Page 165 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Mal did not move. Did not speak. Could not breathe.

And then she felt it—the moment those golden eyes fell upon her, sharp and searching, peeling back the layers of her silence. The air grew heavier, thick with unspoken truths. He pulled on a pairof trousers and crossed the room in a single breath, his fingers hesitating before grazing her arm, so softly, so hesitantly, as if afraid to discover that Hagan’s words were not madness.

‘Mal, it’s okay,’ Ash said. ‘I do not b-believe him. I know it is not t-true.’

Her heart cracked.

Even now, after everything, he trusted her. He believed in her goodness, believed in her love.

And she did not deserve it.

She turned to him, and as her purple eyes met his, she saw it—the precise moment realisation dawned upon him. His expression changed, shifting from certainty to something else, something fragile and wounded. The trust he had so freely given began to splinter.

Her voice trembled. ‘I thought it was the only way to save us all. But then I finally found you, Ash. I wasn’t going to go through with it. I promise.’

‘She’s planning on leaving today to retrieve the dagger,’ Hagan interrupted.

Mal snapped.

With a flick of her wrist, her magic surged forward, sending the Red Guard flying backward into the double doors. The impact rattled the chamber, knocking the breath from his lungs. Before he could recover, Mal clenched her fist, and the doors slammed shut, sealing him out.

She turned to Ash, her anger dissolving into raw desperation. ‘I can explain,’ she whispered.

But his face—his beautiful, beloved face—had already crumbled. His eyes, those molten pools of gold, shimmered with unshed tears.

And then, so softly it shattered her, he said, ‘No. Do not explain.’

Shereached for him, hesitant, terrified. Her hand cupped his cheek, and for the briefest moment, he leaned into the touch, letting her warmth cradle him. His tears spilt over, silent, aching.

‘I didn’t know you before,’ she tried, her voice breaking. ‘But then everything changed. The curse—’

The moment she spoke the word, he recoiled.

He wrenched himself from her grasp, stepping back as if her touch burnt him. The space between them grew vast and unbearable, thick with betrayal. His expression was no longer open, no longer warm—it was the face he had worn when they first met, cold and unreadable, a mask of indifference that cut deeper than any blade.

‘Ash,please,’ she sobbed, reaching for him again.

He turned away.

‘Go,’ he said, his voice rough, brittle. ‘Go and get the da-dagger. Do what you c-came here to do, Mal Blackburn.’

And then he was gone.

The doors slammed behind him, the force of it shaking the walls, fracturing the last remnants of the fragile world they had built together.

Mal collapsed to the floor, her forehead pressing against the cold stone as a scream tore from her throat—a sound of grief so raw it could have cracked the heavens.

…

Alina had spent the morning cloistered away in her chambers, feigning interest in a book that failed to capture her restless mind. She had read the same passage over and over again, the words blurring into meaninglessness, until frustrationovertook her. With a huff, she tossed the book onto the settee and reclined against the cushions, exhaling sharply. Soon, the afternoon would steal away her solitude, and she would be paraded before the court, drowning in well-wishes and congratulations for a marriage that was never hers to choose.

Lunch was brought to her in silence, the maids flitting about with the soft rustle of skirts, their eyes carefully averted. She could not bear to play hostess when the evening would demand her full performance. After her meal, a flurry of movement overtook the room as the seamstresses and handmaids descended upon her, preparing her for the grand spectacle that awaited.

The dress had been weeks in the making, a seamless blend of drakonian and phoenixian styles, woven together in a masterful display of diplomacy. White silk formed the base of the gown, but it was gilded with gold embroidery, thick threads intertwining in intricate designs, with deep crimson gemstones nestled between them. The skirt was unapologetically drakonian—voluminous, regal, and impossible to ignore. The veil, long and weightless, cascaded over her horns, a delicate contrast to the sharp strength they represented. Her golden hair had been straightened in the phoenixian manner, woven through with tiny rubies that caught the light like embers. Dark kohl framed her eyes, transforming her into something otherworldly—a vision of fire and light.

At least she was covered. Phoenixian women, with their scandalously bare gowns and bold displays of skin, did not share the drakonian appreciation for mystery.

Alina turned towards the window, her gaze drawn to the endless stretch of the sea, where the floating island of the valkyrians loomed in the distance. Perhaps there lay her escape—perhaps, if fate was kind, she would find a way to slip away and carve out a different destiny. A life of steel and wind, ofbattle and freedom. But for now, she would play her part, smile when necessary, and bide her time.

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