Page 14 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, feeling something hollow open inside her chest. ‘You want Haven to marry—’

‘No, Mal.’ The finality in her father’s voice stole her breath. ‘Youare to marry the Fire Prince.’

The room, the fire, the very air seemed to collapse inward.

Her stomach plummeted into oblivion, her mind racing to grasp the cruel reality of what she had just heard. This had to be a mistake. Her father could not possibly have agreed to something so absurd, so wrong—sending her away to an unfamiliar land, to marry a man she had never met, a prince whose name was whispered in stories of cruelty and recklessness. A man who spent his days among soldiers, reveling in war, in conquest.

‘Why me?’

Mal knew the answer before he spoke it. She had always known.

Haven was to be queen—her duty bound to the Kingdom of Darkness. Her brothers had their own roles, their own futures. But Mal… Mal had no place, no purpose. A fourthborn, an anomaly, a child that should never have existed.

She was expendable.

The perfect solution.

‘Why would my marriage to the prince fix anything?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the king heard her. He always did.

‘Long ago, marriage was the bridge that bound kingdoms together. It was through these sacred oaths that peace was forged.’ His expression was unreadable, but Mal knew the truth sat heavy behind his eyes. ‘After the war, we lost that. Each kingdom turned inward, isolating themselves in their own grievances. But now… now, the Fire King wishes to atone. If House of Flames and House of Shadows unite, the other kingdoms may follow. We could return to an age of peace, Mal. A world where we are not enemies.’

She wanted to ask if any of this had to do with the whispers—the murmur of witches rising, of vengeance stirring in the dark—but she bit her tongue.

He had not mentioned them.

But she knew.

The world feared witches still, feared what they could become if they rose from the ashes of their ruined kingdom. But not all witches were gone. They never had been.

One only had to look into Mal’s eyes to see the truth.

Her father reached for her hand, his calloused fingers warm, steady. ‘I will not force you,’ he said softly. ‘If you refuse, we shall find another way.’

Mal nodded, but the movement was hollow.

There was no other way.

Her ancestors had already broken an oath once before, and it had unmade the world. If she refused, it would fracture beyond repair. If the whispers were true—if the witches were truly stirring, preparing to return—the kingdoms needed to stand together. They needed unity.

And that unity had been placed upon her shoulders.

‘Would I have to go alone?’

The thought struck her deeper than she expected. The reality of it—the loneliness of traveling to an unfamiliar place, of standing in a court of strangers, of facing the Fire Prince alone—was suddenly far more terrifying than the marriage itself.

Her father’s expression softened. ‘Of course not. Your sister and brothers will accompany you, they will stay for the wedding and for a time after. Your mother and I… we cannot leave our kingdom unguarded. But know this, my dearest child, we will be with you always.’

He raised two fingers to his forehead—a solemn, sacred gesture among wyverians.

Mal swallowed against the ache rising in her throat. Slowly, she stood, mirroring the gesture. Then, before her resolve shattered, she turned away, forcing herself to walk with steady steps, keeping her shoulders squared, her breath even.

Her world—her home, her family, everything she had ever known—was about to be ripped away.

And she would let it.

If it meant saving her people, if it meant forging peace, if it meant protecting her kingdom—she would sacrifice herself to the flames.

Even if it meant she would never rise again.

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