“What the Fire Couldn’t Burn”: Writing The Fire Prince’s Bride
I didn’t write The Fire Prince’s Bride to tell a love story.
I wrote it to survive one.
This book holds more of me than I meant to give it. Not just because of the sleepless nights or the obsessive rewrites, but because it became the place where I buried a version of myself I couldn’t carry anymore.
Kael is what happens when fire doesn’t get to grieve. Ariadne is what happens when silence becomes the only safe language.
And the Egg—the impossible heart of the story—is that aching question:
What do we do with the power we were never meant to have, but can’t let go of?
I burned through versions of this book. I changed entire arcs. I fought the temptation to give it a “clean” ending. Because that’s not how fire works.
And I wanted this to feel true.
This isn’t just a romantasy.
It’s a requiem for inherited pain.
It’s about wanting someone without consuming them.
About choosing to stay even when the past begs you to run.
If you’ve ever loved someone in silence,
If you’ve ever broken something while trying to protect it,
If you’ve ever wondered whether you are the danger—
Then maybe this story was waiting for you, too.
Thank you for reading. For staying.
For letting this fire warm something inside you, instead of burn it all down.
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