Page 88 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
Alina had pulled a face at that, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Well, what a bore,’ she had muttered. ‘I cannot wait for father to have their heads cut off and be done with it. If there are any left, that is. I thought we had burnt them all.’
Ash caught the flash of anger in Hagan’s eyes. He always did. And every time, he chose to ignore it. He smoothed it over, dismissed it as nothing. Even when the truth of Hagan’s mother had come to light, when he had learnt she was a witch in disguise and had threatened her outright, he still turned away from the warning signs. Again and again, he let them pass.
Why?
The question haunted him now. If he had acted, if he had confronted Hagan instead of retreating, might everything have been different? Perhaps the attack on the drakonian castle would never have happened. If he had spoken to Hagan, if he had told him that they were still brothers, warlock or not…would any of it have changed? Would Hagan have spared those lives?
Deep down, Ash knew the truth. Hagan had grown to resent him. Eventually, that resentment had curdled into hatred. And why wouldn’t it have? Ash had not been innocent in any of this. He had broken his promise to protect Hagan from the world, no matter the cost.
It had been Ash who drove Hagan’s mother away. Ash who had threatened her, who had hurled vile words born of a young mind steeped in fear and prejudice. In that moment, he haddespised witches, and the woman standing before him, without mercy. Learning she was a witch in disguise, that his closest friend was half-warlock… it had shattered him. Twisted the shape of his world beyond recognition.
And for a time, he had hated Hagan for what he was.
Yet even then, even through the anger and the betrayal, love had persisted. That part of him had always won in the end, no matter how much it hurt.
Ash could still remember that night—the way he had stormed back to his chambers, fury sharp and blinding, already bracing himself to go to Hagan. To cast him out. Perhaps even to kill him. He had gone as far as Hagan’s door, intent on tearing every shared memory from his mind, on severing whatever still bound them.
But the moment the door had opened, the moment Ash had looked upon that familiar face, a face he had known since boyhood, his resolve had crumbled. He had turned away. Said nothing. Done nothing.
A coward, perhaps.
He knew it now. If he had confronted Hagan then, truly confronted him, the world might not look as it did now. If he had found the courage to strike, to end it before it could fester and rot…everything might have been different.
Ash moved towards one of the keep’s many windowless arches and looked down upon the darkened beach below. His jaw tightened at the sight awaiting him there. Thanatos, hands buried in his pockets, standing still as a statue while he watched the storm-tossed sea.
With a weary breath, Ash left the keep and made his way down to the shore. He stopped some distance away, unwilling to draw too close to the demon who haunted his existence, the shadow that had followed him for far too long.
‘You n-need to stop sho-showing up here,’ Ash said, his voice tight, fraying at the edges.
Thanatos did not turn. He remained fixed on the sea, the stormlight catching in his dark eyes, utterly unbothered. ‘I like to check up on my wife.’
The words struck like a blow.
Ash’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to hit the demon, to feel bone give, to see blood spill, to prove that Death could bleed just like the rest of them. Jealousy coiled around him, slick and poisonous, wrapping itself around every limb before tightening cruelly at his throat. He hated this feeling. Hated himself for it. He did not own Mal. He knew that but still, some desperate, selfish part of him wanted her wholly, fiercely, for himself.
He did not want to share her.
Not with Thanatos. Not with the husband who had come before him.
Even though Mal did not remember that life, even though those memories lay buried and lost, Ash knew the truth: Thanatos and Mal had shared an entire existence. A history carved deep into eternity. How could he ever compete with that?
He couldn’t.
‘We ought to tell Melinoe the truth,’ Thanatos said quietly. ‘She’ll never forgive us.’
Ash swallowed hard. A bitter thought gnawed at him—that perhaps Thanatos was more deserving of Mal’s love after all. At least Death feared her anger. At least he respected it. And yet, Ash could not allow the truth to surface, not yet. Not if it meant risking their child. Not if it meant everything falling apart.
‘We can’t,’ he said at last, his voice low and resolute. ‘Do as we agreed. I’ll pro-protect my daughter andyou’ll—’
‘And I’ll protectourwife.’
Ash snapped his gaze towards him, fury blazing in his golden eyes. Thanatos finally smiled, slow and deliberate, clearly savouring the torment he’d inflicted.
The demon laughed softly, as if the world were nothing more than a game, and Ash, nothing more than a piece upon the board.
‘I am not you,’ Ash said, his voice low and stripped bare.
In that moment, he felt like a child again—small beneath the weight of his father’s punishments, the echo of authority pressing down on his chest. His mother had always turned away from the king’s cruelty, choosing distance over defiance, and Ash had learnt early never to reach for her when he needed love or comfort. He had learnt to endure in silence.
