Page 156 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash
Zahian Noor extended his hand, a silent offering of assistance as she lowered herself onto the floor. She accepted, not out of necessity but practicality—her tightly-laced bodice and layers of embroidered skirts were not designed for reclining in such an undignified manner. Drakonians adhered strictly to dining at proper tables, and she had never understood the phoenixians’ fondness for sitting on the ground. Nor, for that matter, the desert folk’s or the Fae’s apparent preference for the same.
‘I suppose I shall have to grow accustomed to phoenixian dresses once I move to your kingdom,’ she said, adjusting her posture with forced grace. The effort was futile—the stays of her corset pinched unforgivingly, robbing her of breath.
‘You may wear whatever pleases you,’ Zahian replied easily, his lean frame stretched out on his side as he bit into a honeyed pear. Alina watched as his expression twitched, his red eyes narrowing slightly at the overwhelming sweetness. The sight was so unexpected that laughter bubbled from her lips before she could contain it.
‘It takes some getting used to,’ she said.
‘I truly do not understand how drakonians still have teeth,’ Zahian remarked dryly, eyeing the assortment of syrup-drenched pastries and candied fruits. ‘Everything is so sweet.’
A few servants lingered at a respectful distance, their woven fans swaying gently to battle the merciless heat of the afternoon sun. Alina hardly noticed the warmth, accustomed as she was to the relentless blaze of her homeland, but she worried for Zahian. His bronze complexion had yet to glisten with sweat, his expression still composed, but she wondered if he was silently suffering the weight of the midday heat.
‘You look rather sad,’ Zahian said.
Alina stiffened, turning to glare at him. ‘That is a rather rude thing to say.’
Zahian chuckled, unbothered. ‘Forgive me. We phoenixians have an unfortunate habit of speaking our minds.’ He plucked another pear from the tray, inspecting it idly. ‘But I do believe it’s true. Is it because Kai Blackburn left?’
The mention of the wyverian prince was like a dagger slipping between her ribs.
Alina gasped, scandalised. ‘Of course not! I could care lessabouthim.’
Zahian chewed slowly, his crimson gaze assessing her with amusement. He licked the sticky nectar from his fingers, each languid motion intentional, as if reveling in how flustered she had become. ‘It’s all right, princess. Just because we are engaged does not mean our hearts cannot belong to others.’
‘My heart is not claimed by anyone, Zahian Noor.’
‘Hmm-mm.’
Alina turned towards him, attempting to match his scrutiny, but the effort felt weak. ‘Is yours?’ she challenged, searching for the tiniest flicker of truth in his ever-knowing gaze.
The phoenixian prince merely smiled, maddeningly unreadable.
Alina had to admit—objectively, Zahian was breathtaking. He possessed the effortless beauty of a sun-kissed god, his brown skin kissed by fire, his black hair tousled in an artful way that required no effort. His physique, long and sinewy with muscle, spoke of someone born to dance between blades. In another life, perhaps she might have found herself enchanted, eager to be whisked away to a foreign kingdom, away from duty and expectation.
But the thought of kissing someone—of binding herself to someone—that was not Kai Blackburn made something inside her ache, a raw and bleeding wound she had no way of tending.
Before Zahian could reply, something glinted in his crimson eyes, his attention veering sharply past her. Alina followed his line of sight, twisting just in time to catch a glimpse of Flora Hawthorne and her sisters strolling through the garden, their ethereal presence like a painting come to life.
Curious, she glanced back at Zahian, expecting the usual teasing smirk. But his face had darkened—not in intrigue, not in admiration, but in something startlingly close to hostility.
‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice quieter now.
Zahian blinked, as though recalling himself, andthe tension in his shoulders eased. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered, his voice too casual. ‘You should keep your distance from that one.’
‘Why?’
Zahian reached for another pear, tearing it in half with his fingers. Without a word, he offered one piece to Alina. She hesitated only a moment before taking it, something about the simple act of sharing food feeling oddly intimate.
‘Flora Hawthorne knows too much,’ he said at last.
‘Too much about what?’ Alina pressed, licking the sticky sugar from her lips.
Zahian’s gaze drifted briefly to her mouth before returning to the Fae princess in the distance. ‘About everyone,’ he murmured. ‘She’s not to be trusted. None of the Fae are.’
Alina leaned in slightly. ‘Why? She has always been very pleasant to me.’
Zahian’s laugh was quiet but sharp. ‘I’m sure she has. There are whispers that the Fae want the witches to return—and that they will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Before the Great War, both kingdoms were bound together in ways the rest of us never understood. Some say they wish to restore what was lost.’
Alina swallowed, considering his words. ‘And do you think if the witches return… that it could ever be like it was before?’
