Page 177 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

A slow, deliberate blink was the only indication that Kage was taken aback.

Destroying the other kingdoms.

Not just vengeance. Not just war. Total annihilation.

He kept his face blank, his tone indifferent. ‘You aren’t foolish enough to think you can bring down sevenkingdoms.’

The witch’s smirk widened, baring teeth. ‘No.’ Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, laced with quiet malice. ‘But sevenHouses? Now that is an attainable dream.’

Her fingers curled.

A blast of magic struck him square in the stomach, a searing force of raw power that sent him hurtling backwards, crashing into the shattered remains of the table. Pain bloomed through his ribs, white-hot and punishing, but he barely had time to register it as he caught a glimpse of the witch’s retreating form before she vanished beyond the door, disappearing into the castle.

The prince of darkness exhaled, slow and controlled, rolling his shoulders as he pulled himself from the wreckage.

The witches were not merely seeking retribution.

They were coming to burn the world down.

…

Vera could not help but chuckle as she stood before the open doorway. The screams that echoed down the grandcorridors only seemed to grow in intensity, a haunting symphony of chaos. Time was slipping through her fingers like fine grains of sand, and she could not afford to waste another moment. The castle loomed eerily empty, its silence an unsettling contrast to the distant howls that rose from below—likely from the Grand Hall, where the evening’s revelry had been reduced to slaughter.

The Red Guard standing before the double doors barely spared her a glance before stepping aside, granting her entry without hesitation. Infiltration had been almost too easy. Over the years, witches had seamlessly woven themselves into the fabric of drakonian society, glamoured and unnoticed, like wolves masquerading as sheep. Many had risen through the ranks of the Red Guard; those who had not been witches had been...replaced.

The royal family had no protection. No one to shield them. No sentries, no warriors standing between them and their fate.

Not that it mattered. By the time the night had reached its bitter end, House of Flames would be nothing but cinders. Mal Blackburn would return with the dagger. She would pierce it through Ash Acheron’s heart, ending his life, and with it, the curse. The rest of his family would already be long dead.

Vera stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over the dimly lit chamber. How utterly pathetic. Queen Cyra sat against the towering headboard, her back straight, her face expressionless. She neither wept nor begged. Instead, her voice was calm as she murmured, ‘Make it quick.’

Vera sighed, dragging a chair from the lavish writing desk and positioning it at the foot of the queen’s bed. She folded her arms over her lap, reclining as if settling into an evening of pleasant conversation. ‘Now why would I do that?’

The queen’s gaze remained sharp, unwavering. ‘Where are my children?’

Vera let her gaze wander, taking in the chamber’s grandeur. Tall, imposing bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that, to an outsider, served as mere decoration—but Vera knew better. She had spent countless nights under this very roof, disguised as one of the queen’s many servants, listening to her read aloud, her voice carrying into the still hours of the night. How tedious it had been.

‘You do love your books.’ She cast her attention towards a gilded spine, annoyed at how many hours she had wasted feigning interest in their contents.

The queen’s voice was steady. ‘Where are my children?’

‘You do not seem surprised to see me.’ Vera tilted her head, feigning disappointment. ‘Ah, but I suppose that’s because I’m not wearing glamour, am I?’

With a slow, lazy wave of her hand, the illusion settled over her face, revealing the drakonian features that had once belonged to an unassuming palace maid. The queen’s eyes widened—not in shock, but in recognition.

‘So you were a witch all along,’ Queen Cyra murmured.

Vera smirked. ‘You never suspected?’

‘I am a Seer, not a mind reader, child.’ The queen’s cool defiance amused her. Years spent biting her tongue, bowing, pretending—all leading to this moment. She would not rush it. Not when she had waited so long. ‘Didyoususpect I was a Seer?’ The queen’s question slithered through the room like smoke curling in the dark.

Vera leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. ‘I had my suspicions with all those headaches. But I could never be sure.’ Her voice lowered, rich with mockery. ‘You know you got it wrong, don’t you? Ash is not the chosen one.Heis the one who must die.’

‘No!’

Vera drankin the horror that washed across the queen’s features, savoured it. For years, Queen Cyra had clung to the belief that her son was destined to break the curse, that he was the saviour, the salvation. And yet, in the end, he was nothing but a sacrifice waiting to be made.

Her voice was soft, almost pitying. ‘You brought Mal Blackburn here to die… and yet, without realising it, you delivered your son’s killer right into your home.’

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