Page 54 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Her attention landed on the table where stacks of books and sprawling maps lay in a chaotic disarray. One, in particular, had been spread wide open, its inked roads and rivers exposed to anyone who cared to look. Had Mal brought these from her homeland? And if so—why?

‘I enjoy visualising the different lands as I meet the princes and princesses that have arrived to watch me marry.’ The voice, smooth yet edged with sleep, startled Vera so thoroughly that the sheets she had been carrying slipped from her grasp and cascaded onto the floor. She turned swiftly, her heart pounding in her throat.

The wyverian princess sat upright in the bed, her wild black hair tumbling over her shoulders in tangled waves, unruly and unbrushed. Her long, almond-shaped eyes sharpened as they fixed upon Vera, unreadable yet piercing.

Vera had always known Mal was dangerous. But at that moment, she felt it.

Not just a threat, but something worse.

Lethality.

Swallowing down the unease curling in her stomach, Vera steadied herself. ‘Are you nervous about today, your highness?’

Mal cocked her head ever so slightly, studying the maid with an intensity that sent a shiver up Vera’s spine. In the shifting light, the witch could have sworn she glimpsed the flashof fangs, the curl of a thin upper lip revealing something sharper beneath.

‘Why should I be nervous?’

‘It’s a big deal—the Champions’ Battle, your highness,’ Vera said, forcing her hands to remain busy as she occupied herself with straightening the already tidy room. ‘Do you know who shall be fighting in your honour?’

For a brief moment, Mal glanced at her nails, and Vera exhaled slowly, grateful for even the smallest reprieve from those purple eyes.

‘I shall be fighting for my own honour.’

The words stilled Vera’s hands.

She had heard many things in her time as a maid, but this—this was unheard of. No prince or princess had ever taken the arena for themselves. It was tradition to select a champion, a warrior who would bring glory to the crown. It was not a fight to the death, but it could be brutal. Blood had been spilt before. What if the princess was injured? What if she was—

No. Vera could not even allow herself to think of such a thing.

‘Your brother seems like a fine warrior,’ she said cautiously, choosing her words with care. ‘Surely it would be more appropriate for him to fight in your place, your highness. The wedding is only days away—you would not wish to appear with a bruise… or worse.’

Mal snorted, the sound carrying a certain arrogance that sent a ripple of dread through Vera.

‘I am as capable as my brother in a fight,’ she replied simply. ‘Besides, wyverians never allow others to fight for them. We either fight together or do what must be done.’

She moved then, slipping out of bed with the grace of a predator, her limbs fluid, her bare feet soundless against the cold stonefloor. Vera watched as she approached the untouched breakfast tray, the princess wrinkling her nose before turning away in clear distaste.

The maid hesitated before lifting the hairbrush from the vanity.

‘You should eat, your highness.’

Mal’s nose scrunched further. ‘The food… is not to my liking.’

Vera stilled, uncertain. ‘Oh, you should have said something sooner, your highness. What are your preferences?’

For the first time, Mal hesitated. It was slight, nearly imperceptible—but it was there. Something strange passed over her face, and then—shockingly—embarrassment.

‘Well…’ Mal’s voice dipped, quieter, almost reluctant. ‘We mostly eat meat.’

Vera smiled in relief. ‘We have plenty of meat in the kitchens, your highness.’

A pause. Then those purple eyes lifted, fixing upon her once more.

‘Rotten meat.’

Vera’s fingers tensed around the hairbrush.

‘Rotten, your highness?’

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