Page 6 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Lightning split the heavens, white-hot veins cracking the darkness as the wyverns roared across the storm-lashed sky.

They were more than mere beasts—they were the restless titans of the night, forged by the God of the Dead himself. Their wings carved through the wind with raw power, their teeth like ivory daggers capable of rending flesh from bone, and their tails dripped with venom potent enough to bring the mightiest of warriors to ruin. They were untamed, unyielding, eternal. Yet, the kings and queens of the Kingdom of Darkness had always found ways to coax their loyalty, to bind them through a loveso fierce it became a weapon in itself.

For lifetimes, war had been nothing but a specter on the horizon, and the wyverns had grown restless in their idleness. But if the Seer’s whispers wove truth into fate, then the skies would soon darken with battle once more. Soon, they would ride, their wings eclipsing the heavens, their claws thirsting for war.

Mal urged Nyx to stretch her wings wider, catching the tempest's wrath beneath them. The bond between rider and beast was no ordinary thing—Nyx had been hers since she was ten, a creature of smoke and shadow that answered to no command but her own. Among the wyverns, she was not the largest nor the most monstrous, but she was the fastest, and above all, she was hers.

Lightning flashed again, a violent crackle across the blackened sky.

The others were hunting.

Mal knew what that meant—her sister was near.

Rather than returning to the castle’s ever-watchful gaze, she veered Nyx sharply to the right, towards the highest precipice of the mountain, a throne of stone from which she could watch the great beasts soar. No sooner had Nyx’s talons scraped against the craggy surface than a low, guttural growl rumbled from the shadows.

The future queen of the Kingdom of Darkness was beautiful.

Deadlybeautiful.

Haven moved like liquid dusk, her long legs carrying her with an elegance that was at once effortless and lethal. Her wyvern, a beast as fearsome as she, settled behind her with the silent reverence of a lesser god.

‘I cannot keep pretending you are in your room when they ask for you, Mal,’ Haven said, dismounting with the grace of a predatordescending upon its prey. Her black eyes flickered over the landscape, pausing just beyond the cliffs—towards the Forest of Silent Cries. She did not speak of it, but Mal saw the way her gaze deepened, coals burning hotter at some unspoken thought.

‘I am allowed to leave the castle grounds,’ Mal mumbled, though the words were hollow.

Haven sighed, a sound that should not have been lovely, and yet, from her lips, it was.

‘Something is shifting in the air.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mal feigned ignorance, though she already knew.

Haven’s gaze sharpened like a blade drawn in the dark.

‘Youtellme. The walls whisper to those willing to listen.’

‘I have heard no such thing.’

Haven tilted her head, her expression unreadable. ‘And yet, when you lie, dear sister, your horns seem to grow taller.’ She reached for Mal’s horns, her fingers curling playfully—but Mal was quicker. She leapt back, laughing as her sister’s claws grasped nothing but air.

They were alike in so many ways, and yet, when Mal looked upon Haven, she saw all the things that reminded the world of how she did notbelong.

Haven’s horns were thicker, longer—carved for the weight of a crown. She would be queen one day, and the horns of rulers always grew grander than the rest. Mal had accepted this long ago. And yet, there was something else, something deeper, that gnawed at the edges of her soul.

A quiet, lingering knowledge.

That no matter the blood they shared, she was not truly one of them.

The world below was painted in carnage.

The wyverns feasted, their razor-sharp fangs sinking into the soft flesh of a herd of sheep, rending and tearing, bones cracking like brittle twigs beneath their monstrous jaws. The air thrummed with the dying cries of the helpless creatures, a melody of despair that echoed into the abyss of the Forest of Silent Cries.

Mal turned away, a cold unease coiling through her ribs like a serpent. The scent of iron, thick and pungent, filled her lungs, and she swallowed against the nausea creeping up her throat.

‘It’s the cycle of life,’ Haven said beside her, voice as steady as the mountain beneath their feet. ‘They are doing nothing wrong.’

‘I know.’ Mal shrugged, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. ‘I still don’t like it.’

Haven regarded her with something dangerously close to fondness before pulling her into a tight embrace. ‘I’d worry if you did enjoy such a thing. You’ve always been the sweetest of us all.’

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