Page 65 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

The wyverian princess knew that the maid was now questioning the look and the smile, wondering what she had said to draw such a look from Mal. For now she would not tell her.

She had yet another dance and feast to attend. Luckily, only three days left until the wedding. Mal would not have to endure any more feasts or dances—she hoped.

Before leaving her room, Mal turned towards her maid and said, ‘I do hope I have the chance to meet your sisters one day.’

Vera smiled sweetly, but it did not reach her eyes. No. Those eyes said somethingverydifferent. A threat. ‘Oh, that would be wonderful, your highness. They would be honoured.’

‘If you speak to them soon, greet them for me.’

‘I haven’t spoken to them in some time I’m afraid.’

‘That’s a shame.’

Mal left her maid to tidy up. She had known something was wrong with her, and she had not been able to place her finger on it until Vera herself slipped up by mistake. How curious that Vera had two sisters by the names of Dawn and Allegra.

Exactly the same names as the two witches Mal had come across when she’d fallen off Nyx crossing the wastelands.

I had to travel once to the Kingdom of Light for some affairs to do with the Council. I think the Council is growing suspicious when it comes to this land known for having colourful skies full of phoenixes. The phoenixians are very close to the drakonians, almost like a younger sibling that wants the same piece of pie as their older brother. I do not truly trust them either. I do not trust them because if the drakonians start something, the phoenixians will back them up. They will probably stab the drakonians in the back afterwards, because that’s the kind of weird friendship they have. They spend the entire time teasing each other, betraying each other and yet, they always follow each other into whatever chaos the other has encountered.

I cannot help but slightly envy their union.

Tabitha Wysteria

Vera moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridor, her steps nearly silent as she ascended the spiraling staircase of the east wing. The air was thick with the lingering scent of burning embers and polished wood, the weight of the evening pressing upon the stone walls of the castle.

The narrow servant’s door at the top of the stairs had been left ajar—a common enough occurrence. The staff came and went through this passage, ensuring that the queen’s quarters remained undisturbed by unnecessary noise. Rather than risk drawing attention, Vera slipped through the narrow opening,pressing herself into the gap to avoid the telltale creak of the hinges.

Inside, Queen Cyra stood at the centre of the chamber, her reflection fractured into endless pieces in the towering glass mirrors before her. A servant was delicately placing red diamonds into her golden hair, the gleaming stones meant to match the multitude of rings coiling around her fingers. The candlelight caught on every gemstone, making her shimmer like the embers of a dying fire.

Vera’s eyes flickered towards the bedside table. The wet towels lay abandoned, stiffened at the edges, the lingering evidence of headaches the queen attempted—and failed—to keep at bay. Scattered across the chamber, half-drunk cups of herbal tea sat forgotten, the once-warm liquid now cold and useless. The physicians continued their efforts, brewing their elixirs and drafting their remedies, but the queen’s suffering remained untouched by their craft.

Queen Cyra turned, catching sight of Vera lingering in the corner. With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed the servants, her expression unreadable as she crossed the room towards the grand oak table. A single glass of deep red wine sat waiting. Unlike the untouched teas, the queen never failed to drink her wine.

‘We need to talk.’

Vera stiffened.

‘The wedding is three days away.’ The queen took her time, lifting the glass and swirling the liquid inside before taking a slow sip. ‘As soon as he is married, Ash must learn that he is the Chosen One.’

A cold weight settled in Vera’s stomach.

‘Your majesty, we should probably wait.’

‘Why?’ Queen Cyra snapped, sharp as the crackling of aburning log.

‘The Chosen One needs a special dagger to kill the Cursed One. Without it, the curse will not be broken, and the prophecy will remain unfulfilled.’ Vera hesitated, pressing her lips together before continuing. ‘Until I find the dagger, there is nothing that can be done.’

The queen exhaled slowly, her gaze shifting towards the vast window where the night stretched endlessly beyond the castle walls.

‘The longer he is married to her, the more I worry he might start developing feelings… and will be unable to fulfill his duty.’

A reasonable concern. One that had haunted Vera’s thoughts for many sleepless nights. But her worry was not the same as the queen’s. For Vera knew the truth of the curse. Queen Cyra, for all her wisdom,did not.

The queen turned abruptly, sweeping across the room towards the towering shelves that lined the far wall. Tomes upon tomes lay stacked upon the polished wood, their spines worn with use.

Few knew of the queen’s quiet obsession with history—how she pored over the chronicles of every kingdom, reading long into the night, drinking in knowledge the way others drank fine wine.

She had once, in the haze of too many glasses, half-joked that she should have been a historian. Vera had agreed wholeheartedly. Queen Cyra knew more than most scholars, her collection rivaling even the great Library of Flames. And yet, as a drakonian woman, she was forbidden from setting foot within its sacred halls. Everything she had learnt, she had learnt through the hands of servants who smuggled books to her chambers, a silent defiance that the queen never once voicedaloud.

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