
Oh. Ashur's heart broke at the news. So it really was over for them. So this truly was the end of Aeryndale.
He traced his fingers over Caelan's cheek, trying to memorise the feeling of his skin for when he could no longer feel it."You are Aeryndale's last hope. You must—"
A deafening crash cut him off as a burning rafter collapsed behind them. The heat grew unbearable, the flames roaring with a cruel hunger and Ashur could feel his head growing heavy as his brain searched for oxygen that did not exist.
Caelan pulled Ashur closer so their foreheads touched. "What is a kingdom without you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "The entrance is blocked. We're trapped here. Besides…" His hand cupped Ashur's face, and his next words trembled with the weight of his heart. "If I cannot live with you, I will not let you die alone."
Ashur wanted to protest, to beg him to find a way out, but the words wouldn't come. His head slumped against Caelan's chest, his body trembling as exhaustion overtook him.
The flames roared closer, their heat searing. Ashur could barely think, barely breathe. But when Caelan's lips met his, desperate and full of love, he thought that maybe, maybe this wasn't too bad an end.
The taste of smoke mingled with the salt of their tears as Caelan's lips found his, desperate and trembling with everything left unsaid. The world burned around them, the roar of the fire a cruel symphony to their last moment. Ashur's trembling hands cupped Caelan's face, as if memorizing every angle, every line. He thought he might dissolve into the kiss, leaving only his love behind.
Maybe this wasn't too bad an end.
For if they were to die in fire, at least they would burn together.