Page 86 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Mal twirled before the mirror, the heavy skirts of the gown swirling around her like storm clouds caught in a restless wind. Gowns had never been her inclination, yet this one carried a weight beyond fabric and lace—it had once belonged to their mother. It should have been Haven’s, a treasured heirloom meant for a wedding day that had never come, yet her sister had chosen to pass it to Mal instead.

The gown was a breathtaking relic of the past, a dusky shade of grey that whispered of twilight, its off-the-shoulder neckline adorned with delicate lace ruffles. Black filigree trailed along the bodice and sleeves, winding down the skirt like creeping vines, the embroidery so intricate it seemed alive. Yet, despite its beauty, the fabric was perilously sheer, revealing more than Mal would have liked.

Throughout the gardens, fountains sculpted in the likeness of dragons stood sentinel, their gaping mouths spouting tongues of flickering fire. Stone benches lay nestled among the hedgerows, where noble guests lounged, murmuring over goblets of sweet wine. At the farthest edge of the garden, Mal caught sight of a bridge arching over a languid river, its waters glimmering in the dying light of day. She longed to slip away, to find solace in the hush of running water—but fate had other plans.

Before she could take a single step, she was swept up in a current of expectation, led towards the queen.

In a secluded corner of the garden, beneath the shade of an opulent canopy, Queen Cyra and her retinue of courtly womenlounged, their laughter lilting through the air like the clinking of crystal. A long table stretched before them, a decadent display of excess, goblets brimming with wine that shimmered like molten rubies in the setting sun.

The queen lifted a bejeweled hand, beckoning Mal forward with a smile as smooth as polished glass. Yet even as her lips curved in feigned warmth, her eyes—sharp as a dagger poised at the throat—narrowed upon the dress. The wyverian embroidery had not gone unnoticed. ‘Did they not bring to your room the dress I sent for you to wear this evening?’ the queen asked, gesturing at Mal to sit down with them.

‘They did, your majesty. But I am afraid drakonian material is too thick. The climate is too overpowering for me.’

‘Oh, yes. We were worried over your condition when you fainted, dear.’ She did not look at all worried. ‘But you did look beautiful in the wedding dress, did she not?’ All the court ladies nodded eagerly.

Mal’s cup was filled with sweet wine. She sipped it, trying not to pull a face at the sickening taste of it. How could they drink it? It was disgusting.

‘I was rather shocked when I received the dress. I do recall telling the tailor that the dress had to be black, not red.’ Mal smiled sweetly, tilting her head slightly towards the queen.

‘Black?’ Queen Cyra looked appalled. ‘Why would you want a black dress for your wedding?’

‘Because it is our colour. It is tradition for wyverians to dress in black.’

The queen’s laughter rang through the garden, airy and dismissive as she waved the thought away. ‘Black is for funerals, dear. I had the tailor change the petition immediately after hearing such nonsense. We wouldn’t want our guests mistaking your wedding for a funeral, wouldwe?’

Mal’s anger flared, a wildfire igniting beneath her skin, impossible to tame. She fought to hold it back, but it surged forth, an unstoppable force. A sharpcracksplit the air—glasses, goblets, and plates shattered in unison, the destruction rippling across the garden like a sudden storm. The silverware on every table fractured, splintering into jagged fragments.

Screams tore through the evening air. Even the queen recoiled, her expression shifting from amusement to wide-eyed horror.

‘Are you all right?’ Kai’s hands landed on her shoulders, steady and firm.

Mal could barely find her breath. ‘I… don’t…’

‘What was that?’ someone gasped from the crowd.

Without another word, Kai pulled her from the chair and into the depths of the garden, weaving through the maze of hedges until the hum of shocked voices faded behind them. Hidden among the shadows, Mal pressed a hand against her stomach, steadying herself.

‘I lost control.’

‘I saw.’ Kai exhaled, running a hand through his black hair.

Mal swallowed, her voice low. ‘Did anyone notice it was me?’

He frowned, thoughtful. ‘I doubt that. How could they? Whatever you have… it doesn’t work the same way witch magic does.’

‘What do you mean?’

Kai hesitated, glancing around as if ensuring they were truly alone. Then, lowering his voice, he explained, ‘Witches have this sort of green smoke appear on their fingertips when they do magic.’

Mal’s thoughts returned to the two witches she had encountered before—Dawn and Allegra—hovering over theruins of the fallen Kingdom of Magic, emerald smoke curling from their hands like mist. What did it mean that she could do unexplainable things but bore no such mark of power?

Her hands clenched at her sides. ‘Why is no one taking the attack we suffered in the wastelands seriously?’

Kai sighed, weary. ‘It is not the time nor the place.’

‘Well, I think it is.’

He hesitated. Then, perhaps to finally silence her persistence, he said, ‘Sometimes, on rare occasions, during patrols in certain areas of the wastelands, there are attacks. We keep it under control. I did not tell you, sister, because there are always a few witches trying to scare us. That is all.’

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