Page 96 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Still, the thought did little to soothe her.

The guards at her mother’s chamber doors stepped aside at the sight of her, pushing them open without question. Alina strode in, keeping her expression composed, her voice steady. Queen Cyra sat by the window, the golden light illuminating her sun-kissed hands as she dragged a paintbrush across canvas—long, deliberate strokes of yellow forming the curve of a fruit bowl.

‘Mother.’

‘One second.’ The brush did not pause. Alina clenched her fists, forcing herself to still as she dropped into a chair, irritation curling in her gut. The seconds stretched into minutes, her mother utterly engrossed in her painting.

At last, Queen Cyra exhaled through her nose, setting the brush down. She turned, her gaze sweeping over Alina with sharp scrutiny. Then, with a slight squint, she gestured towards a nearby servant. ‘Bring me my glasses.’ The thin golden frames were placed delicatelyin her hands, and the queen perched them upon her nose. Her frown deepened. ‘The seam in your dress needs repairing. How did you not notice such a thing?’

Alina huffed. ‘That is not important!’

‘Elegance is always important, dear.’

‘Mother.’ Alina pushed to her feet, pacing, unable to keep still. ‘I awoke this morning to discover that my maids had brought in a new dress for me to wear. One that you had the tailor make for me. Which I was unaware of.’

‘And for some reason you arenotwearing it.’

Alina rubbed her hands together, a nervous habit she had never quite broken.

‘Do not fidget, Alina. A princess must not have such ugly habits.’

Alina stiffened, shoving her hands behind her back. ‘Mother. The dress brought to me was gold andwhite.’

Silence.

Queen Cyra’s expression did not shift. She merely reached for her brush once more, turning her back to Alina as if the words meant nothing—as if the matter was inconsequential. But it wasnot. Coloursmattered.They defined the boundaries of kingdoms, signified loyalties, separated bloodlines. They told stories without words, speaking of history, of alliances, of war.

And white and gold…

Alina stepped forward, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.

‘We do not wear white and gold, mother. Those colours belong to House of Sun.’

‘I am aware, Alina,’ her mother replied, dipping her brush into a pot of orange. Irritation tinged her voice now, though she remained composed. ‘Why do you not ask me the question you wish me to answer? That way we can stop with this sillyconversation that is going on right now.’

Alina inhaled sharply, trying to keep herself from lashing out. A voice in her mind whispered for destruction. Urged her to rip the sheets from the bed, to shatter the paint jars across the floor, toburnthe dresses hanging neatly along the walls. Instead, she moved back to her chair, lowering herself into it with forced calm and said, ‘Is father planning to announce something today?’

‘He is.’

The air thickened.

‘I am to marry the phoenixian prince? Zahian Noor.’

‘Yes, you are.’

The words fell like stones into the silence between them.

And the storm inside Alina finally broke.

She sank into her chair, letting the weight of her mother’s words settle over her like a thick, suffocating shroud. She had always known this day would come. She had understood—since the moment she was old enough to grasp the cruel intricacies of royal blood—that she would never choose her own husband. That choice had never belonged to her. She was nothing more than a piece on the board, a marionette to be maneuvered by hands stronger than her own.Just like Ash.There had never been freedom in their fate, no possibility of love or even preference. They would do as those before them had done—nod their heads, smile in compliance, and surrender their futures to the will of the throne.

In her mind’s eye, she could already see it.

She would be draped in phoenixian white and gold, seated atop Zahian Noor’s great phoenix, flown away into a kingdom of light and ember, far from everything she had ever known. There would be endless feasts, ceaseless celebrations, a life spent smiling at men who saw her only as a political triumph.And then, soon—sooner than she would like—there would be an heir. A child to hold the world’s attention for a moment before it shifted, waiting for the next announcement, the next child, the next duty fulfilled. Years would pass and she would fade into quiet irrelevance, no longer a princess, merely a woman who had done her part. Zahian would continue plotting, arranging matches for their offspring, deciding who was worthy, who could be used, and she—she would simplyexist,a princess long forgotten.

Alina clenched her jaw.

‘Why Zahian Noor?’ she asked, voice steady despite the storm rising within her. ‘He is not to inherit the throne.’

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