Page 2 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
Why could I never love Melinoe?
I always wondered, deep down, what this would do to the world.
Surely it would ruin it. For a mother is meant to love her child.
No matter what.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal Blackburn closed her eyes and drew a long breath of her homeland’s air. Even without sight she smiled, for she could feel the presence that lingered behind her. Instinctively, her hand drifted to her stomach, where the swell had begun to show. Soon, her gowns would no longer conceal her secret. She did not mind.
When she opened her eyes and turned, the forest greeted her. It was a quintessential wyverian wood: shadow-drenched and sinister, veiled in a perpetual mist that devoured one’s feet from view. Its branches, black as pitch, reached skyward like skeletal arms,and when the red moon ascended, all was steeped in the hue of spilt blood.
And there, but a few paces away, stood Ash Acheron—the Fire King, sovereign of flame, a man wrought of light. Everything about him called to mind the sun: from the bright fall of his cropped golden hair, to the burnished glow of his skin, to the molten yellow of his eyes. He was all that she was not.
And she was cursed to love him.
Ash smiled that rare, unguarded smile reserved for her alone, yet his attention was swiftly claimed by the wyverns encircling him. The colossal beasts loosed their thunderous roars in salute, and Mal felt it resonate within the marrow of her bones: the man before her was far more formidable than the world could ever fathom.
Leaving the wyverns in his wake, he crossed the distance with unhurried grace. When he reached her, his hand rose to cradle her face, and his molten-gold eyes—so achingly familiar—locked upon her own purple stare. He spoke no word, nor needed to.
It had been but a few weeks since Mal had defied Persephone and stolen Allegra away, returning thereafter to mortal soil, to the lands of her birth. Ash had followed swiftly, and she had wondered, why? Why did he not reclaim his own kingdom, reignite the fire of conquest that was his birthright?
The answer had been as terrible as it was tender.
If he left her side, the power of the God-Killer would begin to gnaw at her soul, consuming her until nothing of Mal remained. Bound by a curse that twisted love into both salvation and ruin, Ash alone stood as the bulwark between her and madness. And so he lingered faithfully at her side, shielding her from the darkness clawing within.
At least until their daughter drew her first breath.
‘My father is still away,’ Mal said as they walked slowly back towards the castle. ‘But I have had word he will not be long.’
Ash inclined his head and pressed a reverent kiss to the back of her hand.
‘I think I shall visit my mother for a while,’ she continued as they crossed the threshold into the castle. She brushed a fleeting kiss against his lips before turning away, her steps echoing softly as she moved deeper into the familiar halls. Yet the palace, though unchanged, felt oddly alien to her now. Once it had been her whole world, but now it seemed both hers and not hers at all. Each passing servant’s gaze only sharpened the dissonance. She felt like an outsider in her own domain, a stranger returned to a house that no longer recognised her.
And in truth, she was.
She had not allowed herself to dwell on Persephone’s words. Not fully. She dared not, not yet. She needed time, time to gather her thoughts, to shape her next move. For Persephone would not relent; she would not permit Mal to keep Makaria in Hell without exacting a price. Now that the goddess reigned as Queen of the Underworld, Mal’s heart trembled for Kage’s safety in that realm.
She must find a way to bring him out.
Even though he was already dead.
The thought pierced her chest with sudden violence. She faltered on the cold stone stairway, her hand clutching the railing as her breath caught in her throat.
When she glanced up, she found servants standing at the landing above, watching with quiet alarm. But they need not worry. She was no fragile thing to be undone by grief. She was a wyverian princess, a goddess and now, the God-Killer.
Nothing could touch her. Nothing could harm her.
And yet…
It felt as though someone had torn open her chest and plucked out her black wyverian heart, only to squeeze it tighter with each passing day, until the blood began to seep from its cracks.
She did not know how long the torment would endure, nor what might ever make it cease.
Mal climbed the vast stone staircase, her steps echoing in the silence. Her attention drifted to the portraits lining the walls—solemn visages of long-dead kings and queens. She paused before one, memory tugging at her: a night in the library, Kage keeping her there far too late, eager to recount some tale of their great-grandfather. She had been restless, her foot tapping with impatience, for she could hear the clash of steel outside—Kai sparring—and she longed to be there instead.
Her chest tightened. Where was Kai now? Was he safe?
