Page 56 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

I remember thinking it was impossible to fall so fast and so deeply for someone you barely knew.

But that’s exactly what happened with Hadrian.

I told myself I hated him at first, but it was a lie, a shield to protect my heart.

I never truly hated him. From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew that one day, I would marry him.

Tabitha Wysteria

‘It’s a bit anticlimactic,’ Arden muttered, eyeing the humble drakonian inn perched on the edge of a sleepy village.

‘What do ya mean?’ Wren asked, glancing up at the building with a frown.

The glow of Fireheart smouldering on the horizon promised chaos, yet here stood a quaint little inn with ivy curling over red-tiled eaves and warm lamplight flickering from behind golden curtains.

They were close now. By tomorrow, they’d reach the city.

But weariness dragged at their bones like lead.

Arden shrugged, nonchalant. ‘The capital’s up in flames, and this place looks like it’s ready to serve tea and honey cakes.’

‘Don’t ya dare say it’s cute.’

‘Delightful,’ he said, with a grin that made her groan.

‘Do ya even have coin? ’

‘Aren’t you the princess?’

Wren sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. ‘Yes, well… I lost me things at da lake, remember?I’m wearing da Fae clothes ya gave me.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘Ya could have brought some coin.’

‘Don’t be greedy.’

She eyed the inn wistfully. ‘Maybe we can offer to help out with something.’

Together, they crossed the dusty road, boots crunching on gravel as the scent of wood smoke and stew drifted from the little building.

Up close, it was even lovelier. Its stone walls dappled with moss and the door carved with a dragon crest. Inside, the air was warm and fragrant.

Shades of deep crimson and soft gold bathed the interior, green accents woven into tapestries and cushions.

Portraits hung in clusters along the wall, the faces of generations smiling down like guardians of the hearth.

The woman who greeted them, a sturdy drakonian with grey-streaked auburn hair and gentle eyes, masked her surprise at the sight of a wolverian and a Fae stepping over her threshold.

She covered it with a polite cough and a welcoming smile.

Wren’s guilt prickled the moment the innkeeper saw their empty pockets weighing heavier than it should.

The woman’s expression faltered, a breath of disappointment.

‘We’ll work for da room,’ Wren said quickly, straightening her spine.

‘That’s awfully kind of you, dear,’ the woman replied. ‘I could use the help. Drakonians keep arriving by the day, fleeing the capital.’

‘Do ya know when da attack started?’ Wren asked, glancing at Arden, who was now prowling the perimeter with subtle precision, checking corners, glancing behind curtains. It made her smile.

‘About ten days ago, I’d say.’ The innkeeper’s attention snapped to the door as it swung open.

A cluster of drakonians poured in, clutching small, frightened children.

The innkeeper rushed to greet them, fussing and checking for wounds.

‘I’ve a small room upstairs,’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘It’s free, but you’ll have to share.’

Wren opened her mouth, then closed it again.

A hand brushed her arm. Arden stood beside her, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. ‘We’ll make it work, won’t we?’ His voice was soft and warm, a thread of comfort in the chaos. And with a small, grateful nod, Wren found herself agreeing.

They crept up the narrow wooden stairs, each step groaning beneath their weight as they climbed, hearts weary, muscles aching.

The moment they reached the top, their eyes widened in disbelief.

Drakonians filled the attic level to bursting, crammed into rooms so small that even the hallways had become makeshift wardrobes.

Belongings were strewn everywhere—blankets, boots, satchels, and weapons piled in corners or pushed hastily against walls to clear narrow paths.

The air was thick with movement and murmured urgency, drakonians hurrying past one another in every direction, their shoulders brushing as they navigated the crowded space.

It was as though the entire floor pulsed with life, pressed in from all sides, no longer a refuge, but a refuge-turned-hive for the displaced and desperate.

The air was thick with exhaustion and the desperate need for sleep. Time was slipping through their fingers like sand, and if they didn’t move swiftly, there would be no Fireheart left to save.

Wren shrieked at the sight of the minuscule bed shoved into the corner, barely large enough for one in a room that resembled a closet more than a bedroom.

‘I’ll take the floor,’ Arden offered with a low chuckle.

‘If we sleep on our sides, we could both fit on da bed,’ Wren muttered, not daring to look at him. The words felt too generous, but they were both fraying at the edges from too many nights spent on the hard, unyielding ground.

Arden arched an amused brow. ‘You want to share a bed with me, little wolf?’

Wren shoved past him into the snug alcove. ‘Oh, shut up. I’m just being nice.’

‘Nice, is it?’ His grin stretched wider, green eyes gleaming. ‘If you wanted my warmth, all you had to do was ask nicely.’

Wren grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his face, but unsurprisingly, his reflexes were infuriatingly fast. He dodged with ease, stepping forward in one smooth movement that made her stumble back. Gasping, she felt his hands close gently around her arms, pulling her closer.

‘There’s no need for such violence,’ he whispered, mischief dancing across his features.

His eyes glittered in the dim light, and Wren tried her very best not to notice how close his lips were.

How warm he felt. How kissable those lips looked.

Well, they always looked kissable, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Not even to herself.

‘Do ya want da bed or not?’ she snapped, trying to mask the heat rising in her cheeks.

‘Of course,’ he said, far too innocently.

Was he looking at her lips? Surely not. She was imagining it. She had to be. Arden finally let go, and she retreated quickly, tossing the pillow back into place.

‘How do ya have such good reflexes?’ she asked, throat a little dry .

‘I’m a cook. We use a lot of knives.’

Wren snorted at that, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. He wasn’t lying, not exactly. But there was more to him than sharpened blades and well-seasoned stews. She could hear the truth hiding behind the words, tucked carefully out of reach.

‘We betta go help da others,’ she said, quickly changing the subject.

‘After you,’ he replied with a dramatic bow.

Wren rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered, soft and unshakable, as she made her way back down the stairs.

…

‘Me brotha would love these views,’ Wren murmured as they sat side by side atop the inn’s slanted roof, their legs dangling as the stars unfolded above them like ancient runes etched across velvet.

Night had fallen softly, cloaking the world in quiet, and the village below had long gone to sleep.

They had spent the day helping the innkeeper, an ageing woman with tired hands and a smile that had worn thin from years of labour.

Her husband had passed seasons ago, and her son had marched off in his youth to join the Red Guard, never to return.

Wren couldn’t help but wonder if he had been among those cut down to be replaced by a witch.

Word among the drakonian survivors was conflicting.

Some said the witches had nearly taken the city, others swore the Red Guard had held their ground, aided by brave drakonians who refused to let their homes fall to ruin.

No one seemed to know for certain who was winning.

What was clear was that many had fled, unwilling to gamble their lives in a war they did not start, especially after seeing Spark swallowed by flames and ash.

‘Where’s your brother now?’ Arden asked, his voice low and careful.

‘Back home. Someone had to stay behind, look after da kingdom. Help our papa.’

Arden tilted his head, studying her with eyes like forest shadows. ‘And who looks after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after. I manage fine on me own.’ Wren’s chin tilted defiantly, but there was no real anger in her tone.

‘I’ve no doubt of that,’ Arden replied, a quiet chuckle escaping him. ‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I just meant… it must be lonely. And dangerous, travelling like this. You’ve gone to great lengths to help the drakonians.’

‘Well, someone bloody should,’ she snapped, hugging her knees. ‘Everyone seems so ready to turn their backs on each other. Yer king included.’

Arden exhaled slowly. ‘King Florian…’

‘Is a coward,’ she bit out. Perhaps too harshly, but she didn’t care.

The man had lost three daughters to the witches, and while she understood grief, it didn’t excuse turning away from a kingdom in need.

‘What happened to da witches was awful, aye, but it was in da past. They’ve no right to raze da Kingdom of Fire. Or any kingdom.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Arden said, his voice soft with the weight of truths long carried.

‘But yer king didn’t agree.’

‘Fear can twist even the wisest minds, little wolf. It makes monsters of us all, sometimes.’

She fell quiet for a moment, her gaze rising to the stars again. ‘What are ya afraid of, Arden?’

He didn’t answer at once. The silence between them grew thick, taut with something unsaid.

She turned her head, lips parting to ask again, but before she could speak, he leaned forward.

His lips brushed hers, feather-light, like a question without words.

It happened so quickly, so gently, her body froze in place, stunned by the weight of something she hadn't expected. Something tender. Something terrifying.