Page 52 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

The longer he waited, the more Mal’s impatience burnt.

‘Do you want something, prince?’ she asked, forcing her irritation into something smooth, something detached.

‘Dance?’

Mal blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

Finally, she turned to look at him—truly look at him. He was tall,impossibly so, his form carved from something powerful, something regal. For a drakonian, he was undeniably handsome. She had seen the way people glanced at him as he passed, how they stole glimpses of his golden hair, the way the candlelight wove itself through the strands as though it, too, wished to touch him. A thought crept into her mind, unbidden and unwelcomed—was his hair as soft as it looked? Mortified by the direction of her own musings, she looked away sharply, heat crawling up her neck.

‘Would you…’ He swallowed, as if the next words pained him. ‘Dance with… me?’

She frowned, her forehead creasing. Was this some kind of game? The last time they had danced, he had been insufferable. Why would she accept now, only to be insulted once more? And yet, a small part of her—treacherous and yearning—wanted to. Wanted to take his hand, to feel his strength beneath her fingertips, to move with him.

‘Are you sure you want to dance with such ademandingprincess?’ she asked, her voice dipping into something sharp, something dangerous.

His golden eyes darkened.

‘Very well, princess.’

He turned without another word, vanishing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance. A strange, unwanted tightness twisted in Mal’s chest. It was not anger. It was not victory. It was something far more insidious. Why did she feel as though she had lost something?

Her gaze followed him against her will, her breath hitching when she saw Flora Hawthorne step into view, her smile a thing of sunlight and stolen hearts. Ash extended his hand, and she accepted it without hesitation, slipping into his arms with a grace that sent a sharp, irrational ache through Mal’s stomach.

She watched them move together, the way he guided Flora across the dance floor with effortless precision. Mal had never given much thought to how he would look while dancing, but now she could not look away.

Her fingers tingled. Her chest tightened. Her stomach twisted.

What was this?

Flora leaned in, her lips brushing dangerously close to his ear, whispering something that made Ash chuckle—actually chuckle. The sound sent something sharp and jagged through Mal’s veins.

Before she could stop herself, she was moving.

Her feet carried her forward, one in front of the other, without thought, without hesitation. Only when she was standing before them, awkward and uninvited, did she realise what she had done.

Flora’s smile was knowing, dangerous. It whispered of things Mal did not yet understand.

Ash raised a single brow, amusement curling at the corner of his lips. He was mocking her. He knew exactly what she had done.

The three of them stood in silence, the music swelling around them, distant and blurred. Mal focused on his hands—one resting at Flora’s waist, the other enclosed within the Fae princess’s delicate fingers.

She imagined them kissing.

The thought slammed into her like a physical thing, startling and unwanted. Why should she care who the prince kissed? It was irrelevant. It meant nothing.

She stepped forward.

‘I wish to dance now,’ she announced.

Ash’s eyes narrowed. ‘Can’t you wait?’

‘No. It’s important.’She glanced between him and Flora, then tilted her chin up, her words deliberate, cutting. ‘We are to be married in a few days. Wouldn’t want the court thinking you prefer another, would we?’

Flora laughed, stepping away as though this were all some grand amusement. ‘The princess is right.’ She curtsied, slipping back into the crowd, leaving Mal standing there with a prince who looked moments away from setting something on fire.

Mal bit her lip, realising for the first time how close he was, how the heat of his breath fanned against her skin. She could almost feel the restrained fury humming beneath his composure.

‘Why are you… smiling?’ he asked, his voice low, suspicious.

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