Page 8 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘They say the witches are preparing for war,’ Mal muttered. ‘That they are coming for us.’

Haven did not flinch. ‘The witches have been plotting for decades, Mal. And yet, they never leave that wasteland of theirs. Their kingdom was destroyed long ago, burnt to nothing but ash. They will never forgive us for such a massacre. But they are weak, shriveled carcasses left behind to be forgotten by the world.’

‘It’s no wonder they hate us so much.’

Haven’s dark eyes sharpened, flint striking steel. ‘Careful, Mal. The witches were not innocent in their undoing.’

‘But—’

‘It is time to go, sister.’ Haven’s hands found Mal’s shoulders, steady, firm. ‘Stop worrying. Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise.’

Mal’s throat tightened.

‘You cannot promise such a thing. If the witches come… my eyes…’

‘Youreyes are just eyes, Mal.’

But she knew better. She knew what her eyes meant. She knew what she was capable of because of them.

‘Haven, only witches have purple eyes.’

Haven sighed.

They had had this conversation too many times to count. Since childhood, Mal had been feared, a specter within the castle walls, hidden away as a secret everyone knew existed. She had wandered the fortress like a ghost, hidden away where no one could gawk, where no one could fear what those purple orbs might mean.

She had spent years in the Temple, whispering prayers to gods that refused to answer her, begging them to tell her the truth.

Haven could not give her the answer she sought.

But her reply never changed.

‘No matter what the gods’ reasons are, Mal Blackburn,’ Haven said, her voice soft, her smile unwavering. ‘You arenota witch, my dearest sister. You are awyverian.’

I met someone today. The Council sent me to the Kingdom of Darkness for a meeting with the wyverians. The Council has sent many of us to different kingdoms to try and strengthen our alliances. I do not know if it will work. The gods are angry. But upon visiting the wyverian castle, I met a wyverian out on the grounds as he was training with a sword. He is the most handsome creature I have laid eyes upon. I know the Council will not approve, we are meant to marry one of our own to keep the magic flowing through our bloodlines. But he was gorgeous. Long black hair like a blanket made of darkness that I wished to wrap around my body. And his eyes were so dark it felt like looking into two tunnels. He did not speak to me, but I felt the way his attention lingered over me. Tomorrow I shall be returning to the castle. I hope he is there once again. Perhaps I shall strike up the courage to ask for his name.

Tabitha Wysteria

The castle was not really a castle.

It was a place made of nightmares. Born from the very bones of the mountain, it loomed over the abyss, its jagged balconies clawing at the sky, teetering on the edges of darkness, as if eager to plunge into the void below. This was no gilded fortress of kings and queens—it was a sanctuary of shadows, a roost for creatures carved from the night.

Its halls stretched vast and cavernous, the walls and floorspolished black rock, smooth as obsidian, gleaming like midnight under firelight. In the great hall, a monolithic stone table reigned, its length fit for an army, its surface worn by centuries of counsel, war, and bloodshed. A towering hearth stood at its back, where a blue eternal flame burnt ceaselessly, casting cold light over the chamber. It was the only warmth the castle allowed.

Mal followed her sister through the hollow grandeur, her gaze drifting towards the sitting area nestled to the right—a fragile pocket of comfort in a kingdom of ghosts. No matter what the world whispered of them—monsters, warlords, harbingers of death—Mal had never known cruelty within these walls. She had grown up with love.

She could still remember the way Kai and Kage would sprawl on the floor, lost in their board games, while their mother’s lullabies wove through the air like silk. Haven, seated at their mother’s feet, would sit with her hands folded in her lap as the queen braided her hair, the weight of a crown already upon her shoulders. And their father—a great man, a quiet storm—would sit with a book in hand, his deep voice conjuring tales of warriors who had once soared into battle upon the backs of wyverns.

And yet, no matter how much they loved her, Mal had always felt as though she were on the outside, looking in.

As a child, she had spent countless nights perched upon the ledges of the open windows, gazing at the endless expanse beyond. Dreaming. Wondering. What lay beyond the kingdom that had caged her? No other kingdom would ever welcome a wyverian princess, and yet, staying meant suffocating beneath a truth she could not name.

‘There you are, my darlings.’ The queen’s voice was silk and smoke, wrapping around them like the scent of old incense. Shelay draped across a velvet settee, poised in effortless grace. Her horns—tall, elegant, adorned with black stones that shimmered in the dim light—marked her as one of the most beautiful creatures to ever exist.

Mal hesitated, watching as Haven crossed the room to their mother’s side, embracing her as though they had been parted for a lifetime.

Mal did not approach.

Her mother was a woman of wisdom, of kindness, a queen beloved by her people. A creature of light within a kingdom of shadows. Mal could not understand how someone so luminous had given birth to her.

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