Page 163 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘What is wrong?’ he asked, voice low, searching.

Mal stilled.

The truth was a venomousthing, coiling at the back of her throat, begging to be freed. She wanted to spill it, wanted to shatter the fragile illusion between them and confess that their love—if it could even be called that—had been born from betrayal. That she had been sent to kill him, and now, now she could not bear the thought of losing him. That no matter which path she took, no matter which choice she made, Ash Acheron was doomed.

Instead, she swallowed it down like poison.

‘Nothing,’ she lied.

His jaw tightened, golden eyes searching hers, seeking something—anything—that would make sense of the sorrow tightening the corners of her mouth. He was a man carved by fire, molded into something devastatingly beautiful, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to imagine a world where she could keep him. Where she was not bound by duty, by fate, by a curse that demanded his blood.

She cursed the gods for their cruelty.

She cursed herself for her weakness.

‘Mal, what—’

She silenced him with a kiss, a desperate thing, pressing her lips to his in a silent plea to forget, to stop asking, to lose himself in her as she longed to lose herself in him. She did not want to think. She did not want to feel. She wanted to disappear in the taste of his skin, in the way his hands roamed over her as if he could never get enough of her.

Tomorrow, she would leave to retrieve the dagger—the blade meant to carve through his heart.

Tonight, she would worship him as if it were their last.

He did not notice the tear that slid down her cheek as she pressed herself against him, her lips tracing desperate paths along his jaw, down his throat. Shecommitted every inch of him to memory—the warmth of his golden skin, the way his body tensed beneath her touch, the sound of his breath catching in his throat as she took him in, rolling her hips in a rhythm that sent water spilling over the tub’s edge.

Mal pressed her lips to his forehead, his temple, his parted lips, as if she could kiss away the fate that awaited him. As if she could carve his image into the fabric of her soul, so that no matter what came after, no matter what darkness awaited them, she would never forget.

Later, when the fire had faded and the night stretched long and silent, Mal lay awake beside him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She pictured her own hands gripping the hilt of the dagger, the steel poised above his heart, the fatal plunge that would bring an end to everything.

Her fingers curled around the phantom blade.

She wept in silence, whispering his name to the gods who had never answered her before, pleading for them to save him.

But the gods, as always, remained silent.

Our son was born in the late hours of the night. He is healthy and he is strong. The war is only growing more vicious and bloodier each day. I know Hadrian is restless and wants to be out there, doing something, anything he can to stop what is happening. But right now all we can do is hide. His kingdom has turned on us, and I hear him crying at night when he thinks that I am sleeping. Absolutely everyone we loved has walked away, siding with the drakonians to save themselves. My kingdom will not survive against the others, there are too many of them. I wish I could help the Council somehow, but even they have sworn us off, blaming the war on Hadrian and me. Now all we can do is hide and wait, praying for the war to end soon. I fear for our son and the future that awaits him.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal burrowed herself deeper against Ash’s chest as if she could anchor herself there, away from the storm that loomed on the horizon. She had not closed her eyes once throughout the night, had not dared to, for fear that if she did, morning would come too soon, dragging her back to reality. Now, as the early light filtered through the silk-draped windows, she wanted nothing more than to forget the world existed—to lose herself in the quiet sanctuary of her husband’s arms, where the weight of destiny did not yet press upon her shoulders.

Ash stirred beneath her, the warmth of his lips brushing overher forehead in a lazy, half-conscious caress. ‘Good morning,’ he said, his voice thick with sleep.

‘Not yet,’ she pleaded, her arms tightening around him, as if sheer will could stop time from moving forward.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her cheek. ‘We should get up. It’s m-my sister’s e-engagement party.’

Mal sighed, knowing he was right, yet loathing the thought of leaving their bed. Her limbs stretched like a cat luxuriating in the warmth of the sun, her body savouring a final, fleeting moment of peace before the weight of her mission threatened to suffocate her. Today, she would leave. Today, she would begin the journey that would lead her to the dagger—the very weapon meant to end Ash Acheron.

Her throat tightened at the thought.

‘Can’t we just stay here?’ she whispered, trailing her fingers over the hard lines of his jaw before pressing a soft kiss to his chin. ‘Maybe I can convince you to stay a little longer in bed with me.’

Ash’s golden eyes darkened, a slow, smoldering fire igniting behind them. Mal knew that look, the way his pupils dilated, his lips parting ever so slightly as if waiting—hoping—for her to close the space between them. And she did. Their kiss was slow, indulgent, filled with something dangerously close to devotion. His lips were soft at first, a delicate tease, until the moan caught at the back of her throat unraveled something inside him. In a heartbeat, he was over her, his body pressing her into the sheets, his mouth taking hers with newfound urgency.

Mal gasped, her hands tangling into his hair, but then her concern broke through the haze. ‘Your injuries,’ she said, her palm pressing lightly over the bandages wrapped around his torso. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself.’

---