Page 35 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Mal froze, as though struck. Her stomach coiled in disbelief, in fury.

‘You must be joking.’

The man did not flinch. ‘I’m afraid not, your highness.’

‘Hagan.’ The prince’s voice was low and rough, a quiet command that instantly silenced the man in red. Mal watched as he finally rose to his feet, turning to face her. He was a striking figure—a true drakonian prince. His golden horns stood tall and strong, a mark of his lineage, and his blonde hair, neither too short nor overly long, framed his sharp features with effortless grace. But it was his eyes that held her captive. They burnt with all the fire in the world, smoldering as they fixed upon her. For a fleeting moment, Mal found herself mesmerised by them—by the sheer intensity, the beauty contained within something so small.

‘Drakonian womenshould learn how to fight,’ she stated, her words measured, sharp as honed steel.

Laughter again. Someone muttered, ‘What for?’

Mal’s expression darkened, a storm gathering in her violet gaze. ‘If you cannot fathom why a woman should be able to defend herself,’ she spat, pivoting on her heel to face her brother, ‘to protect her own body, her children, her land—then you know nothing of true pride.’

Kai leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his grin wicked with amusement, yet he said nothing.

She had just reached his side when the prince finally spoke.

His voice was quiet, and yet, it rooted her in place.

‘Show us, then.’

A shift in the air broke her focus. Turning slightly, she caught the quiet unease in the yard. It was not fear of her, but fear of harming a princess. Fear of the unknown, of facing a wyverian whose capabilities remained a mystery to them. Every drakonian present was watching her now, their gazes heavy as she stepped forward.

Her gown was long, impractical for combat, but Mal had trained to fight under any condition, dressed in any manner. The prince tilted his head, his curiosity evident, before gesturing to two of his men. They stepped forward, clearly not part of the elite warriors in red she had noticed lurking in the shadows. These were ordinary soldiers—ones meant to test her, but not to pose a true challenge.

Mal sighed, disappointment curling through her. She had hoped to face the prince himself, not two drakonians who barely knew how to hold a sword. Rolling her eyes, she waited for them to make their move.

‘Go easy,’ Kai said, amusement curling at the edges of his voice like smoke.

‘No harm will come to the princess,’ Hagan interjected, stepping forward as though already prepared to intervene should things spiral out of hand.

Kai snorted, shaking his head. ‘Wasn’t talking to you. I was talking toher.’

A murmur rippled through the gathered soldiers, an undercurrent of unease and curiosity.

‘The princess does not have a weapon,’ one of the guards noted, his tone laced with confusion, as if the very idea of combat without steel in hand was beyond comprehension.

Mal merely smiled, slow and sharp, her purple eyes gleaming like polished amethysts.

‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll need one.’

The moment they advanced, she knew the fight would be over in mere seconds. Their stances betrayed their lack of skill. With a sharp twist, she drove her elbow into the first soldier, knocking him unconscious before he could react. The second barely had time to lift his sword before his face met the dirt.

A stunned silence followed. Mal glanced up, taking in the wide-eyed shock on the faces of the drakonians surrounding her.

‘Does someone wish to make it interesting?’ she asked, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet. A challenge, an invitation.

She waited. Prayed, in the depths of her bones, that the Fire Prince would rise, that he would step forward, meet her fire with his own.

He did not.

Coward.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. The moment stretched, brittle and hollow, until at last she turned away, flicking the earth from her bare feet as though casting them from her thoughts entirely.

Behind her, Kai’s laughter rang through the yard, bright and cruel, a dagger plunged into the pride of every man left standing in silence.

I have sometimes resented my purple eyes. I know I shouldn’t because they make me who I am. But life would be so much easier if I looked different. Sometimes I will stare at myself in the mirror and feel an intense desire to scratch them out. The mere thought makes me cry. I shouldn’t loathe a part of my body—a part of me. But I do. I so very much do.

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