Page 62 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Mal moved like she was woven from shadow, sculpted from moonlight and smoke. She struck again, a force of nature, a storm given form. And Ash—Ash fought to keep up.

And then—

She knocked him down.

Ash hit the sand, the impact rattling through his bones, and Mal stood over him, purple eyes flashing, fangs gleaming in the dying sun. A wild thing.

A beautiful thing.

Then, with a sharp kick to her ankle, Mal went flying.

A snarl of rage before a flash of steel—daggers thrown, swift and precise. Ash rolled, missing them by a breath. He was back on his feet in an instant, sword raised. Mal was already moving, snatching the daggers from the sand, her breath steady, her hands sure. He saw her right hand reach for her sword.

A distraction.

Her left hand moved first. The daggers hit his armour hard. The force of it sent him staggering back, boots dragging deep into the sand.

You missed, Ash thought.

Then Mal smiled.

A wicked, knowing thing.

And Ash understood.

She had missedon purpose.

The wyvern roared its approval. Ash exhaled slowly. Very well. He lifted his sword, fire flaring bright, dancing along the blade in hungry waves. Mal’s eyes narrowed. Now she knew that he had been holding back too, but no longer.

The arena fell silent as the battle raged on.

A dance of fire and shadow, of blood and breath and fate.

And neither was willing to fall first.

Ash watched as the sky deepened, its once-fiery hues melting into darkness like wet paint bleeding down the vast stretch of an empty canvas. The last vestiges of crimson faded, swallowed whole by the approaching night. Though lanterns flickered in the seating areas, their golden glow illuminating eager, wide-eyed spectators, the fighting ground itself remained steeped in shadow.

Only his sword remained alight.

The fire along its blade burnt steadily, casting streaks of gold and scarlet across the arena floor, illuminating the dust swirling in the night air.

Mal reached the far wall, her back striking the red brick with a flourish that was just a little too dramatic, a performance meant not just for him but for the eyes that watched. And then—that smile.

Wicked. Knowing. Dangerous.

It was in that exact moment that the Fire Prince understood something crucial—something he should have seen from the beginning. He had believed himself toying with her, believed he had been concealing the full extent of his skill, withholding his true strength as a show of restraint. But it had been her all along.Shehad been playinghim. Mal Blackburn had never fought him with her full power. She had been holding back. One moment, she was pinned against the wall, his sword glinting between them, her purple eyes gleaming with mischief—

And then she was gone.

A breath. A flicker of movement. A whisper of silk.

Ash felt the cold kiss of steel against his throat. His body tensed as the sharp edge pressed just beneath his jaw, not enough to wound, but enough to warn. Then, her breath—warm and teasing—brushed against the side of his neck, sending a shudder down his spine.

‘Not bad for a fire-breather,’ she whispered, voice laced with amusement.

‘Cheater,’ he muttered.

Mal did not lower her weapon. The tip of her sword remained against his skin, a single, unspoken command that kept him still. She prowled around him, circling him like a predator savouring the moment before the kill.

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