Page 13 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)
I’ve often wondered about the Phanax. Every kingdom has its soldiers, an army to defend it from the outside world. Yet phoenixians insist they have no interest in waging wars; they’re far too occupied studying them.
And still, I’ve always had a strange suspicion that the Phanax weren’t created to protect the royal family, but rather to guard the secrets buried deep within their walls .
Tabitha Wysteria
The palace rendered Alina speechless the moment its towering entrance came into view.
She had always held a quiet pride for her own castle and the understated elegance of its architecture, but this, this was another realm entirely.
The phoenixian palace was a triumph of artistry and devotion, each stone a testament to generations of reverence and skill.
Now, at last, she understood the pride these people carried in their bones, and why fragments of phoenixian design had found their way into the drakonian stronghold.
Colossal statues, as tall as towers, framed the structure, their solemn gazes lending the entire place an almost sacred air, as though the Sun God himself kept vigil over all who entered .
The throne room stretched before them like an offering, rectangular and open, its sweeping pillars adorned with intricate carvings that Alina scarcely had time to admire as she followed the Phanax into its depths.
To the right, the space opened completely onto a vast inner pool, where a group of phoenixians bathed one another in silence, their movements fluid and unhurried. Alina quickly averted her eyes.
Servants robed in pristine white drifted into the room like whispers, taking their positions along the edges of the grand hall as the Phanax dispersed.
The young woman from before raised her arms in quiet command, and the servants approached at once—removing her weapons, unfastening the protective leathers from her arms, and guiding her out of her Phanax attire.
They robed her in a flowing gown of white silk, adorning her with thick golden necklaces that cascaded down her chest, and rings and bangles that chimed softly as they slid onto her fingers and wrists.
A veil of fine gold thread was placed delicately atop her head, shimmering in the light like woven sunlight.
Alina let out a soft gasp as the girl ascended the single throne and seated herself with a knowing smirk that spoke volumes before a single word was uttered.
‘You’re Mareena Noor,’ Alina breathed, a hint of frustration colouring her tone. ‘But I don’t understand… you were among the Phanax.’
‘I was,’ Mareena replied, lifting her chin with proud defiance. ‘Most of my siblings prefer their scrolls to swords, but I have always been more skilled with a blade than a book. I was raised among the Phanax. I trained beside them, bled beside them. And now, I am one of them.’
‘But… you’re the future queen.’
Amusement tugged at Mareena’s lips. ‘In this kingdom, I can be both queen and warrior, drakonian princess.’ Her red eyes gleamed with sharpened curiosity.
‘What I wish to know is why a princess of the desert and a princess of fire are lying low on phoenixian soil, trying so very hard not to be seen. Yesterday, I received word from the Kingdom of Fire that the drakonian princess betrothed to my brother changed her mind about marrying him, murdered him in fury, and fled into the sands.’
Ice lanced through Alina’s veins. In the space of a heartbeat, the Phanax that had been standing silent and still at the periphery lifted their weapons and stepped forward with precision.
Hessa and Alina drew close, shoulders pressed together, the grim truth settling: Mareena had not sought them out in the desert to welcome them but to seize them, believing her brother’s murderer stood before her.
‘That is not what happened,’ Alina said, voice firm though her gaze remained fixed on a blade edging far too near.
A hand seized her arm and twisted, wrenching it back until her shoulder screamed with pain.
Gone were the formalities. They were no longer guests.
They were prisoners. Hessa was torn from her side, the absence of her touch somehow more painful than the assault itself.
Alina was thrown to her knees.
‘My brother wrote to me, you know,’ Mareena said, tapping her fingers in a steady, impatient rhythm against the golden handrest of her throne.
‘He seemed rather pleased with the arrangement. Almost excited, even, about marrying you .’ Her nose wrinkled with distaste.
‘They say you are the most beautiful drakonian and yet…’
‘I did not kill your brother!’ Alina cried, her voice cracking with the strain of keeping herself composed.
She met those crimson eyes, so very like Zahian’s, and only then did the resemblance truly strike her.
How had she not seen it before? The same angular features, that proud tilt of the chin, the golden-brown skin that gleamed like sun-warmed stone.
Their hair, naturally soft and wavy, had been pressed straight in keeping with phoenixian custom.
Alina had once learnt, during a quiet conversation with Zahian, that each morning they would press their hair flat with searing metal sheets, scorching it into sleek submission.
‘If you didn’t kill him,’ Mareena said, ‘then why are you here?’
‘We were fleeing,’ Alina replied, eyes darting to find Hessa, only to freeze as she spotted the knife pressed to her friend’s throat.
Her breath caught. ‘The Red Guard turned on us. They were witches, glamoured to look like our own people. They attacked the castle. A warlock, Hagan, murdered your brother to get to me… to punish me.’ Her fists clenched at her sides, fury burning through the fog of fear.
‘They killed my parents. My brother. I am the last of House of Flames. Princess Hessa is taking me to her kingdom for refuge.’
Mareena leaned back, her nails tapping again, a rhythm that echoed through the vastness of the chamber, maddening in its relentlessness.
‘What you’ve told me could be a convenient fabrication, an elaborate tale spun between you and your… companion.’
‘And why would Princess Hessa help me murder your brother?’ Alina demanded, venom in her tone.
‘Perhaps the two of you are lovers,’ Mareena replied with a languid shrug. ‘Is it not forbidden in your land to lie with a woman?’
‘Princess Hessa and I are not…’ Alina stumbled over the word, ‘lovers. Her sister, Princess Sahira Waadi Al-Dunasi, was also murdered by Hagan. If you received a letter, it was likely forged. The witches knew we escaped. Of course they’d attempt to turn you against us. ’
‘Perhaps you're right,’ Mareena said, her expression unreadable. ‘But you’ve no proof. Until my parents return, you’ll both remain in custody.’
‘No!’ Alina thrashed against the Phanax who had seized her, lifting her up to her feet. After everything, after all she had endured, she would not be cast into some cold phoenixian cell and left to rot. Not while those monsters continued to wear her kingdom’s crown.
There was one way to prove it. One way she knew they’d believe her. But it filled her with dread.
She had once been revered. Her beauty had meant everything in the court of fire.
It had been a symbol of power, of identity.
And now… now it was gone. Stolen. Defaced.
She understood, with dreadful clarity, why Hagan had done it.
It had not simply been to cause her pain.
It had been to humiliate her. To strip her of everything she had ever been.
‘Wait!’ she cried out, her voice cracking as they began to drag her away. ‘I can prove it!’
‘Alina—’ Hessa’s voice broke behind her.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, nodding as they brought her back, pushing her to her knees once more.
Tears threatened to spill, stinging her eyes. She bowed her head, not in submission, but in sorrow, for what was about to be revealed in front of so many. The truth of her pain. The evidence of her violation.
Now, finally, they would understand.
Now, at last, they would believe her.
Alina reached for her rasguita, the cloth that veiled her head, concealing the unspeakable truth of what had been done to her.
Across the chamber, Mareena Noor leaned forward, her head tilted in quiet curiosity, the rhythm of her fingers stilled.
Alina paid no mind to the tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her spine straightened, shoulders squared, and with trembling fingers she drew the cloth back slowly, deliberately unveiling her bare scalp for all to see.
Gasps rippled through the room like a sudden gust of wind. But Alina’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening like forged steel.
Hagan had intended to destroy her, to strip her of her power by taking the one thing her people had always revered: her beauty.
But he had failed.
Because he had not left her broken.
He had, without realising, made her unbreakable .
…
Mareena Noor tilted her head, those crimson eyes lingering on the remnants of Alina’s horns, what little remained of them.
For a long, stretching silence, she said nothing, simply staring at the mutilation with an expression too measured to name.
There was no sorrow in her gaze, no visible anger.
Not even surprise. It was as though violence, even against a princess of equal standing, meant so little it failed to stir her.
When at last her eyes lifted from Alina’s scars and met her gaze, the drakonian princess tensed. It was impossible to decipher what the phoenixian royal was thinking, but Alina noted the subtle clench of Mareena’s jaw, an edge that hadn’t been there before.
‘A warlock did this to you?’
Alina nodded.
‘The witches used the revelries at my castle to their advantage and attacked.’
‘No one’s seen a witch in decades,’ Mareena murmured, frowning.