Page 170 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘No, none at all.’But there was something in her tone that made Kage glance at her more closely. Haven’s fingers curled over the goblet before her, but she did not drink. Instead, she leaned in, her voice dropping lower. ‘It was the oddest thing, Kage. The entire land felt…empty. It looked empty, too. As if all the life had been drained out of it. As if the witches had vanished.’

‘Well, the land is always deserted when Kai patrols. At least that’s what he claims.’

Haven shook her head, her expression grave. ‘It’s different this time, Kage. It felt… purposeful. Not as if they were hiding from patrols—as if they were somewhere else.’

A slow, unsettling thought crept into his mind.

He let his gaze drift across the hall, scanning the faces of the gathered nobles, the flickering candlelight reflecting off of silks and golden goblets, of glittering gowns and high collars. A sea of wealth and decadence. Yet his stomach twisted with unease.

Vera had already proven that witches could slip inside the castle, blending seamlessly among the staff. If she could do it, how many others had followed? How many of the smiling courtiers were not who they claimed to be? The servants pouring wine, the guests whispering over their meals—how many of them were watching, waiting?

Surely he was being paranoid. If there were witches in the hall, the Fae would have sensed it. Princess Flora Hawthorne, with her sharp, knowing gaze—surely she would have seen them.

But as his dark eyes scoured the room, searching for that unmistakable cascade of silver hair, his stomach clenched.

She wasn’t there.

Neither were her sisters.

‘Have you seen Flora Hawthorne?’ he turned sharply toBryn.

‘Kage, what is the matter?’ Haven straightened beside him, sensing his sudden shift in tension.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. ‘Nothing,’ he said, but the word tasted like a lie. His body was already moving, already rising from the table. ‘Stay here. I need to speak with Wren about something. I’ll be right back.’

Kage moved through the castle with the quiet precision of a shadow, his expression a mask of cold indifference, betraying none of the unease curling in his gut. His sharp eyes, however, took in everything—the flickering torchlight against the stone, the heavy silence that pressed upon the halls like an omen. Every soul had gathered in the Grand Hall for the engagement celebration, save for a few notable absences. Queen Cyra, bedridden with one of her infamous headaches. Mal, who had already vanished into the night. And Alina and Zahian, who would be presented shortly before their betrothal was officially sealed.

And then there was Flora Hawthorne.

Or rather, the absence of her.

The Fae princess was nowhere to be found. Neither were her sisters, Willow and Sierra.

A sliver of dread snaked down his spine.

Kage tilted his head up towards the dark figure perched along the stone arches. ‘Spirox, find the Fae.’

The shadow crow ruffled its wings, cawed once in acknowledgment, and took off into the void of the castle.

Kage exhaled sharply, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he continued forward, following the silent path Spirox carved for him through the winding corridors. He could not explain the tension settling deep in his bones, the prickling awareness that something was amiss. The castle felt… hollow. Deserted.

Where was the Red Guard?

Why did the air taste of something rotten?

Spirox let out a sharp caw ahead of him, hovering outside a door. Kage slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing. Flora’s room.

He knocked, waiting.

No answer.

Spirox flapped its wings furiously, the urgency in its movement unsettling. Kage tried the handle—locked. His unease deepened.

Bracing himself, he slammed his shoulder into the door. It groaned but did not give. Again. The wood shuddered but remained stubborn. With a third, brutal push, the door burst open beneath him, and Kage stumbled inside, barely managing to keep himself upright. He huffed in irritation, brushing dust from his sleeves, grateful that no one had been present to witness such an ungraceful entrance.

Then, he looked up—and the breath in his lungs stilled.

The room, drakonian in style, was much like his own—gilded with excessive decor, rich reds and golds draped over light wood. There were no balconies, only high windows barely large enough to let in the sunlight.

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