Page 95 of Wings of Ash & Flame
“And risk the wrath of my phoenix?They’d be fools.”
“Be careful,” Solflara warned.
Alaire practiced raising and lowering her shields as she walked. The more she practiced, the easier it became to control the wall of flames around her mind, to fortify them, and to let them fall. It gave her something to focus on—something to keep her from sinking into the melancholy and frustration weighing on her.
Her stomach grumbled, but the thought of food made her nauseous. Guilt twisted in her chest as she thought of the roasted meat and potatoes she’d left untouched at dinner, while people in Starling Gate went hungry. The weight of her nonexistent crown pressed heavily tonight.
Left. Elodie’s broken body.
Right. No magic. Politics. The Consortium. Vampires.
Straight. Training. Queen of Nothing.
Pivot. Part of two worlds, belonging to none.
Seeking solitude, she unbraided the bond, severing her connection with Solflara. She didn’t want to hear anyone else’s thoughts—not tonight.
The acrid scents of her nightmare clung to her senses: singed hair, burning flesh, sulfur—as if the rancor had followed her into the waking world. She dug her nails into the worn cuffs of her leathers, grounding herself against the memory’s pull.
Something unusual caught her eye as she followed a familiar path. The grass was singed at the base of a row of scarlet hedges. Her steps quickened, curiosity overriding the unease prickling down her neck.
The markings looked like geometric shapes connected by disjointed lines. A thin layer of shadow seeped from them as they writhed and shifted, trying to join together. When she blinked, they were gone.
She crouched, studying the arrangement and memorizing every detail. They weren’t anything she recognized from her Sigils and Ancient Runes class, which only made them more intriguing.
Vindication swept through her. She didn’t know what this was, but her instincts screamed it mattered.
Her hand reached out, fingertips hovering above the spot. No pull in her chest, just an inherent knowing that this waswrong.
She jerked back, straightening as a prickle of awareness slid up her spine. She spun around, fists raised.
Stepping out of the shadows came the fae who’d become the bane of her existence: Dawson Knox.
Moonlight cut across him in stark angles, dark leather molded over a body honed for battle. Daggers glinted at his sides, a broadsword strapped to his back. His raven hair was pulled back, leaving nothing to soften the edges of his sharp, arrogant face. He looked like a fallen god come to exact vengeance.
Alaire’s mouth went dry. Fury swelled, masking the way her pulse betrayed her.
“Do you make a habit of wandering alone at night?” Dawson drawled.
He’d been gone for days—weeks. No word, no explanation. And now, this? After everything that had happened in the forest. After she’d foolishly started to think there might be more to him. Her anger turned inward, a tempest of self-reproach.
She planted her hands on her hips, eyes darting over the infuriating perfection of his face. “Do you make a habit of lurking in the shadows like some creepy stalker?”
Dawson’s lips quirked in that half-smirk that made her want to set him on fire. “Bad decisions seem to be your specialty, don’t they, queen?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
“Why not? It’s who you are. Royal lineage. Fire in your blood.” His gaze flicked to her lips before snapping back up. “Though you seem determined to deny it.”
Howdarehe.
“Prince”—she stepped forward, her voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper—“do you need a reminder on how to address royalty? Here’s a hint—it starts with bending the knee.”
His smirk vanished, replaced by an intensity that sent her heart into overdrive. He stepped closer, the air between them turning volatile. “When I bend the knee for my queen,” he murmured, a dark promise in his voice, “she’ll never doubt my devotion for a second.”
His words seared through her like lightning, but Alaire clung to her anger, feeding it like kindling to a blaze. She needed the reminder of who Dawson Knox was: arrogant, calculating, dangerous.
“What are you doing skulking around at this hour? Shouldn’t you be off attending to your duties?”
