Page 51 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

The prince, however, was unreadable.

His expression was a perfect void, betraying nothing. Did nothing trouble him? Did he feel no weight, no burden, in the knowledge that within the week, they would be bound in marriage? They had exchanged few words since her arrival—did he not wish to know the woman who was to be his wife?

Clearly not.

And it should not have bothered Mal, for she would not remain his wife forever. Eventually, she would end his life.

‘Mal, pay attention,’ Haven murmured, discreetly elbowing her ribs just as the first House approached.

‘House of Wild, Princess Flora Hawthorne and her sisters, Sierra and Meadow Hawthorne,’ Kage announced softly, standing at her other side.

Mal had never seen the Fae up close before. The stories of their beauty had not done them justice—they were not merely striking; they were otherworldly.

Princess Flora moved like wind through summer fields, the gossamer folds of her green gown whispering with every step, woven from leaves that trailed behind her, shedding delicate petals upon the stone floor. She wore no slippers, her feet bare upon the cold marble, untouched by its chill. A crown of wildflowers rested atop her head, placed securely around her magnificent antlers, their slender arches adorned with daisies in a vision of natural splendour.

‘Be prepared,’ Kage whispered, ‘they always kiss four times on the cheeks.’

True to his warning, Flora leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss against Mal’s cheek four times before retreating. The princess’s gaze flitted across the wyverians with unmistakable intrigue.

‘I had heard all kinds of tales about your folk,’ Flora said, hervoice lilting with amusement. ‘So dark and mysterious… and yet, you are not as frightening as I had hoped.’

Mal’s brow lifted slightly. ‘The Fae tell stories about us?’

Flora’s lips curved into an indulgent smile. ‘Oh yes. Tales to frighten naughty Fae children into obedience. They are quick to behave when we tell them that wyverians will steal them from their nests and feast upon them.’

‘We do not—’

Flora dismissed Mal’s protest with a lazy wave of her hand. ‘I am quite sure, Princess, thatyourpeople have their own stories as well.’

And they did.

Mal had grown up on whispered warnings of the cruelty of drakonians—beasts who delighted in the hunt, who tortured for pleasure. Yet, thus far, Ash had shown her no cruelty.

There was still time.

Flora drifted onward, her attention shifting to the Fire Prince as she stepped towards him. Mal watched the interaction with growing amusement, her lips curling slightly at the sight of the ever-silent prince offering nothing but the occasional nod in response. As if sensing the awkward silence, his sister Alina eagerly filled it, answering with enthusiasm where he would not.

Then, just for a moment, Ash’s golden eyes met Mal’s.

A flicker, a heartbeat.

She looked away first.

…

The drakonians delighted in the dance. It was a time-honoured excuse to watch the young make shy advances towards theiradmirers, to see flirtations bloom between twirls and stolen glances. The elder drakonians lingered at the edges of the Grand Hall, whispering, observing, while the music swelled into a rhythm so fast-paced that it sent the younger dancers into fits of laughter as they stumbled to keep up.

Mal watched as her brother Kai all but flung himself onto the dance floor, his joy infectious, his laughter the loudest in the room. She envied him. How easily he threw himself into the moment, without hesitation, without restraint.

Haven was lost in conversation, Kage had long since sought the solace of a quiet corner with a book, leaving Mal alone. She fidgeted with the fabric of her gown, trying to smother the part of her that longed—desperately—to join the others. She loved to dance. It called to her, a siren’s pull, but she remained rooted in place. This was not her home, and here, there would be consequences for indulging in what she wanted. So she stood still, watching a dance that was meant to be hers.

Then, movement. A shift in the air.

The Fire Prince was walking towards her.

Mal stiffened, her hands curling into her skirts as he approached with the quiet confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. Yet, he did not face her. He stopped just a few steps away, angling himself towards the dancers, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched between them, brittle as glass. He said nothing.

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