Page 67 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash
The wyverian princess would need a new maid. And Vera would become her.
She exhaled sharply, her irritation simmering as she strode down the winding staircase, the cold stone pressing against the soles of her feet with each hurried step.
The witches did not know where the damned dagger was. But they knew one thing for certain—it was not in the wastelands. That alone was enough to set Vera’s teeth on edge. Her patience was running thin.
And when the curse was finally shattered, when the witches rose from the shadows and took back the power that had been stolen from them—
Vera was going to slice the Fire Queen’s throat forwasting her time.
…
Three days left.
In three days, Mal Blackburn would be bound to Ash Acheron, tied to him by vows she had never wished to utter. The weight of it sat heavy in her stomach, coiling tight. She had expected worse, she supposed. The man she had been forced to marry had not turned out to be the cruel, merciless creature the whispers had painted him to be. But that did not mean she knew him. He was still a stranger.
Ash was quiet, always on the edges of the world. He had not sought her out, had not attempted to bridge the chasm between them. Instead, he kept to the training yards, his days swallowed by steel and sweat, his nights spent in hushed conversations with his men.
The Champions’ Battle had revealed his skill. There was no doubt—he was a warrior worthy of any battlefield. But the thrill she had felt when fighting him, the rush of adrenaline that had lit her veins like wildfire, had slowly faded into something duller, something emptier. Would this be their marriage? Would their only interactions take place in the sparring ring, the clang of metal the only words exchanged between them? Would he ever speak to her beyond duty, beyond obligation? Would he ever truly see her?
Mal had waited, but the seat beside her remained empty. Across the grand banquet hall sat Ash, on the other side of the room. She had given him time, had willed him to cross the space between them, to come to her, to start something—anything—before the weight of marriage was forced upon them. But hedid not. He whispered only to his sister or the ever-present guard at his side, a silent shadow trailing his every step.
Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps if she did not truly know him, it would be easier to do what had to be done.
So why did it bother her so much that he ignored her?
A voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘I believe we have not met.’
Mal glanced up, chin still resting against her palm—an inelegant pose for a princess, she was certain, but she cared little for propriety. Her gaze fell upon the prince from the Kingdom of Light.
‘I’m afraid to disappoint you, but we have already met.’
Zahian Noor grinned, the amusement in his expression flickering like embers. He was beautiful in a way that fascinated her—not for his drakonian strength or wyverian wildness, but for his strangeness. He had no horns. A prince with no horns.The thought amused her. His black hair was thick and shining, curling slightly at the ends, and his reddish-brown skin seemed kissed by an eternal sun. But his eyes… oh, his eyes.
Phoenixians were famed for them—deep, rich, red eyes, like the feathers of a phoenix.
‘We have met formally, princess,’ he said in a thick accent, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. ‘But that does not count.’
His robes were white, edged in gold, the flowing cotton of House of Sun. The phoenixians and drakonians had always been intertwined, worshippers of the same god, their kingdoms built upon heat and fire.
It was said that the Kingdom of Light was a paradise, a land where skies were streaked with the vivid colours of phoenix wings, where the streets were lined with palm trees and temples, and the scent of spice and incense clung to the air like alover’s embrace.
‘Is it true you have phoenixes as large as horses?’ she asked, her curiosity slipping past her restraint. Perhaps he had brought one with him.
‘And bigger,’ Zahian replied, pride gleaming in his expression. ‘We fly on them.’
Mal’s eyes widened.
Without hesitation, Zahian vaulted over the table in a single fluid motion and landed beside her, far too close.
‘It cannot surprise a wyverian princess so much when you ride beasts larger than dragons,’ he teased, voice low.
Mal smiled.
‘It is true, but a phoenix sounds so… different. Is it true their feathers sometimes spark?’
‘Yes.’
