Page 11 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

She could feel it pressing against her skin, slithering beneath the surface of the air, waiting. What had her father wanted to speak to her about? Did it have to do with the witches?

Her food remained untouched, the blackened meat and withering vegetables staring back at her, mocking.

And then, abruptly, the king rose to his feet.

‘I will retreat to my study now,’ he announced, his voice distant, his hand lifting slightly in signal to his shadow-hounds.

The queen blinked, startled by his abrupt departure. ‘We haven’t even finished our meal,’ she said, her voice gentle but laced with concern.

But King Ozul did not answer. His eyes, warm and familiar, darted towards Mal. A glance, a silent beckoning. The tilt of his head said it all—Come to me later.

It was the sadness in his gaze that unraveled her.

Her father had always been a pillar of strength, a man filled with joy and wisdom. He had spent his days reading with Kage, training with Kai, guiding Haven in her queenly duties, walking hand in hand with his wife through the Deadly Gardens, soaring through the skies with Mal on their wyverns.

A king beloved by his people, a ruler who danced beneath blue flames and listened to the troubles of even the lowest-born.

And yet, tonight, Mal saw a man who was lost.

The doors shut behind him.

A suffocating silence settled over the table, pressing in like a thick, invisible fog.

Until Kai, as always, shattered it.

‘Has he aged, or is it just me?’

Haven’s hand flew out, a slice of rotten apple soaring towards his face. He dodged effortlessly, grinning.

‘Do not throw food at your brother. It is not queenly,’ their mother chided, her tone exasperated but lacking true severity. ‘Your father has many worries, Kai. It is part of his duty.’

‘Did you hear that, Haven?’ Kai teased, flashing her a wicked smirk. ‘As soon as you become queen, your hair is going to turn white.’

‘Oh, do shut up, Kai.’ Haven’s sharp eyes shifted, suddenly trained on Mal. ‘And where exactly do you think you’re going?’

Mal stiffened, caught mid-step, her retreat towards the door now painfully obvious. ‘I’m tired,’ she lied, shifting awkwardly. ‘I’m going to sleep.’

No one believed her. Not her siblings, whose knowing glances pinned her in place. Not her mother, whose smile was soft but filled with something unreadable, something ancient.

‘A kiss goodnight?’

Mal swallowed, forcing herself to move forward. She pressed a kiss against her mother’s pale cheek, the warmth of her touch lingering.

A hesitation. A warning.

Her mother's fingers ghosted over her wrist, her voice like a whisper of wind through dying leaves.

‘Have lovely dreams, my sweet princess.’

Mal nodded, and as she turned towards the door, she wondered—what did it mean to walk away from this moment?

And more terrifyingly… what awaited her beyond it?

I wonder if there will ever be tales told about us. About everything we did and sacrificed. Perhaps that is why I write this diary. Perhaps I always knew, even before the war started, that words needed to be written across paper to prove what truly was done to our world. Or the story would be forgotten. Or worse, twisted.

Tabitha Wysteria

The king’s study loomed at the highest peak of the castle, nestled within the heart of the mountain’s jagged crown. The winding staircase twisted upon itself in a dizzying spiral, each step an echo of the quiet dread pooling in Mal’s chest. She climbed slowly, deliberately, dragging out each moment before her arrival.

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