Page 89 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘Klara, your highness.’

Mal stepped closer, inhaling deeply. Thescent of smoke and cedar clung to the girl’s skin, but beneath it was something sweeter—honey, thick and rich, the same honey the drakonians used in everything from their drinks to their medicines.

Her eyes sharpened. ‘Tell me, Klara,’ she said, tilting her head, watching the girl’s pulse quicken beneath her skin. ‘Why do you smell exactly the same as my other servant, Vera?’

Fear flashed in Klara’s eyes, but Mal did not miss the way it seemedplacedthere, deliberate, as though the girl had rehearsed her response. True fear had a scent, a weight. This? This was an illusion.

‘All servants smell the same, your highness,’ Klara answered carefully. ‘We young, unmarried servants share rooms.’

Mal held her gaze a moment longer, then stepped back, allowing the girl to believe the lie had worked. It hadn't. She had spent enough time among drakonian servants to know that each bore their own scent, subtle but distinct. But Vera and Klara? They smelt identical.

‘Very well,’ Mal said coolly. ‘Take me to my room.’

For now, she would let it be. There were more pressing matters at hand—tonight was her first night as a married woman, and she knew what was expected of her. The High Priestess had explained it in grave detail. So had her mother. If the Fire Princewishedfor it, if hedemandedit—what then? She could not slit his throat with her family still trapped in the Kingdom of Fire. Escape was too risky. And the prophecy… Could she use any weapon? Would it have to be at night, beneath a full moon? She had no answers. And she had onlyonechance to get it right.

They moved through the winding corridors of the castle, towards the drakonian wing. The air grew heavier here, thick with the scent of embers and aged stone. The king and queen’s chambers lay high above, closer to the sky, their retreat carefully placed so they couldtake flight on their dragons should disaster strike below. Ash and Alina’s quarters were on this level, though not near one another.

They passed through a long hallway that opened into an interior courtyard, several floors below. Mal paused, glancing over the stone railing. The courtyard wassimple.A strange thing for drakonians, who were known for their decadence, for their obsession with carving their might into marble and steel. And yet, here, there were only a handful of plants creeping up the walls and a fountain at the centre.

Mal’s gaze narrowed on the stone figures entwined within the fountain’s design. One was a dragon. The other…

‘One is a wyvern, your highness,’ Klara said beside her, noticing the way Mal’s fingers curled against the railing.

Mal’s lips pressed together. ‘Why would they have a fountain of a dragon and a wyvern fighting?’

Klara shook her head. ‘They are not fighting. They are embracing.’

Mal blinked.

‘The fountain was a gift,’ Klara explained, her voice softer now. ‘From the wyverian King to the Fire Kingdom, for the marriage of Prince Hadrian and Princess Aithne.’

A marriage between fire and night. A unity that had once been celebrated.

Mal exhaled slowly. ‘That explains why they have kept the space so bare.’

Klara frowned. ‘I do not understand, your highness.’

Mal turned away from the railing. ‘This is not a part of the castle they wish to see. They do not want to be reminded that once, long ago, we stood as one.’

Klara lowered her gaze, her hands tightening at her sides.

They continued walking until theyreached a set of grand double doors, carved from pale wood and etched with intricate designs. Mal wanted to linger, to study the carvings and decipher what story they told, but Klara moved swiftly, pushing the doors open.

Mal stepped inside—

And the breath left her lungs.

She had expected unfamiliarity, the coldness of a space that was not hers. Instead, she had walked straight into a memory.

Somehow, impossibly—she had been transportedhome.

The room was vast, stretching out like a silent midnight dream, its grandeur softened by the flickering glow of candlelight. A balcony curved elegantly along one side, opening to the endless sea, where the waves shimmered under the watchful gaze of the moon. The walls were hewn from dark stone—an impossibility in the land of fire, where no such stone existed. Mal suspected they had been painted over, a deliberate alteration to bring the night into this place.

Tall arches framed by intricate windows dominated much of the walls, vines creeping up in delicate webs, their curling tendrils nearly obscuring the artistry of the glass. The other side of the chamber was lined with towering bookshelves, crafted from dark wood and filled with her tomes, her archives, the fragments of her knowledge transported carefully into this foreign world.

Candles burnt steadily throughout the space, their glow spilling warmth onto the blackened surfaces. Even the balcony railing bore their quiet flames, steadfast and unmoving, held in place by the unique drakonian wax that ensured no breeze could topple them.

At the centre of it all lay the bed—an expanse of dark silk beneath the towering windows, its headboard carved from ebony wood, impossibly intricate. Mal’s breath caught as shetraced the images embedded within the design.

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