Page 188 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Alina was a fighter. A survivor. She would have found a way out—she had to.

Something heavy thudded against the floor at his feet.

Ash’s body locked up. A terrible, primal feeling scrapedagainst his ribs, clawing up his throat.

He forced himself to look down.

And the world—his world—collapsed.

Two severed golden horns lay before him, drenched in dark, glistening blood.

Alina’s blood.

A scream tore from Ash’s lips, shattering the world as he knew it.

The only sounds that remained in the Grand Hall were the broken sobs of the Fire Prince, raw and ragged, tearing through the silence like a funeral dirge. The dead—silent in their cold repose—listened, while the living bore witness to his agony, frozen in place by the horror of it all.

Ash’s breath hitched as his tear-soaked gaze lifted for the first time—and he saw.

King Egan’s body hung above the dais where the throne once reigned supreme, suspended by an invisible force. His head—severed from its rightful place—had been discarded like a rotting fruit atop the banquet table. A king reduced to carrion for crows. Ash did not dare to ask where his mother was. He already knew. She was gone. They were all gone.

A shadow shifted before him.

Hagan.

The warlock crouched, leisurely, almost thoughtful, and scooped up the blood-slicked trophies from the floor—Alina’s golden horns. He rolled them between his hands, the way a gambler might test the weight of dice before a throw.

‘You are the last drakonian royal, Ash Acheron.’ Hagan’s voice was smooth, taunting. ‘Tell me… how does it feel?’

Ash said nothing.

Hagan licked his lips, his amusement only growing. ‘And how wouldyoulike to go?’

‘We are not to kill him.’

The words rang through the hall like a blade unsheathed. Ash turned his glassy eyes towards the speaker. The same witch who had once stood beside them on the battlefield, who had fought against her own kind. Had it all been a lie?

Standing beside her, watching with cold disinterest, was Adara.

Ash’s breath trembled as the grief shattered inside him once more.

‘Mal Blackburn must be the one to kill him,’ the witch continued. ‘She must strike the final blow, or the curse will come to pass.’

Hagan groaned, bored and irritated. ‘Fuck’s sake, Vera, you and your silly prophecies.’

‘Are you willing to risk it? Just to satisfy your own ego?’

A muscle in Hagan’s jaw twitched. ‘Fine,’ he grunted, standing up with a huff. He rolled his shoulders before casting a lazy glance around the ruined hall. ‘Where is the bitch?’

‘Retrieving the dagger,’ Vera said.‘Patience.’

Hagan snorted. ‘Oh, she just needs to kill him, right? He doesn’t need to be entirely whole for that purpose.’

His boots scraped against the bloodied floor as he prowled closer. Ash didn’t flinch, even as Hagan crouched beside him, even as he gripped his face in a vice-like hold, fingers digging so deep into his jaw that Ash swore he could feel his bones splintering.

‘Shall I cut your tongue out?’ Hagan mused, his voice a silk-coated blade. ‘You’ve spent your whole life whining about your stutter, haven’t you, Ash? I’d be doing you a favour.’

The warlock wrenched Ash’s mouth open, forcing his tongue forward.

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