Page 41 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Kai broke her thoughts with a groan of disgust. ‘The food is revolting,’ he said, spitting out amouthful of something that resembled a tart, though Mal suspected it had never seen anything sour in its making.

She grinned at the disgust curling his lips, but her amusement did not last. The weight of the drakonian stares pressed against her like a noose. Not a single courtier dared approach them, yet every pair of eyes remained glued to them, watchful, waiting, as though the wyverians might lunge at any moment, tear into their throats, and feast upon their flesh.

The fear in their eyes delighted Mal. She smiled wickedly, baring just enough fang to watch them recoil.

‘I need air.’

She did not wait for permission. Vanishing from the Grand Hall, she slipped down a dim corridor, her boots silent against the polished stone, searching for an escape from the suffocating feast. When she finally stepped into a small interior garden, the air lightened, scented with roses and the dryness of earth.

Vines curled like the fingers of ancient spirits up the marble walls, crimson roses blooming in defiant splendour, spilling their petals onto the cobbled ground like offerings to the gods. It was nothing like the wilderness of her homeland, where the roots of Nightrose twisted through graves, their dark petals kissed by shadow. And yet, she could not deny that this place held its own strange beauty.

‘I love roses, do you not?’

Mal spun, hand instinctively reaching for the blade hidden beneath her skirt, only to still at the sight of Queen Cyra.

The queen stood framed by the archway, bathed in moonlight, a vision of elegance draped in silk. Behind her, two guards lingered, their presence a quiet but unmistakable threat.

The queen’s fingers traced over the petals of a rose as she inhaled its fragrance, her eyes slipping shut as though savouring something forbidden. ‘We grow only red roses here,’ she said, voice languid, ‘though we dye some gold. A frivolous effort, wouldn’t you agree? Pointless, perhaps, and yet… there is beauty in trivial things.’

Mal’s gaze trailed over the garden, finding no golden roses in sight.

‘Ah,’ the queen said, noticing her searching glance, ‘we do not keep them here. They are special—reserved for my chambers. Their scent soothes my headaches.’

Something in the way she said it made Mal uneasy.

‘I did not know some roses were more special than others, your majesty,’ Mal replied evenly. ‘A rose is a rose, is it not?’

The queen’s lips curved into a humourless smile. ‘To the unseeing, yes. But each rose has a purpose. Some exist to remain in the garden, admired yet untouched, their fate rooted in place. Others, the finest among them, are plucked—cut from their vines to adorn our homes, our tables, our gowns. We are not so different from them, princess.’

Mal’s fingers curled against her skirts. ‘How so?’

‘Some of us are chosen for greater purposes.’

The words clung to Mal like cobwebs, whispering of a meaning she did not yet grasp.

The queen tilted her head, eyes gleaming with sharp curiosity. ‘Your eyes,’ she mused, ‘are… uncommon.’

The words coiled like a noose around Mal’s throat. Uncommon. Different.Cursed.

She had dreaded hearing them ever since she arrived.

‘So I have been told, your majesty.’

‘Has no one ever explained why?’ The queen’s fingers drifted over another rose, the delicate petals trembling beneath her touch.

Mal’s spine straightened. ‘No, your majesty. No one knows. I was simply born with them.’

A pause. A long, heavy silencefilled with the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the feast.

‘It is also uncommon,’ the queen continued, ‘for the kings and queens of your land to have four children.’

Mal stilled.

‘Not uncommon,’ she corrected softly. ‘Unheard of.’

At last, the queen turned, her eyes burning with something unreadable, something that sent a whisper of warning through Mal’s bones.

‘And does anyone have an explanation for that?’

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