Page 86 of Crown of Ashes and Desire

Ancient texts lay scattered across my desk, pages brittle with age. For days I’d hunted through forgotten archives and sealed sections of the shadow realm’s library, searching for answers. Six days remained until I was expected todrain Ada’s light completely, claiming it for the shadow realm. For my father.

My hands trembled slightly when I traced the faded illustrations on the parchment before me—twin figures, one wreathed in darkness, the other in light, their magic intertwining rather than opposing. The image contradicted everything my father had taught me, everything the Shadow Court had believed for generations.

The door to my study flew open without warning. Sarp sauntered in, munching on what appeared to be a pastry from the kitchen.

“You look terrible,” he announced with a cheerful tone. “Somewhere between ‘hasn’t slept in a week’ and ‘might murder someone for fun.’ Very on-brand.”

I didn’t give him the attention, concentrating on the ancient text. “What do you want, Sarp?”

“Oh, nothing important.” He dropped dramatically into the chair opposite my desk, boots landing on its polished surface. “Just those cultists you wanted questioned? Turns out they’re part of a larger network. Thirty members at least, including”—he paused for effect, and took another bite of pastry—“three of your esteemed council members.”

That got my attention. “Which ones?”

“Take a guess. I’ll give you a hint: they’re the three who appear constipated whenever you mention ‘reform’ or ‘progress’ or ‘maybe let’s not murder people for fun.’” He brushed crumbs from his shirt onto my floor. “They think you’re weak. That Daddy Dearest had the right idea all along.”

“My father’s way,” I echoed bitterly. “Blood sacrifice and corruption. Consuming light rather than working in harmony with it.”

Sarp’s eyes narrowed when he finally noticed the scattered documents. “Well, well. Someone’s been doing theirhomework.” He reached across and snatched a page, and ignored my glare. “What’s this? Shadow and light dancing together like old friends? That’s not the bedtime story your father told.”

I pushed the ancient text toward him. “The shadow lords lied. For centuries, they—we—have lied about the nature of our power. Shadow and light were never meant to be enemies. They were designed to balance each other.”

“Holy shit.” Sarp whistled, suddenly serious when he examined the diagrams. “This is?—”

“Heretical?” I supplied.

“I was going to say ‘completely fucking insane,’ but sure, heretical works, too.” He looked up, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Your father’s going to have an aneurysm when he finds out you’ve been reading the forbidden books. Isn’t that like, what, patricide by literature?”

“He won’t know, I will find an alternative way,” I insisted.

“Alternative?” Sarp perked up, and dropped his feet from my desk. “There’s an alternative to murdering your hot wife? Do tell.” He picked up another manuscript, and flipped through it with exaggerated interest. “This better be good.”

“There’s another ritual,” I said. “An older one I’ve discovered in forbidden texts from before the Shadow and Light realms were divided. It doesn’t require sacrifice. Instead of consuming Ada’s light completely, it would allow our powers to merge and strengthen each other. The ancient texts suggest it was the original purpose of the binding—balance rather than consumption. But the knowledge was deliberately suppressed by shadow lords who preferred power through dominance rather than harmony.”

“And this would accomplish what, exactly? Matching couple tattoos? His and hers magic wands?”

“Balance,” I said simply. “Enough power to oppose my father. To cleanse the shadow realm of his corruption once and for all.”

Sarp whistled low. “Well, shit. When you decide to commit treason, you really go all in.” He leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Your father will feed your entrails to shadow hounds if he finds out. After he makes you watch him kill Ada, of course.”

“My father isn’t my only concern,” I said. “My scouts report increased activity at the borders. Midas is gathering forces against us. He’s recruited light realm warriors with ancient weapons designed to kill shadow lords.”

“I thought Midas was loyal to your father,” Sarp frowned. “Why would he move against you?”

“Because he knows I’m diverging from my father’s path,” I explained. “He’s always been more devoted to my father’s vision than even Erlik himself. And after his recent humiliation—losing favor, being replaced in the council—he’s determined to prove his worth by enforcing the old ways.”

“Fantastic,” Sarp muttered. “Enemies on all fronts. Your father within, Midas without. Any other apocalyptic threats I should know about?”

“That’s why he can’t know.” I ran a hand through my hair, exhaustion overwhelming me. “The original ritual must appear to proceed as planned. But in secret, Ada and I will prepare for the alternative.”

“Brilliant plan,” Sarp declared with mock enthusiasm. “Just one tiny flaw—your wife hates your guts with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Or did you miss that part?” He pretended to think. “Let’s see, she’s called you—and I’m quoting directly here—‘a soulless monster,’ ‘worse than your father,’ and my personal favorite, ‘a pathetic shadow of a man who wouldn’t know true power if it bit him in his frozen ass.’”

His words conjured the memory of Ada in the tower—fierce and glorious, risking herself to protect a shadow child who meant nothing to her. The familiar pain in my chest flared at the thought of her, that persistent ache from our binding that had become my constant companion. But now I understood its purpose—it wasn’t punishment, but guidance. The ancient texts suggested the pain was the binding’s way of pushing us toward balance rather than dominance. And beneath that pain, something else stirred—admiration, perhaps.

“I need to convince her,” I said. “Show her what’s at stake.”

“And what exactly is at stake?” Sarp propped his boots back on my desk. He examined his fingernails with exaggerated disinterest. “Besides your ongoing Daddy issues. Which, may I add, are legendary even by royal standards.”

My shadows lashed out before I could stop them—dark tendrils whipping from my fingertips with a cold, electric crackle—shattering a nearby vase. “This isn’t about power,” I snarled, and forced the restless darkness back under my control. “It’s about survival. The shadow realm is dying. Centuries of corruption have poisoned it from within. If the balance isn’t restored…”

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