Chapter 1
VINCENT'S P.O.V.
The wind howled around me, whispering secrets I had spent my whole life trying to forget. Shadows flickered in the distance, twisting into shapes I couldn’t quite make out, their voices melding into one.
"A child born of sky and earth will decide the fate of our world. A child carried by a man... balance will be shattered… the kingdom will burn or be reborn..."
I clenched my fists, my breathing shallow. The words weren’t new—I had heard them since childhood, passed down in hushed voices by elders who feared the impossible. But why did it feel different now? Why did it feel like the prophecy was clawing its way into my bones?
A sharp cry echoed through the void. I turned, heart pounding, but there was nothing. Just an endless, swirling darkness.
Then, suddenly, a hand—frail, desperate—grasped at my wrist. "Help me," a voice pleaded. "Please…"
I jolted awake.
Sweat clung to my skin, my heart racing so violently that I thought it might burst from my chest. My breath came in ragged gasps as I stared at the ceiling, the lingering chill of the nightmare wrapping around my throat like a noose.
Beside me, the soft sound of steady breathing filled the silence. I turned my head slightly, my gaze falling on Felix, who was curled up between me and Logan, his face serene in sleep. His soft brown hair was messy, a few strands clinging to his forehead, his lips slightly parted.
And Logan—Logan was awake.
His green eyes, sharp even in the dim bedside lamp, locked onto mine instantly. He had always been perceptive, too perceptive for my liking.
"What happened?" His voice was low, steady, but I could hear the concern buried beneath it.
"Nothing," I muttered quickly, rubbing my face. "Just a bad dream."
His brow furrowed, but I didn’t give him a chance to press further. Instead, I leaned over and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He stiffened at first but melted into it, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch my face. When I pulled away, I gave him my most reassuring smile.
"Go back to sleep," I murmured, pressing another kiss against his forehead. "I just need some water."
Logan studied me for a long moment, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "Vincent—"
"Sleep," I insisted, nudging him lightly.
With a sigh, he relented, settling back down beside Felix.
I turned my attention to Felix, who had somehow managed to curl even closer to Logan in his sleep, his small frame tucked against Logan’s chest. I leaned down and kissed Felix’s forehead too, brushing some of his hair away.
As I sat up, I exhaled slowly. The dream still clung to me, its whispers swirling in my mind.
No one in the kingdom knew about us.
No one could know.
It wasn’t that I was ashamed—I wasn’t. I adored Felix’s laughter, the way he clung to me like I was the most precious thing in the world. I treasured Logan’s quiet strength, the way he saw through my walls when no one else could. But the Cygan kingdom…? They would never understand.
Every night, Felix and Logan snuck into my chambers once the castle had fallen silent, slipping past guards with practiced ease. It was dangerous, reckless even, but it was the only time we could truly be ourselves.
During the day, I was Prince Vincent, the kingdom’s favorite royal. Always laughing, always charming, always the one people turned to for help. The one who made everything seem effortless.
But at night, in the safety of my bed, I could be just Vincent.
I had everything anyone could ever want. My grandfather, the king, was a lovable loaf, always spoiling me while scolding me in the same breath. My brothers—Evan, Kyle, and Damon—were the best anyone could ask for. They were kind, strong, and they would die for me if needed.
Everyone loved Prince Vincent.
And yet…
There was always that nagging thought in the back of my mind.
Did they truly love me? Or was I just a puppet, adored only as long as I played my role?
I had seen what happened when someone no longer fit the kingdom’s mold.
My mother.
My hands clenched into fists.
She had been the most beautiful, radiant woman in the kingdom—until she wasn’t. Until whispers of her abuse spread, until the weight of it all crushed her. Until she took her own life when I was just five years old.
People mourned her, but not for the reasons they should have. They pitied her, whispered behind closed doors about how weak she was. About how tragic it all was.
I refused to be seen as weak.
That was why I buried my flaws beneath a mask of jokes and laughter, swallowed my fears whole, and pretended that everything was fine—even when the weight of my own thoughts threatened to crush me.
It was why I kept my mates a secret.
The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of Felix’s breathing beside me. He shifted slightly in his sleep, curling in on himself. A ghost of a smile crossed my lips as I reached out, brushing my fingers over his cheek—
And then he jolted awake.
A strangled whimper tore from his throat as he shot upright, clutching his stomach. Before I could react, he lurched forward with a harsh gag.
"Felix?" Logan was awake in an instant, his arm around Felix’s shoulders, supporting him.
Felix shuddered, pressing an unsteady hand to his mouth, his face paling.
"Shit—" I moved fast, snatching up the nearest basin and thrusting it toward him just in time. His body convulsed as he vomited, each heave wracking his frame.
He gasped for breath, hands gripping the edges of the basin as if the world were tilting around him. Logan rubbed slow, firm circles on his back, his jaw clenched tight with worry.
"You’re burning up," Logan murmured, pressing a hand against Felix’s damp forehead.
Felix let out a breathless chuckle, the sound forced and weak. "I-I'm fine," he croaked, flashing me a wobbly smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Probably just ate something bad—"
"Bullshit," I snapped. My patience was razor-thin. "You barely ate anything yesterday. And this isn’t the first time this has happened, Felix."
His expression wavered, and he looked away.
I turned to Logan. "He’s been dizzy too, hasn’t he?"
Logan hesitated, but then he nodded.
A sick feeling twisted in my gut. "This isn’t normal."
Felix groaned. "Guys, I promise, I’m—"
"Don’t even think about saying ‘fine,’" I warned. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.
Felix huffed, exasperated. "Then what do you want me to say?"
"That we need to get you checked."
Panic flared in his eyes. "No!" His fingers clutched at my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "No doctors. No healers. Please. I hate needles."
Logan and I exchanged a glance.
"Felix," Logan said carefully, "if something’s wrong, we need to know."
"I know my own body," Felix argued, his voice rising, edged with frustration. "I just need rest, okay? Please… don’t tell anyone."
Something in his voice—pleading, desperate—made my chest tighten.
Felix had always been easygoing, sweet. But when he was serious—truly serious—there was no changing his mind.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "Fine. But if you get worse, we're making the call. No arguments."
Felix exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief.
But as I met Logan’s gaze again, I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.
Something wasn’t right.
I could feel it, thick and heavy in the air, an unspoken warning curling in my chest like a storm waiting to break.
But for now, we would handle this ourselves.
