Page 107 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

The swords were enormous, powerful. Every inch of them was black—dark metal, dark leather grips, dark wickedly curved blades that ended in deadly hooks. They were magnificent.

They called to her.

Her fingers twitched.

‘Kai, I want to ask something of you,’ she whispered, her eyes locked onto the weapons.

‘Anything.’

‘I want you to teach me how to fight.’ His smirk faltered. She let the silence stretch, let him see the truth in her eyes before she spoke again. ‘I do not want to be defenseless ever again. And I do not want to depend on others to protect me. I do not want others starting wars for me.Iwant to be the one to start them.’

For a long moment, Kai said nothing.

And then—

Slowly, his smirk returned, but this time, it was different. It was not teasing. Not mocking.

It was delight.

‘I was wondering when you’d ask.’

…

The gardens had been transformed into something out of a dream. Flowers spilt over every stone pathway, their colours bleeding into one another in a riot of soft pinks, deep reds, and sun-kissed golds. Blankets had been laid over the yellow-tinged grass, baskets brimming with ripe fruit and delicacies arranged in meticulous abundance. Servants stood poised with fans, warding off the warmth of the late afternoon, their movementsrhythmic, practiced.

It was the sort of setting that should have felt idyllic. But Ash found little solace in it.

Dressed in a simple shirt and brown trousers, he knew his mother would scold him for his lack of formal attire. She would call him careless, unrefined. He did not care. His mind was elsewhere—still half-lost in the aftermath of training, already reaching for his next task. Soon, he would take to the skies, patrolling the borders that pressed against the lands of the witches.

More and more reports had come—whispers of witches lurking at the edges, attacking patrols. Some kingdoms still clung to their blind arrogance, believing there was no real threat, no true enemy on the horizon.

But Ash knew better.

His mother had been planting seeds of fear in the king’s mind for years. Perhaps, for once, she was right to do so.

Even as his thoughts swirled, his gaze wandered—searching, as it always did, for something he had not given himself permission to name.

The moment he spotted Mal, standing beside Zahian Noor, his stomach clenched in protest.

It was ridiculous.Childish.

He had no claim over her, no reason to feel the slow burn of jealousy twisting through his gut. They could hardly speak to one another without silence pressing thick and heavy between them. If she chose to spend her time with the phoenixian prince, what right did he have to feel anything at all?

And yet.

With long, purposeful strides, he crossed the garden, ignoring the murmured greetings, the waves of courtiers eager for his attention. He stopped beside Zahian, his gaze flicking to the stonewalls they had been admiring.

‘I see our dear prince has joined us to hear about the history of the castle,’ Zahian said smoothly, wearing that insufferable smirk Ash was beginning to truly despise.

Ash grunted.

‘As I was saying,’ Zahian continued unbothered, as if he were delivering a lecture before a court of scholars. ‘The castle was built over a thousand years ago. Some parts of the building you will notice have a slightly different colour of stone and style because it was imported from my land.’

Ash rolled his eyes.

Phoenixians loved to boast. Every word that left their mouths was dipped in self-importance, their achievements framed as the pinnacle of greatness. It had never particularly irritated him before.

But now, he could not stand the sound of Zahian’s voice.

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