Chapter 1: One Year Sober
Even thousands of miles away from home, Diana Rake still couldn’t escape her ex.
Nolan Stone’s signature gravelly voice welcomed her as she stepped into the lobby of The Grand Portavera. That familiar piano solo blended with the hum of the air conditioner and the whir of luggage wheels against marble. The first lines of the pre-chorus blared over speakers she couldn’t quite locate.
I asked for beauty,
You burned me to ashes
Nostalgia bruised her. Diana groaned out loud.
Beside her, Ales halted mid-step, one manicured hand frozen in her purse as she glanced over. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
And I will soar without you,
I am fire, I am ice
Out of your ashes, I will rise
Ales smirked at the lyrics drifting from the ceiling. Diana mirrored her best friend’s curved lips as they exchanged knowing glances.
“Even here, huh?” Ales sighed. “This is what you get for having a world-famous ex.”
“Almost makes me want to revert to my wicked ways and have a drink.” Reflex sent her thumb to the chip hidden in her pocket. Its worn engraving caught beneath her nail. “Almost but not quite.”
Ales let out a dramatic harrumph accompanied by a stomp of her foot. “I thought you said you were over him.”
“I am.” Diana slid her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and gave a little toss of her bob. Her pulse didn’t even twitch at the thought of Nolan anymore — as it should be. “It’s not him. It’s my career this song makes me remember. Broken Wings was my audition piece for The New Red. The one that made me believe I had a shot at taking Serene’s place.”
“And you did take her place.” Ales shrugged. “You won that stupid reality show, and cemented yourself as Red of Red & Ice.” She squirmed and let out a grin. “You’re just not the Red of Nolan Stone’s heart.” She placed her palm over her chest. “Aww… We’d be sad if that’s what you wanted to be, but that’s not the case, so we’re all good, right?”
“Right.” Diana laughed. “All good.”
“Great. Now, we can go ahead and check in, because a Nolan Stone song isn’t about to ruin our vacation, woman. I refuse to allow it.” Ales tossed a loose strand of her dark hair aside before letting out a breath of exasperation. “I’ll give it to you, though. This is one of my favorite songs of his.”
“Can’t blame you. Became my anthem for a reason.” Diana sang a few lines to accompany the chorus.
“You sing it better than him.” Ales winked. “You should do a cover of the song. Not sure why you never have.” She gave Diana a pointed look before heading to the front desk to check them in. Heads turned as Ales strutted forward, oblivious — or accustomed — to the attention she was getting simply by existing.
With a loose silk blouse hanging over white linen pants and her hair pinned back in an elegant knot, Ales’s brand of casual was the kind that could walk into a gala and still make people wonder who they needed to pay to look as polished and sophisticated as her. Yet, Alessandra Andino was one of the most down-to-earth people Diana had ever met, like the sister she never had. A kindred spirit, whom Diana had thanked God for many times over.
From the first time Diana met the Ancorina socialite at a photo shoot three years ago, they hit it off and kept in touch no matter where life took them. After another record deal fell through and Ales invited her to visit Ancoria, Diana couldn’t say no. She needed to recalibrate, seek God, decide what to do next.
Having already given her passport to Ales earlier, Diana drifted toward the lounge corner off the lobby. A glass coffee table gleamed beneath the glow of a chandelier, stacked with glossy magazines.
The final notes of Broken Wings rippled through the speakers, the piano outro softening to Nolan saying the final line: “I’ll be light”. As if on cue, her gaze snagged on the cover facing up from the table. The latest issue of Ancorina had Nolan on its cover, and he wasn’t alone.
Nolan Stone was wearing a crisp suit, looking more groomed and decent than the heart-broken, whiskey-breath version who had crashed into her life four years ago. Next to him was the woman he had just married — the love of his life, Serene Sinclair. She was now Serene Stone, and she was wearing a stunning lace gown that probably cost more than a year’s worth of Diana’s royalty checks.
The magazine headline was practically screaming at her: Red & Ice EXCLUSIVE! The Newlyweds are Rocking Ancoria’s Serene.
Diana tilted her head as she perused the cover, torn between laughing at the timing and questioning God if His sense of humor was always this brutal. “What is this, God? Why is this man popping up everywhere?” Prayer still sometimes felt foreign on her lips, but it was slowly becoming more natural, more like breathing — something she did by default. “So much has changed, Lord,” she whispered as she picked up the magazine.
It was hard to believe that two years ago, she had been on tour with Nolan Stone. Their duo, Red & Ice, had still been an international sensation. Ales was right. Diana never could’ve been Nolan’s New Red. Serene had always been and would always be the blood vein that kept his heart pumping.
Diana twisted a strand of her softly curled bob — no longer the jagged flame-red mane that had been part of her Red & Ice persona.
She tilted her head, searching her soul for how she really felt about seeing Nolan with his bride. The truth surprised her: relief mingled with something close to peace. That was new. Not too long ago, this cover would’ve sent her spiraling back to the bottle, or worse.
“Progress, not perfection,” Diana repeated the words her mentor had drilled into her brain through all of their coffee sessions. Her time with Hope had certainly not been for naught, though Hope might disagree on several counts.
“Arghanto! Really?” Ales stepped next to her. “They’re everywhere.”
“This cover is all wrong. This isn’t how you photograph Nolan and Serene Stone. Any half-decent photographer would know that.”
“What are you talking about?” Ales peered over Diana’s shoulder. “They both look criminally hot.”
“Pretty sure there’s nothing criminal about these two, especially her.” Diana rolled her eyes. “But hotness aside, if you’ve ever been in the same room with Nolan and Serene Stone, you’d understand why this cover is an artistic travesty.”
“Looks fine to me. It’s a typical Ancorina cover. They make everyone look so snooty.” Ales tapped the magazine’s border. “Did you see the one with my amma and inna on the cover? I barely recognized them. Especially Inna.”
“No, I don’t normally read these types of magazines.” She made a mental note to search the Ancorina issue featuring Valor and Elena Andino later. Diana sometimes forgot that she was the daughter of one of the most famous actors in Ancoria. What would it be like to have actual supportive parents like Alessandra’s instead of the sharks who had somehow kept Diana alive until she was eighteen?
“Let me see that.” Ales snatched the magazine from Diana and lifted the magazine to give Nolan and Serene a good look. “You can do so much better than this guy.” Ales tossed the magazine back to the table. “Let’s forget them. We have places to go.” She gripped Diana’s wrist and pulled her towards the elevators. “We’ll leave our luggage in our suite, freshen up, then explore. I finally got you to visit my hometown. We’re not spending it in this hotel or at all the overrated touristy places. I want you to see Portavera from the perspective of a local.”
“How are you a local? You’re about as local as I am sober. Wait, bad example. I am actually sober. One whole year now.” She flashed a cheeky grin as she stopped walking and stiffened herself to make it hard for Ales to pull her. “What if I just want to relish my stay in this expensive hotel?”
“Not gonna happen.” Ales scrunched her face as she tugged. “Don’t make me work so hard, Diana. I’m not supposed to over-exert myself.” She laid the back of her hand on her forehead as if to feign fainting. “My heart can’t take it.”
Diana shook her head with a small smile, brushing her hair back to hide her amusement. “You take after your father, I guess? Princess of drama.”
“Actually, I have a heart condition.” Ales’s voice was still playful but just soft enough to make Diana glance sideways, unsure if she was joking or not. “I really shouldn’t stress myself over you wanting to hang out in a hotel lobby while ogling magazine images of your ex.”
“I’m not ogling anyone.” Diana started walking immediately to punctuate her objection. “Are you serious, though? Heart condition?”
“Nothing to worry about. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Was Ales being serious or just dramatic? Sometimes, Diana couldn’t tell. “For the record, I’m still not willing to agree that you’re a Portavera local. You live in Oro Valle.”
“Shush, Diana. Don’t ruin this for me. Wherever I live now, I was born in Portavera and spent a good chunk of my childhood and my summers here. I know more about it than you.”
“Fine, fine. You can play tour guide as long as you don’t charge me for it. I don’t exactly have Nolan Stone money these days. Ramona keeps reminding me how much that rehab stint cost.”
“Honestly, Americana, you have no idea how lucky you are that you know me.”
“Sure, Ancorina.” Diana linked arms with one of her dearest friends. “Let’s go explore your hometown then.”
They got lost three times on the way to wherever Ales had sworn was “the perfect first stop.” The narrow streets of Portavera twisted like ribbons, one cobblestone lane leading into another until even Ales admitted defeat. At one point, she nearly dragged Diana into a pub with a neon beer sign flickering in the window.
“I think I need a drink.” Ales tugged her wrist.
Diana planted her feet. “Ales!”
“Kidding. Mostly.” She winced, catching herself, then looped their arms tighter. “One year sober, I know. We’re celebrating with carbs and sunlight, not beer.” She steered them toward the town plaza instead.
It wasn’t glamorous, just a wide square dotted with trees and kids chasing pigeons. Surrounding it were several cafés and restaurants. At the center stood a sun-bleached piano.
Diana brushed the coin in her pocket once then slid onto the cracked wooden bench, flexing her fingers as if the song had been waiting for her. Broken Wings poured out again, this time not through hotel speakers but her own voice. The notes wavered against the flawed piano, raw and imperfect, yet somehow more honest that way. Ales leaned against the fountain, recording on her phone, mouthing along to the chorus as if they’d stumbled into their own private concert.
As she sang, hope rose — light as a feather, barely perceptible, but ever-present. Something about this trip felt significant, life-changing. Little did she know that it would all begin with a frog prince sobbing.
Chapter 2: No Longer My Son
Arnas Andino gritted his teeth. That piano intro. Again. Nolan Stone’s music was everywhere, inescapable. This song in particular — Broken Wings — was the worst. Arnas recoiled at the bitter taste in his mouth, left behind by the idea that Nolan Stone had made a career out of writing about his exes. The man turned private breakups into public anthems, and somehow, the world kept paying for more. It still rubbed Arnas wrong.
Arnas tuned out the unique sound coming from the nearby plaza’s upright piano. Nolan Stone’s music was such a mismatch to the celebratory atmosphere of Rib It’s opening night anyway.
Roselle had worked herself ragged to get everything ready, and Arnas was determined to do his part, even if that meant sweating buckets inside a stifling frog suit. The mascot’s padded head trapped the heat, making every breath feel recycled, every movement heavy. He shifted his weight, forcing himself to focus on the good: the smell of ribs drifting from the kitchen, the hum of anticipation from staff, the line of curious customers forming outside. That’s where his attention should be — not on the song playing from the plaza’s piano or the heat of being Prince Frederick Frog, mascot extraordinaire.
Arnas closed his eyes briefly, mouthing a quiet prayer. “Lord, let me be a blessing — not only to Roselle and our team, but also to every person I encounter tonight.”
Before he could say amen, the instrumental piano gave way to the first lines of the song.
Fire too bright,
Blinded me to the heat
He froze. Instead of the gravelly depth of Nolan Stone’s voice, the lyrics came through a soothing feminine voice reaching straight to his soul — a sweet, unnerving caress that inexplicably made his spirit come alive.
Red hot ash,
Piece by piece,
Left me incomplete
Each word was full of emotion, but instead of the usual bitter heartbreak that accompanied this particular song, there was an undertone of deliverance, of hope, of even a little bit of amusement.
I asked for beauty,
You burned me to ashes
Whoever was singing must have been part-siren, because Prince Frederick Frog, loyal ruler of Rib It — soon to be famous for the best ribs in all of Ancoria — couldn’t stay on his post. Somehow, despite his commitment to make Roselle’s opening night a smashing success, Arnas needed to follow the music.
When I dared to fly,
Clipped my wings with countless clashes
He hated the idea of disappointing Roselle, but the pull was unmistakable. These bitter lyrics felt like it was all about him. Flashbacks came to mind — all the ways his own mother had sabotaged his every attempt to break free of her. How had she somehow succeeded in making a Nolan Stone song feel deeply personal to him?
And I will soar without you,
I am fire, I am ice
Out of your ashes, I will rise
There she was, behind the piano, which was, more often than not, out of tune. The fixture was bolted to the ground at the center of the public plaza and it was the pride and joy of their small borough’s council. Arnas had often sat nearby during quiet evenings, praying over the borough that had become his refuge. That evening, the skill of the player made the instrument sound leagues better.
And I’ll be whole without you,
Right before your eyes,
Watch my broken wings fight to fly
Behind the music was a woman whose head was covered by red hair, made fiery by the nearby street light. Arnas couldn’t believe his eyes. Diana Rake in the flesh? He had admired her voice from afar for years. This was the woman whose journey through fame and struggle he had once religiously followed. Time and time again, he had prayed for her without ever having met her.
What was someone like her doing in a place like this? La Terra wasn’t why people liked to visit Portavera. No, the rich and famous flocked to the fancy hotels, the casinos, the ports filled with yachts, sailboats, and luxurious sea vessels. Their little section of Portavera wasn’t where one would expect to find an artist of Diana Rake’s caliber, yet there she was, singing in an almost broken voice that somehow still managed to sound hopeful.
As she played the piano, Diana had her eyes closed, seemingly lost in the music, unaware of the small crowd that had gathered around her. She repeated the chorus but added more power and conviction to the tune.
Something about the way she was singing the song made him feel as if ancient walls inside him were crumbling. Every lyric reached the deepest parts of his soul, places he’d carefully guarded since walking away from his mother’s coven.
Since Nolan Stone’s break-up with Serene Sinclair had turned Broken Wings into a hit years ago, Arnas actually heard the message behind the melody. Removed from Nolan Stone’s self-pity about losing his girlfriend, the song held a deeper truth. It carried more hope than Arnas had ever realized.
Diana skipped the entire bridge and second chorus, proceeding directly to the outro.
No longer my sun,
Without you, I’ll be light.
Those last two lines became his undoing. Somehow, he heard the first line in his mother’s voice, saying, “No longer my son.” Those were the words she had spat at him the day he had renounced her practices and had chosen instead to follow Christ. The next line echoed the prayer that had sustained him since that day. “I’ll be light,” he whispered. He had clung to those words through his darkest moments.
Arnas fell to his knees, tears soaking his cheeks, grateful that the silly costume mercifully hid his shaking.
Why now? Why this song?
The past two years had been a lifeline to Arnas. He had found community, people who didn’t shun him and helped him recover. He had spent his time in La Terra building a new life, convincing himself that he was a son of God, that his mother’s curse no longer had power over him, yet here he was, unraveling in public. How was this happening? How was he having a complete breakdown over Broken Wings of all songs?
How was Diana Rake’s voice so piercing even in its tenderness? It was as if God Himself had orchestrated this moment, using her talent to break through defenses Arnas hadn’t even realized he’d built.
Words his mother had told him in his youth returned to memory. “Stay away from fire, Arnas. Never touch it. Never kiss it. Never walk through it. Its light is not worth losing the power that holy fire can burn out of you.” Her warnings about Christian faith had been relentless, painting it as something that would destroy the “gifts” she’d been cultivating in him, but he’d discovered the opposite. God’s holy fire purified and refined rather than destroyed.
Coming to his senses, Arnas became deeply aware of his surroundings. Silence had taken over, the only sound present was that of his sobs. On the piano bench sat Diana, her eyes fixed on him, most likely unsure of what to do about the frog breaking down in front of her. He tried to hold back his sobs and spare himself the shame, but there was no stopping the deluge that had been released by her voice, her presence, her song.
Diana slipped off the bench and knelt in front of him. She gave him a big smile as she playfully tugged at his frog costume’s crown. “What’s the matter, your majesty?”
Despite himself, through the tears, Arnas laughed at the absurdity of it all. Everything. Everything was the matter. How was this even happening? Here she was, Diana Rake, with her fiery red hair and brilliant smile — an embodiment of fire, if there ever was one. Was she the kind that purified or destroyed?
To his surprise, she caressed the stuffy cheeks of his costume. “I don’t know who’s in there or what is causing your tears,” she said, “but I just want you to know that there’s hope. That you are loved deeply by the God Who created you. Whatever is weighing your heart down, let His fire burn it all away. He will refine you and renew you. I know what it’s like to feel broken beyond repair, to feel burned by the very people who were supposed to keep me safe and warm. There was a time I didn’t think I could rise again, but God turned it all around for me. If He can do it for me, He can do it for you.” Diana placed a gentle hand on his trembling shoulders before tapping the mascot’s cheek with her free hand. “You’ll be all right, frog prince.”
Arnas wanted to respond, but his voice was locked in his throat.
“Why don’t you kiss him?”
Arnas couldn’t place the familiar voice at first, but something about the entitled tone made his ears prickle.
“I’ve kissed a prince or two who turned out to be absolutely disgusting frogs, but this frog is at least adorable, and your kiss might make him feel much better after you obliterated his pride with your song.”
“Ales, come on.” Diana rolled her eyes. “He’s obviously going through something.”
“Just kiss him. If you do, he might turn into a prince.”
“Maybe it’ll help you get over the fact that Nolan Stone just got married!” Some random guy yelled out.
Despite the sobs that he still couldn’t hold back, Arnas felt a protective surge toward Diana. Even in his pathetic emotional state, he wanted to shield her from their callousness.
A murmur rippled through the small crowd, then someone shouted, “Kiss the frog!”
Before he could even gather himself enough to stand, the crowd joined the chant: “Kiss the frog!”
Diana’s smile softened, her tender gaze moistening, as if she was trying to take a share of his pain. She pressed her forehead against his. “Will a kiss help?”
Would it? He wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway, the massive frog head bobbing against her forehead and making her giggle. He held his breath when she leaned over to kiss Prince Frederick Frog on the cheek, then on the lips.
Arnas was almost jealous. If not for the protection the stupid costume was giving his identity, he would’ve resented it for preventing him from experiencing firsthand what it was like to be kissed by Diana Rake.
“There,” she said. “All better?”
Arnas choked. The tears had stopped, blocked by the kind gesture. Somehow, the weight on his chest was gone. He felt light, kissed by fire.
A faint pulse beneath his shirt stole his momentary bliss. How? He hadn’t felt the stir of Rassa’s mark on him for years, especially not after he had surrendered his life to Christ. Why then did it awaken from its dormancy now? He clutched his chest, hoping to grip the mark and be rid of it and the past it represented.
“Now, let’s find out if he’s a prince.”
Before Arnas’s brain could catch up with what the statement meant, someone yanked the head of his costume off of him, exposing his identity. A chorus of gasps swept through the crowd.
“That’s rude. You shouldn’t have done that.” A dark-haired woman yanked the frog head from the teenager who had removed it. She turned to face him. “Arnas?!”
He blinked in the harsh light. Every cell in his body screamed to flee, to disappear, but it was too late.
The high of the moment crashed down as reality set in. No wonder her voice had been familiar! There she was, impetuous as ever, spoiled rotten by the father who had never bothered to be part of his life.
Alessandra Andino.
“You know each other?” Diana asked.
“No,” Arnas said, his walls rebuilding instantly.
Meanwhile, callous as ever, Alessandra had the audacity to look Diana in the eye and declare, “He’s my brother.”