Page 36 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Tabitha Wysteria

Ash had never seen anyone move the way Mal did. Her body flowed like water, swift and precise, each movement effortless yet deliberate. It was almost a dance—fluid, lethal, mesmerising. In a single motion, she had sent one of his men sprawling to the ground. How was that even possible?

He had heard countless stories of wyverians—fabled warriors, fierce and relentless in battle. Yet, never had he seen one fight with his own eyes. And certainly never a woman.

He had never met a woman who looked as though she could single-handedly bring down his entire army.

‘Ash, you are not listening to me.’

Shaking the thought away, Ash refocused on the present, his gaze settling on his sister, seated across from him by the fire. Her tawny eyes were narrowed, irritation clear in the sharp setof her features. She was annoyed.

Veryannoyed.

Normally, he could devote his full attention to their lessons, but today, his mind refused to stay in place. It kept circling back to her—the princess.

‘Do you w-wish you c-could fight?’

Alina blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she turned to her brother. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Fight, like me or Hagan.’ She winced. It was the barest flash of pain, but Ash caught it. He had never quite understood why the mere mention of Hagan twisted something inside her. They had all been hurt when Hagan had chosen the Red Guard, had left without a word, but that had been years ago. He had returned. He had fulfilled his duty. Why did it still sting for her?

‘Drakonian women are not allowed.’

‘But if you were?’ He tilted his head. ‘Would you?’ He could see the battle waging within her, the conflict etched across her face. No one had ever asked her such a question before—why would they? It was an impossible dream. But Ash would be king one day, and if his sister wished to fight, then she would.

‘Tonight is the feast in honour of the princess.’ Her tone was light, practiced, untouched by the weight of his question. ‘You will have to dance with her, as is custom for a future husband and wife.’

Ash exhaled slowly. ‘She will not know our d-dances.’

Alina sighed, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. ‘Yes, well, let us pray she is quick on her feet and that you can lead her well enough.’ A teasing glint entered her gaze. ‘Tomorrow, the other Houses will be arriving for the marriage festivities, which will last over a week before you actually wed. The very first event will be the Champions’ Battle.’

He nodded,excitement stirring within him. It was tradition for a royal wedding to be marked by a grand fight, a spectacle for all to witness. Each side would choose a champion, a warrior to showcase their skill before the gathered court.

‘Don’t look so excited, brother. God only knows whom they will choose for it.’

Ash could hardly wait to see the princess in action. Surely, she would fight for her own honour.

And if she did, then so would he.

He would follow her lead, stepping into the arena himself, choosing none other than himself as his champion to face her.

Her gaze slid towards him, thoughtful, knowing. ‘It is true what they say,’ she said. ‘About her eyes.’

Ash stiffened, his jaw tightening. ‘They are just eyes, Alina.’

She shrugged, feigning indifference, though something glimmered behind her eyes—something thoughtful, calculating. ‘I suppose.’

Then, with a delicate flick of her wrist, she reached for the small copper bell beside her and rang it. A moment later, the soft shuffle of a servant’s footsteps echoed outside the door.

‘We will continue our lesson tomorrow,’ she said airily, rising to her feet. ‘It’s time we readied ourselves for dinner.’

A soft knock at the door signaled the arrival of a maid, ready to escort Alina back to her chambers to bathe. As she left, Ash moved to the windowsill, settling onto the ledge and letting one leg dangle over the edge.

A part of him had feared the arrival of the wyverians, had resented the forced union that loomed ahead. Marriage was not something he wanted—at least, not yet. But now, something inside him was undeniably intrigued.

The princess was unlike any woman he had ever seen. Drakonian women bore golden skin, hair of fire or sunlit strands, and warm browneyes. She was nothing like them. But it was not just her striking appearance that set her apart—it was something deeper.

She was the kind of woman who not only turned heads as she passed, but who could just as easily outwit those around her in a battle of words.

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