He was younger, perhaps sixteen, his limbs leaner, face unweathered, though already marked by suffering. His leg throbbed with every step, and he was almost certain a rib had cracked. But still he ran, refusing to let the tears sting his eyes, refusing to let the world see him break.
He found the wall he remembered, thick with tangled vines, a hidden ladder that would take him to solitude.
It led to the tower. His sanctuary.
He had never cared much for climbing; that had always been Alina’s joy, despite the endless reprimands she received for it.
It hurt to climb now, each movement igniting pain in his chest, but the need to escape was greater than the pain.
With gritted teeth and trembling fingers, Ash dragged himself upward, again and again, until finally, he reached the red-tiled roof and slumped onto it, legs dangling over the edge, breath shuddering as he drank in the warm, dry air of his homeland.
Every week, without fail, his father—King Egan—summoned him to the study. There, Ash would be made to recite whatever he had been tasked to memorise, word for word, syllable for syllable.
No mistakes. No hesitation. No fear.
Should he falter, the king would break him apart, only to rebuild him into the prince he believed Ash ought to be.
So far, Ash had failed every week, save for the ones before public ceremonies, when he was meant to appear flawless.
He had tried to tell his mother. He had told her of the punishments, of the cruelty. He had told her how, once, the king had held Ash’s hand above an open flame as he was forced to recite, burning the flesh clean away. The skin had healed, of course. He was, after all, born of fire and dragons.
But his mind had not.
When he’d confessed to Queen Cyra, she had only sighed, clearly exasperated by the interruption.
‘Your father is trying to help you, Ash,’ she had said, her voice laced with weary detachment. ‘He is trying to make you strong. Youmustbe strong, for what is to come will be grave indeed.’
Ash coughed, and the pain roared through him like a blade.
He hissed and clutched his side, as if the pressure of his hand might somehow hold his breaking body together.
A sudden sound pulled Ash from his thoughts. A low, melodic chant, drifting on the breeze not far from where he sat. But how could that be? He was perched atop a tower, high above the world.
Curiosity, swift and unrelenting, swept away the ache in his body. He edged around the curved slope of the roof, drawn by the sound. He saw her. A girl sat on the far side, weaving her golden hair into a braid as she sang softly to herself. Her voice was like no other he had ever heard, smooth as silk and hauntingly sweet, a song half-whispered into the sky.
‘You shouldn’t spy on others. It’s rather rude,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Ash nearly lost his footing. He hadn’t expected to be noticed and certainly not so casually. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the stumble, but from the sight of her. She was striking, radiant and unlike anyone he’d known.
He’d seen many drakonian girls in his life. Most giggled and waved as he passed, and he, in turn, would blush and look away, silently begging they wouldn’t approach. The thought of stuttering before them, of their laughter, was unbearable.
So Ash had done what he always did and donned a mask of quiet severity, a cold facade meant to keep the world at bay.
‘Are you going to sit?’ she asked, interrupting his reverie.
He nodded and made his way to her, settling beside her on the slanted roof. She seemed to be about his age, though how she had climbed so high in such a tightly fitted red dress was beyond him.
She laughed, as if reading his thoughts.
‘We ladies always find our ways,’ she said, her brown eyes gleaming with playful light. ‘It gets a bit much down there,doesn’t it?’ Her smile was soft, unguarded, and so full of life that Ash, in that moment, feared he might never see anything more beautiful. ‘I like it up here. It gives me a bit of space to breathe.’
He nodded again, still too struck by her presence for words.
‘You don’t speak much, do you?’ she asked, frowning thoughtfully. ‘I’ve seen you at the dances. You always stand off to the side with your sister. The other girls say you look angry. Scary, even.’ She shrugged. ‘But I don’t think you look angry. I think you look... sad.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘I get sad too, sometimes. We could be sad together, if you’d like.’
She tied off the end of her braid and extended her hand to him, offering it with quiet confidence. Ash looked down at her hand, and for the first time in his life, a genuine smile curved hislips. Unguarded, unforced and entirely his.
‘You must be Ash,’ she said, her grin full of teeth and starlight. ‘It’s a pleasure.’
