Page 178 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash
‘No!’
Vera chuckled, the queen’s anguish like the sweetest of wines. She inhaled it, let it settle in her lungs, drawing strength from it.
‘Mal is on her way to retrieve the dagger even as we speak,’ Vera continued, watching as the colour drained from the queen’s face. ‘She will return, and when she does, she will drive that blade through his heart. Fortunately for you, you will be spared the agony of watching the light fade from those golden eyes. But your daughter… oh, she will witness every second of it.’
The queen’s composure finally fractured. ‘Please,’ she whispered, desperation lacing her words. ‘Kill me. But let my children live. Let Ash and Alina live. They have done nothing wrong.’
Vera tapped her chin, considering. ‘Nothing wrong?’ She scoffed. ‘Would you say the seven Houses are innocent?’
‘They are children!’
‘They arenotchildren, Queen Cyra. Do not insult me with such foolishness.’ Vera’s voice turned sharp, edged with the fury of a century’s worth of betrayal. ‘Prince Hadrian and Tabitha Wysteria were the same age when your ancestors slaughtered thousands. When they razed a kingdom to the ground for the crime of love.’
The queen’s voice trembled, but she did not waver. ‘Tabitha Wysteria interfered with an oathmarriage.’
Vera’s expression darkened, the mere mention of it igniting something murderous within her. ‘And for that, an entire kingdom deserved to burn?’ She hissed, venom dripping from every syllable. ‘Elders, infants, mothers—all reduced to ash by dragons. And why? Because Hadrian dared to choose love over duty?’
Queen Cyra’s hands trembled where they rested atop the sheets. ‘Tabitha didn’t love him. She used him. I will admit my ancestors committed terrible crimes, but we should not be punished for their sins.’
‘Then why have the witches suffered for a hundred years?’ Vera snapped. ‘Why are we the only ones forced to pay the price?’
Silence.
‘We are not like your ancestors,’ she continued, her voice smoothing into something almost gentle. ‘We will not slaughter innocent drakonians. All we have to do is eliminate the seven Houses. And how lucky for us—all of them are gathered under one roof.’
She rose to her feet, moving with slow, deliberate steps towards the queen.
Queen Cyra’s voice was barely a whisper now. ‘Even if you kill every royal in this castle, they are only princes and princesses. The kings and queens are safe in their palaces.’
Vera tutted, a cruel grin tugging at her lips. ‘Except for you.’ She slipped a dagger from the folds of her sleeve, the glint of steel catching in the candlelight. ‘You see, Queen Cyra, you forget one thing.’
She inched closer, her shadow stretching over the queen’s trembling form.
‘Who will rule the seven kingdoms if their heirs are dead?’
The bladeslashed through flesh, like an artist with a paintbrush, a harsh stroke against a canvass. Vera stepped back, admiring the red paint as it dripped down, down, down into the abyss.
The queen of flames slumped forward, her body stilling, her final breath lost beneath the hush of the wind through the open balcony doors.
And Vera smiled.
…
Alina drifted between worlds, consciousness flickering like a candle caught in a storm. Somewhere, in the vast abyss of her mind, she heard her name—an urgent cry, a desperate plea. Hands gripped her, pulling her upright, their touch firm but not unkind. Another pair worked swiftly, cutting through fabric with the sharp whisper of a blade.
‘Qat har fustan, sastaa,’ a voice said, smooth and commanding.
Alina moaned, her gaze swimming over the pieces of cloth falling away from her body in great, tattered swaths. Her dazed mind clung to one thought, irrational but insistent. Hadn’t the dress been white? Yet, as her fingers traced the ruined fabric, all she saw was red. A violent, endless red.
Blinking through the haze, she forced her attention on the two figures bent over her. Desert princesses. She knew them, their faces blurred but familiar. One crouched beside her, a dagger gleaming in her grasp as she tore at the voluminous skirts, while the other held Alina steady, her arms a brace against the trembling of her weakened body.
‘Why is it all red?’ Alina asked, voice thick withconfusion. ‘The dress was white.’
Hessa barely spared her a glance, her expression set in stone. ‘Do not worry about that now. We need you to move.’ She turned towards her sister. ‘Harra, sastaa.’
Alina tried to make sense of their words, but her thoughts moved sluggishly, weighed down by something dark and heavy. Her head ached. Her stomach churned. Something was missing—something important.
‘My head feels strange.’
