Page 168 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Instead, she forced Daku faster, the wind tearing through her hair, her body tilting forward with the beast’s momentum.

She was goinghome.

…

Wren found her brother basking in the easy charm of Princess Sahira, his laughter rich and untroubled as they waited for the evening feast to commence. The Grand Hall gleamed in the warm glow of golden chandeliers, servants flitting between nobles like restless fireflies, gilded goblets of honeyed wine glistening in their hands. Small delicate tarts, dusted in fine sugar, were passed around to keep the guests content as they awaited the grand entrance of Alina and Zahian.

Her gaze swept across the room, noting the king encased in a circle of advisors and sycophants, though the queen was conspicuously absent. Strange. A royal should not miss such an event.

But it was Ash Acheron who drew her attention most of all—the Fire Prince standing apart, rigid as a statue, his expression carved from stone. The Red Guard loomed at his side, their hushed murmurs only fueling the fire in his eyes. Something had unsettled him.

Wren still had a few moments of freedom before duty pulled her back—before she would have to abandon the revelry to return upstairs and watch over Vera. The valkyrian Freya was standing guard for now, but Wren knew she could not linger long.

She shifted, tugging at the fine fabric of her dress. For once, she had chosen to dress as a lady, though the weight of it irked her. The gown had belonged to her mother—an exquisite shade of deep blue, embroidered with silver-threaded wolves and delicate snowflakes, its beauty feeling out of place in the sweltering heat of the kingdom. Her hair had been adorned with pearls, cascading in delicate chains across her forehead, weaving into the blue headband that kept her wild locks in check. It was a fragile thing, this attire, and Wren detested feeling fragile. How Hessa and Sahira managed to drape themselves in golden chains, their jewelry spanning from ear to nose, dazzling yet cumbersome, was beyond her.

‘There ya are,’ Bryn said as he seized her arm, his grin as sharp as a wolf’s.

‘Who are we hiding from?’ Wren whispered, mirroring his smirk.

‘Everyone.’ His grin widened. ‘Though I do like da desert folk.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the two princesses, who in turn shared a knowing look with Wren.

‘Theyarebeautiful,’ Wren admitted, but her eyes drifted back to her brother. He was a striking figure—tall and slender, with sharp, lupine features and the keen gaze of a hunter. Once, people had remarked on their identical looks, but time had set them apart. Bryn had continued to grow while Wren had remained small, though there was no mistaking their blood when they stood side by side.

His white hair tumbled to his shoulders, some of it boundin the warrior’s style of their homeland—braided by Wren’s own hands, as was custom for wolverians in their kingdom. The more detailed braid, the better the warrior, and Wren had made sure Bryn’s was suitably crafted.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she grinned. ‘Ooooh.’

Kage Blackburn had slipped into the hall with all the grace of a shadow, his arrival as discreet as though he had always been there. But it was not his lateness that intrigued her—it was the absence of his sister.

Mal was gone.

So she had left for the dagger.

Wren’s stomach twisted, but she kept her face impassive. It still didn’t explain why the Fire Prince was sulking like a kicked dog. Had they quarreled? Or had he finally learnt the truth?

‘Stop it,’ Bryn said. ‘Don’t be nosy.’

‘Yer worse than me.’

‘No, am not.’

Wren ignored him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards Kage, who was staring at the paintings along the walls with the same level of interest one might have for peeling paint. ‘Do ya see anything ya like?’ Wren teased, sidling up to him.

Kage’s lips barely twitched—a soft snarl more than a smirk.

‘This is me brother, Bryn Wynter, House of Snow,’ she introduced, waiting expectantly for Kage to acknowledge him. But the wyverian prince remained stoic, his dark eyes barely shifting.

‘Pleasure,’ the wyverian said flatly.

‘He also likes to brood.’

‘I don’t brood,’ they both snapped in unison.

Wren’s grin was triumphant. Kage turned his head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Bryn, subtle but calculating.

‘Kage, willya be a dear and make me brotha company while I go and watch over that little situation in ya room.’

Bryn frowned. ‘Why ya going inhisroom? Wren, ya ought to act ladylike or as papa says ya will neva find a husband.’

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