Page 97 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
Dawn tried to swallow the knot lodged in her throat. She did not want to give it words. Insecurities were dangerousonce spoken aloud. They took shape, became real. And yet, she had to say it. Because what if itwastrue? Why wouldn’t it be?
‘You still care for her,’ she whispered.
She waited for laughter, for him to scoff and dismiss the thought as absurd. But he didn’t. He only frowned, his attention fixed on the horizon, turning her words over in his mind as if they carried weight. Dawn bit her lip and followed his stare, letting her eyes drift across the desert and its endless secrets. She wished it would open up and swallow her whole.
She hated how small her voice had sounded. How fragile.
She felt like a child again, waiting for a mother who never came back, who had loved vengeance more than her own daughter.
Like a foolish girl who had once believed the Fire Prince might love her enough to forgive her lies.
Like an afterthought to siblings who had never chosen her first.
She felt ridiculous for ever believing someone might.
That someone might love her.
Chooseher.
Of course they wouldn’t.
Dawn was something vile, something wrong. Never meant to be cherished. She existed to be useful, to serve, to follow and to give always more than she ever received. She would always place others first, always bend, always sacrifice. And no one,no one,would ever do the same for her.
Perhaps she needed to learn to shut the world out. To turn inward. To love herself and expect nothing from anyone else. To stop searching for warmth in places that had never offered it.
But gods, how hard that was.
She wanted to be loved. To be chosen. To be held and kept. She wanted, just once, to matter.
To be someone’s moon and stars.
Before Kai could say the words she already knew were coming, she turned and walked away. Her heart fractured again, splitting along old, familiar cracks.
It was her own fault, for daring to believe that Kai Blackburn might have seen something in her.
He hadn’t.
He was only usingher.
Just like everyone else.
My mother always warned me to be weary of phoenixians.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mareena Noor followed Alina into a narrow chamber that had, once upon a time, clearly served as a war room. Now it lay half-forgotten, steeped in dust and echoes. A broad table sat at the centre of the space, low to the ground, almost skimming the stone floor, with cushions scattered around it in the old desert fashion.
The king gestured for them to sit at one end. Mareena took her place to Alina’s left. Isla and Arena did not sit; they remained standing by the wall, watchful and still, as if carved from stone. The king, too, was not alone. Several Dunayans positioned themselves at careful intervals, every angle covered, each movement deliberate—guards disguised as shadows, ready to shield their ruler at the first hint of danger.
One of the Saqar entered as well, settling at the king’s right to oversee the exchange. The woman’s face was hidden beneath layers of heavy robes, her features unreadable, but the deep lines etched into her hands spoke of great age and long memory, ofsomeone who had watched empires rise and fall, and survived them all.
A boy entered then—no more than seventeen—who bore the king’s likeness as if carved from the same mould, only softened by youth. Mareena recognised him at once. She had studied the royal houses well enough to know this must be King Siroc’s third child.
‘My son will join us,’ the king said as the boy took his place at his left. ‘He will be king one day, and he must learn.’
The silence that followed spoke louder than his words. This son had never been destined for the crown. He had grown up indulged and unburdened, protected by the certainty of two older sisters standing before him in the line of succession—no one having imagined that both would meet such early ends.
‘I will speak in the common tongue, not Sandhii,’ the king added, directing the remark towards Alina and Mareena.
