Page 7 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
“How did you even find this hidden gem?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
I paused, swallowing my bite as the memories flooded back. “Well… I just sort of stumbled upon it,” I replied, my gaze drifting off into the distance. I closed my eyes, letting the cool breeze dance across my skin like a gentle whisper of nature. “I came running into the woods, crying, and then, I just found it,” I shrugged my shoulders and continued. “The water below was so serene, shimmering under the sunlight, and the birds glided gracefully through the open sky.” I opened my eyes, my thoughts retreating to that fragile moment. “I stood at the edge, considering the plunge into the depths below. I returned day after day, grappling with the struggle of wanting to be free, imagining what it would feel like to finally let go—to not feel any more pain. To finally fly. I don’t know why, but the urge to fly was strong. As if I was meant to have wings… to be a bird or something.”
“Or a dragon,” he said.
I chuffed, “Yeah, okay. Dragons haven’t existed for centuries.”
He shrugged, “I beg to differ. My father says they still exist; they are just really good at hiding because they don’t want to be found.”
Gods, that would be amazing if those magnificent creatures actually did still exist…
I shook off the weight of those thoughts, surprised I had shared such an intimate part of my past. Turning to him, I caught the pity in his eyes, and it made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Just then, he reached up, brushing a crumb from my lips with a warmth that sent a shiver of electricity coursing through me.
“What you said, that has to be the most real thing I have ever heard anyone say…” he whispered like a prayer through the night, his voice sincere. At that moment, the world around us faded away, and everything changed.
“Mother said it’s just my sadness—the shadows encroaching on my mind. But deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s something entirely different. The urge to soar. It doesn’t feel like darkness; it feels like liberation.” I chuckled to myself, feeling embarrassed that I just shared that information with the prince, of all people.
I turned to face the prince, ready to see him bolt once he realized how broken I was. He just stared at me in silence for a moment. “Gods... your eyes. Has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest eyes? I have never seen anything like them.” We locked gazes, suspended in a moment that felt like an eternity.
Landen always said my eyes make me look otherworldly, but I’ve never had anyone—let alone a Prince— tell me they were pretty.
I cleared my throat—an action meant to break the tension—and leaned back on my elbows, fixing my eyes on the horizon, unable to withstand the intensity of his taunting stare any longer. “Growing up, some kids had thrown rocks at me, claiming I was a... witch,” I hesitated with the word. “Witch” was a derogatory name for a Mage and was quite an insult.
“If only they could have seen you now...” he whispered.
I snorted.Yeah, if only.
As we devoured our hand pies, warmth and laughter enveloped us, and I found myself swept away in the ebb and flow of our conversation.
We talked for hours.
He shared tales of his tumultuous childhood, painting vivid pictures of the suffocating castle walls that hadconfined him and the bitterness he felt toward his father, a man whose throne he had no desire to inherit. He told me about his daunting training and how he had to be the very best at everything—that explained his incredibly muscular form.
I became utterly absorbed in Fintan, his words wrapping around me like a delicate tapestry, and for a fleeting moment, I nearly forgot the very reason I had ventured into the market that day.
“Why were you crying?” he questioned, his voice a soft murmur that cut through the stillness between us.
“Hmm?” I replied, caught off guard.
“You mentioned crying when you first stumbled upon this place. What was troubling you?” His striking brown eyes sparkled under the golden sunlight, revealing dazzling flecks that danced like tiny stars within their depths.
He was actually listening… to me. No one ever paid attention to me.
“Oh, um,” I hesitated, choosing my words with care as a storm brewed in my chest. “It was the day my father was taken from us. It was an incredibly challenging time for my mother and me, as if we were cast adrift in a storm of sorrow. Watching my mom break under the weight of grief was the most excruciating part of it all. It’s like I could feel her pain, plus my own, and I just couldn’t stand the pain any longer. Since that day, I return to this place—my sanctuary—every single day. I come here to escape the relentless ache, to feel the sharp edges of my memories, and to ponder whether this deep-seated pain makes living worthwhile…”
Fintan gently placed his hand over mine, and I felt a warm current of energy flow through me as though his touch could mend what was broken. “What is life if we cannot feel both the elation and the heartache?” he said softly, his voice sincere. “I’m truly sorry for what my father has done. He is not a good man.” He paused, his gaze searching mine, and Icould see a flicker of understanding as he leaned in closer, bridging the distance between us. “I could… I could find your father and talk to him if you’d like.”
My eyes widened in disbelief, a rush of emotions swirling within me. “You would do that?!” I exclaimed, my voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
He grinned, a warm, disarming smile spreading across his face. “I have a feeling I would do anything for you,” he replied, his tone earnest and sincere.
I was at a loss for words, utterly shocked by his bold declaration. My heart raced as I instinctively cleared my throat, searching for something, anything to say. “You don’t even know me,” I retorted, my voice steadying though uncertainty lingered beneath. “What if I were just waiting to push you off the cliffside?”
He burst into laughter, a rich, infectious sound that filled the air around us. His head tilted back, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each chuckle, a strange, magnetic pull urging me to trace my tongue along his throat.
“I have a feeling you won’t do that,” he said, still chuckling.
