Page 37 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous thing of all.

‘You shouldn’t h-hide in the shadows,’ Ash muttered, his golden gaze darting towards the dimly lit corner of the room. A figure emerged, slipping through the darkness like a ghost. Hagan. A faint, wry smile curved his lips as he strode forward, settling beside Ash with the ease of an old friend. His eyes, deep and unreadable, drifted past the towering walls of the castle to the city sprawling below, bathed in the dying light of day. ‘You’re h-hiding from my sister.’

‘Am not.’

Ash snorted at the lie. He did not press further. He had tried before, asked too many questions that yielded nothing but silence and a stiff jaw. No, whatever stood between Hagan and Alina was theirs to untangle. He would not meddle in a war that had no victor.

‘The Opening Feast is tonight,’ Ash said instead.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Hagan’s tone was unreadable, his gaze distant, lingering on the rooftops and winding streets below. ‘Are you nervous about having to dance in front of everyone?’ Ash shook his head. Dancing had never unsettled him the way speaking did. It was just another form of movement, another rhythm to master. Words, on the other hand—words had always been his battlefield.

Hagan smirked. ‘I’d wear your armour tonight.’ He leaned forward, slapping Ash’s leg playfully. ‘That princess looks like she’d slit your throat before letting you lead her acrossthe floor.’

A quiet chuckle escaped Ash’s lips. The thought was not entirely unfounded.

Then, without warning, Hagan’s smirk faded. His expression darkened, voice low, edged with something unspoken. ‘They won’t accept her.’ Ash stilled. ‘Drakonians will never accept a wyverian as their queen.’

Of course they wouldn’t. The mere thought of it was laughable. Especially one with witch’s eyes. A princess who belonged to the shadows, stepping into a kingdom of fire. How had his father, King Egan, ever thought this marriage possible? How had the court not questioned her? Not questioned the blood that ran in her veins?

Ash did not respond. There was nothing to say.

Hagan exhaled and stood, his heavy boots scraping against the stone floor. ‘I must go. The Red Guard needs to prepare for tonight.’

Tonight, a small gathering would be held to welcome the wyverians, but tomorrow, the true festivities would begin. One by one, the remaining kingdoms would arrive, and for the first time in years, all seven would stand together in one place.

For too long, they had remained isolated, their bonds fractured after the war that had erased the eighth—the Kingdom of Magic. Now, after years of silence and distance, they would reunite to witness a marriage meant to heal an ancient rift, to bind two kingdoms that had despised one another for generations.

Yet Ash was not convinced.

Could centuries of hatred truly be undone with a single union? The very thought unsettled him.It’s just a marriage,he told himself, but even those words rang hollow.

It wasn’t just a marriage.

It washismarriage.

It was an alliance. A treaty woven into vows, a binding promise meant to stitch together wounds that ran too deep to be forgotten.

‘Be careful, Ash,’ Hagan said.

Marriage had never been something Ash dwelled on. He had always known his bride would be chosen for him, that love would never be a factor in his future. And he had been right.

Now, he was to wed a wyverian princess he did not know. Only after the ceremony—after duty had bound them together—would he have the chance to learn who she truly was. The thought unsettled him, left a strange discomfort in his chest.

But this was how it was meant to be.

And there was no changing it.

‘Be careful ofher,’ Hagan murmured, lingering in the doorway before vanishing into the dim corridor beyond.

The words clung to the air long after he had gone, an unspoken warning weaving itself into the quiet. Ash did not move. He did not need to ask what Hagan had left unsaid—he already knew.

The princess was not just a princess.

She was not even merely a wyverian princess.

No, there was something else, something deeper, something woven into the marrow of her existence. It gleamed in the violet of her irises, in the way the world seemed to shift around her presence, as if it, too, recognised the anomaly that she was.

Those eyes were not just rare. They were a harbinger. A mark of something dangerous. Somethingcursed.

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