Page 48 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Whispers of them had reached even the coldest corners of the world.

Stories of fierce women trained from childhood to become ghosts of the desert—deadly, silent, invisible.

Alina had always known Hessa was one of them, but she also knew the desert princess had never fully revealed the depth of her skill.

To join their ranks was said to be near impossible, especially for one already grown.

But Alina was determined. She would find a way. She had to.

The Dunayans remained utterly still, unmoved from their positions. Some had bows drawn, arrows poised like starlight, their aim fixed on the intruding party.

‘Don’t they know it’s you?’ Alina whispered, her voice barely a breath. A strange, quiet fear curled around her chest like a serpent. What if they struck? What if a single wrong step meant death?

Hessa smiled, calm and unshaken. ‘Of course they do. But knowing does not mean trusting. Dunayans are always cautious, amira. It is how we survive.’

They approached the flank of the mountain, where a stone archway loomed, half-eaten by time.

The servants veered off with the giant serpents, disappearing into another passage.

Hessa reached for Alina’s hand, her fingers warm and steady as she pulled her into the waiting dark. The desert disappeared behind them.

They stepped into a narrow corridor hewn straight from the mountain’s heart, its walls jagged and close, brushing Alina’s shoulders. The air grew cool and dry, and there was no light, not even a sliver. Only stone and shadow.

‘Hessa, I don’t think…’ Alina faltered. She couldn’t see.

Couldn’t even glimpse Hessa in front of her.

The only thing anchoring her was touch, the faint press of fingers, the echo of breath.

Panic crept up her spine. She wasn’t afraid of the dark…

not normally. But this? This was a darkness that breathed.

It whispered secrets into her ears, secrets she didn’t want to know.

It clawed into her bones, wrapping itself around her soul like a shroud.

She could feel something ancient, something sentient, pulling at her from the deep.

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe.

‘Trust me, amira,’ Hessa’s voice was close, so close Alina could feel her breath warm against her face.

For a moment, Alina hesitated. Some part of her ached to lean forward, just a little. But before she could, Hessa turned again, slipping through the dark like water through fingers, and continued leading her deeper still into the mountain’s heart.

Alina was just about to speak when a sudden blaze of light enveloped her, blinding her entirely. She gasped, stumbling, but Hessa’s arm circled her waist in an instant, steadying her with quiet strength until her vision cleared.

The breath caught in her throat.

‘Welcome to the Desert Kingdom,’ Hessa said, her lips brushing close to Alina’s ear, her arm still wrapped tightly around her.

Alina had no idea where to look first. They were deep within the mountain, yet the vastness of the space stretched around them like a hidden cathedral carved by ancient hands.

It was an open expanse of tiers and levels, a subterranean city bathed in soft golden light.

Bridges, formed naturally from the rock itself, arched gracefully across the chasm, connecting stone dwellings carved into the walls.

Each hollowed space served its purpose. Some were homes, others shops, their entrances framed by intricate embroidery or cascading vines.

Life thrived here, quietly and cleverly woven into stone.

‘Some tunnels lead to the public baths,’ Hessa explained softly, guiding her forward, ‘others to our vegetable gardens. Though most of our meals are prepared under the sun, atop the mountain.’

Alina’s mind reeled, overwhelmed by the spectacle.

She barely registered the quiet stares they received as they passed, eyes narrowing at the sight of a drakonian in their midst. But Hessa paid them no mind.

With a firm grasp of her hand, she tugged Alina up a narrow stairway etched directly into the stone, worn smooth by countless footsteps.

‘Before we meet my father,’ Hessa said, a mischievous glint in her voice, ‘I want to show you my home. ’

By the time they reached it, Alina was thoroughly lost. The entrance was one of many dark hollows lining the wall, veiled by thick, richly embroidered curtains. It seemed an easy enough barrier to bypass, but then again, who would dare steal from a Dunayan, and the daughter of a king no less?

Inside, the space unfolded into a surprisingly warm haven.

Though the rooms were small, they brimmed with charm and intention.

One chamber held a wide bed carved directly from the rock, piled high with vibrant woven blankets and pillows—simple luxury, desert-style.

Alina had long grown used to sleeping on layered rugs and sand-worn mats, but this looked inviting even to her now-discerning eye.

Another room contained plush cushions scattered across the floor, encircling a low table sculpted from sandstone and dry earth.

When she turned, her eyes widened at the sight that greeted her.

One entire wall was adorned with weapons.

Daggers, curved scimitars, throwing knives, and even spears, all meticulously arranged.

Each blade shimmered faintly in the low light, whispering stories of skill and precision.

Alina drifted towards them as though entranced, her fingers brushing the wicked edge of a dagger. A small smile tugged at her lips.

She too now carried a desert blade at her hip. She had earned it, and with it, a new part of herself.

‘Will they allow me to stay with you?’ Alina asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

She turned away, teeth catching her lower lip in quiet regret.

She should never have assumed Hessa still wished for her company, not now that they had returned to Hessa’s homeland.

Alina was no longer her responsibility. ‘I’m sorry.

You’ll want your space back. I shouldn’t have presumed—’

Hessa laughed, the sound rich and warm like sun-drenched honey.

‘You really are beautiful when your cheeks burn, amira.’ She reached for Alina’s hand, her fingers curling gently around hers, tracing each one in that familiar way she did whenever she sensed Alina needed grounding.

‘You may stay with me for as long as your heart desires. Until you grow bored of me.’

‘I could never tire of you.’

‘Oh?’ Hessa’s eyebrows lifted, her amusement blooming like a desert rose. ‘Is that so, amira?’

It was only then that Alina realised how close they had drifted, how Hessa’s hand still lingered on hers, soothing and deliberate.

A flash of an image, Hessa lifting her hand to press a kiss to Alina’s fingers, struck her like heat against skin.

The thought alone startled her, and she stepped back, the air between them shifting with unspoken tension.

‘Come,’ Hessa said at last, her smile growing sly. ‘Let’s find the king.’

It was obvious from Hessa’s expression that she knew what had flashed through Alina’s mind.

But what Hessa made of it, what she felt, remained veiled.

She had spoken openly before, about her fondness for both men and women.

Yet Alina had not dared to dwell on such thoughts, too uncertain of her own heart.

What they had was a bond she cherished, a beautiful friendship. Nothing more.

Nothing more, she reminded herself.

It took them longer than expected to locate King Siroc.

Alina had imagined a throne room, richly decorated and grandeur, perhaps a line of guards and silks flowing from the ceiling.

Instead, they found him kneeling in a vegetable patch, his hands deep in the soil, carefully tending to the roots of his land.

It startled her, this image of royalty cloaked not in robes but in dirt, his crown replaced by the sunlit sweat on his brow. Hessa had mentioned before that their vegetables needed no sunlight, only patience and cleverness, born from generations of living where nothing should grow.

King Siroc looked up at last, his face lighting like dawn breaking across the dunes. With a jubilant cry, he opened his arms just in time to catch his daughter, who flung herself into his embrace with unrestrained joy.

Alina froze, caught in the warmth of the scene. Her lips parted slightly as something deep within her ached. It struck like a knife beneath the ribs.

She would never know such a reunion. She would never again race into Ash’s arms, feel the fierce and familiar squeeze of her brother embracing her back.

The king signalled to the other workers, who stepped forward to take his share of the harvest from his hands. Without a word, he followed Hessa towards the entrance, where Alina stood waiting, stiff and uncertain, like a misplaced shadow against the sun-warmed stone.

But the moment his gaze found the drakonian girl and not his other daughter, his steps faltered.

‘Let us sit and speak,’ he said at last, his voice low, laced with something far too heavy for so early a greeting.

He was younger than Alina had expected a king to be, his youth barely dulled by the weight of a crown.

Handsome, undeniably so, with strong, chiseled features sculpted by wind and sun.

His skin bore the burnished bronze of the desert, his dark hair trimmed just enough to suggest practicality over pride.

A light stubble shadowed his jaw, softening his face rather than hardening it.

Though his robes were loose, modest in their cut, Alina could see the tautness of his frame beneath.

He was no idle ruler. Her scrutiny did not miss the twin desert daggers that rested at his hips like loyal hounds, worn by one well-versed in their use .