Page 115 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Ash stepped into the room and found her waiting.

The wyverian princess sat at the table, a book open before her, though from the way her chin rested in her hand, her expression one of quiet boredom, he doubted she had turned a page in some time.

It was still strange to think of this place astheirroom. In truth, it was hers. He tried to keep away, to grant her the solitude of a space untainted by his presence. He had lingered outside longer than necessary, taking his time in the hopes that she would already be asleep by the time he returned.

And yet, there she was.

She wore a simple white cotton dress, its fabric soft and weightless against her skin, the thin strap slipping down the curve of her shoulder. It was a careless thing, something meant for comfort, not for the scrutiny of another’s eyes. He averted his gaze.

‘I waited up,’ she said, the softness of her voice edged with something unfamiliar.Worry.

Her purple eyes lingered on him, searching.

Ash pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it as he stepped into the study. He sank into the armchair, fingers working at the laces of his boots, exhausted. ‘Needed air,’ he muttered.

‘Did you get into a lot of trouble for punching prince Zahian?’

Ash shrugged.

Of course, he had. His parents had screamed at him for hours, their anger relentless, their words slicing through him with cruel precision.He had ruined everything. That was what they had said.

But he hadn’t ruinedanything—except for Zahian’s nose.

So what? His sister was the one being condemned to a future she did not want, shackled to a man she had not chosen. And forthat, he would do it again.

Tomorrow, he would be expected to stand before the court and grovel—offering a formal apology to smooth over the rift he had caused.

The thought made his stomach turn.

Alina would not be allowed to help him, to speak in his place as she always had when his voice failed him. His parents did not care. His usefulness had expired. Theywantedhim to humiliate himself, to falter under the weight of his own nerves, to let the whole world see him struggle.So that he might understand how he had made them feel.

Ash exhaled, rubbing at his tired eyes.

A pair of hands appeared in his vision, deft fingers working at the laces of his boots before he could react.

He nearly jerked away, startled.

Mal crouched before him, untying the knots with steady,deliberate movements, her dark hair falling forward to frame her face.

His breath caught.

‘You were angry for your sister because she is being forced to do the same thing that was pressed on you. No one will blame you for it.’

‘Do you?’ he asked softly.

She looked up at him, her purple eyes searching his face as if she could see the thoughts left unsaid. ‘Why would I?’

Because his rage at the marriage oath—the way he had fought against it—had told the whole world he despised the idea of being bound toher. She seemed to understand. Her fingers stilled against his boot, then slowly slipped away.

‘I do not hate you, Fire Prince,’ she said, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips.

And god—that smile.

Ash felt something shift, something dangerous.

His heart clenched too tightly in his chest, an ache spreading through him in slow, agonising waves.

She was his wife.

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