Page 26 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘We were supposed to be in the Grand Hall ages ago!’ Alina snapped, her voice clipped with frustration.

Ash blinked, his expression shifting from surprise tosheepish realisation. ‘I… forgot.’

‘Clearly.’ She waved her hands in exasperation, motioning for him to abandon his sword. ‘Leave it. And the shirt, Ash. No time to change now. You’ll have to go as you are—we’ll worry about our heads being chopped off later.’

Hagan took a step forward, as if intending to follow. But the glare Alina shot him could have felled a lesser man.

‘He is Red Guard, Alina,’ Ash reminded her, his voice softer now.

She clenched her jaw, biting down on the sharp words itching to escape. Instead, she turned on her heel, gathering her skirts once more, and marched across the training grounds without another glance. But she could feel him behind her—too close, though still too far. Hagan kept his distance, but his presence curled along her spine like an unwanted whisper.

The Grand Hall was already bursting with life by the time they arrived. Conversations wove together in a hum of excitement, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and sweet wine. Alina prayed their late arrival would go unnoticed, but her mother’s sharp gaze found them almost instantly. Queen Cyra did not pause in her conversation with two visiting noblewomen, but the look she cast her daughter carried the weight of a reprimand yet to come.

Alina swallowed hard, reaching for a golden goblet of wine to steady herself. The cool liquid did little to ease the tightness in her throat.

Then, as if fate sought to draw further attention to them, King Egan spotted his son lurking in the shadows. With a great booming laugh, he lifted his arms, summoning the attention of every noble, warrior, and councilman in the hall.

‘The prince arrives!’

The room erupted in cheers, drakonians clapping Ash on theback, toasting to his name. Their saviour. The man who would bring peace to the warring kingdoms. Alina exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to quiet the fury building in her chest. The idea of her brother being shackled to a wyverian bride made her stomach twist. How could their parents allow such a thing?

‘Your brother is stronger than you think.’

Alina nearly dropped her goblet at the sound of the voice beside her. She had expected Hagan to have followed Ash into the revelry, but she had forgotten—forgotten that he was no longer just a boy who had once lived in this castle, who had spent his childhood playing with wooden swords and teasing her for being too small to join them.

Now, he was Red Guard. A shadow sworn to serve. Bound to duty, to secrecy, to silence. No longer her brother’s best friend. No longer… anything to her.

Her fingers tightened around the goblet. ‘I’ve heard that wyverians eat babies for dinner,’ she muttered, eyes still locked on Ash from across the room. ‘That they are savages who spill blood for sport.’

‘I’m sure they’ve heard the same about us, princess.’

She turned sharply to face him. For a moment, she had forgotten he was not just another voice in the crowd. Her body tensed at the realisation.

‘Do not talk to me,’ she said stiffly, shifting away.

Hagan hesitated. Then, as if recalling his place, he dipped his head in quiet obedience. ‘As you wish, my princess.’

Myprincess.

Her breath hitched. The words were a blade, honed with something unspoken, something distant yet familiar. Before she could turn back, before she could will herself to look at him once more, the moment shattered.

Her mother beckoned her forward.

Alina obeyed, slipping into the fold of nobility, forcing her lips into a smile as drakonians were introduced to her one by one. But despite the Grand Hall’s splendour, despite the music and laughter, she felt the absence behind her like a ghost’s touch.

She did not need to turn to know—Hagan was gone.

Queen Cyra cast her daughter a glance laden with unspoken warning. It was the kind of look only a mother and daughter could understand, a silent reprimand wrapped in layers of disapproval. Alina knew precisely why—the queen had seen her speaking with him. The heat crept up Alina’s neck, pooling in her cheeks, but she swallowed it down with another sip of wine, the golden-reddish liquid burning her throat as she turned to greet the drakonians her parents had paraded before her.

A hand found her arm—gentle, yet trembling. She knew the touch without looking.

Ash.

Instinctively, Alina’s fingers curled over his, grounding him. No one noticed the slight tremor in his grip, nor the faint sheen of sweat dampening his brow. They never did. Drakonians saw only what they wished to see: a golden prince, heir to fire and fury, destined to rule with the strength of dragons. Weakness had no place in their kingdom. The land of dragons and fire had forged its rulers in war, had built its legacy on the bones of witches and the echoes of battle cries. There was no room for fear. No room for him—not as he was.

Alina exchanged a glance with her mother, and within seconds, Queen Cyra understood.

‘I’m afraid the prince is tired from training,’ the queen announced smoothly, her voice carrying effortlessly over the idle chatter of the room. She lifted a delicate hand towards Ash, the picture of maternal devotion. ‘He is always training, my poor boy.’

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