Page 69 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

No matter how infuriating drakonians can be, I must admit, their cities are breathtaking.

If it weren’t for the relentless heat, I wouldn’t mind living somewhere like Fireheart.

Tabitha Wysteria

Kai Blackburn allowed the witch to sleep.

She stirred now and then, and each time, he leant close to ensure her chest still rose and fell, that life hadn’t abandoned her fragile form. Against all reason, he had built a fire, not for himself, but for her. For Dawn.

And when the sounds of the forest grew too eerie, too uncertain, he gripped his hook swords with silent precision, ready to strike. But still, he fed the flames, knowing too well that she chilled easily.

That wretched woman…

The same vile creature who had saved his life.

She could have left him to perish, let the poison bleed through his veins until his breath stilled. But she hadn’t. She had taken it into herself instead. Why? Witches didn’t save lives. Witches destroyed them. Witches had razed his soul to ash and shadow, and yet…

Yet here he sat, unable to summon hatred. Gratitude festered like a wound, impossible to ignore. He could not feel anything for a witch—not wonder, not curiosity, and certainly not whatever unnamed thing now tangled in his chest.

He didn’t see her awaken. Didn’t notice the slight twitch of her fingers or the subtle rise of her shoulders. It wasn’t until she shifted, inching closer to the warmth like a wounded animal, that he turned. Their eyes met.

She froze.

And for a heartbeat, they regarded each other as predator and prey. Her gaze was guarded, his unreadable. But the fire between them crackled, sending sparks upward like whispered secrets.

‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ he muttered at last, voice low and laced with restraint.

‘Are you suggesting I should’ve left you to die, commander?

’ Her voice was hoarse, laced with something darker.

Humour, perhaps, or defiance. Still, she crawled closer, trembling from the remnants of the toxin.

‘Honestly, who would’ve thought a wyverian could be felled so easily.

’ Her eyes glinted with mischief. Under any other circumstance, he might have taken it as a threat.

But tonight, he merely snorted. She didn’t mean it. Not really.

‘You said you had no magic left.’

‘A thank you would suffice,’ she replied, curling herself around the fire, drawing her knees tight to her chest.

He moved closer. Not to intimidate, but to see her face. She was turned slightly away from the flame, and he couldn’t make out her expression. But when he saw her eyes shadowed with weariness, framed in sorrow, he wondered with unexpected ache, whether he had helped put that sadness there.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

The words hung in the air like a rare constellation.

Surprise flared across her face, lovely even in exhaustion.

There was something almost irritating about how effortlessly beautiful she was.

Not the shallow kind he’d seen paraded through courts, but something that burrowed deeper.

The elegant tilt of her nose that always twitched when she caught a whiff of something unpleasant.

The way her stomach would groan seconds later, like an impatient child.

Her swan-like neck, slender and proud. And those eyes…

gods, those eyes. Purple and enormous, far too expressive for someone who claimed not to care.

Then there were her lips. Full. Dangerous. Always speaking a little too freely.

‘I didn’t think wyverians knew those two words. Congratulations. You’ve surprised me.’ Her tone was light, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘We do,’ he replied, voice drier than the desert wind. ‘We simply reserve them for those who earn it.’

‘How noble of you,’ she said, and though her lips curved in mockery, her voice was almost... gentle.

Kai seated himself beside the fire, though he left a fair measure of space between them. Her green dress, once vivid, was now dulled with grime, the fabric stiff and stained, a testament to how long it had gone unwashed since they’d lost the lake.

‘Why did you save me?’ he asked at last.

‘Do you regret that I did?’ Her tone was clipped, but her gaze didn’t waver.

‘No.’

‘Then why ask?’

‘Because...’ His words faltered. Her purple eyes drifted from the flickering flames to him, the understanding in them sudden and sharp. Because you’re a witch , he almost said. And witches do not save, they destroy.

The pain on her face was quiet, but devastating. Every muscle seemed to sag with it, dragging her features down until she turned away.

‘Do not get confused,’ she snapped, her voice brittle. ‘I saved you because I didn’t want to be alone. You could’ve been a toad for all I cared.’

Kai snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. ‘Does solitude frighten you that much?’

‘Only someone who’s never truly been alone would ask something so absurd.’

Kai gave a small shrug. ‘I’m wyverian. We are never alone. We look out for one another, we are family. You, on the other hand… witches are...’

‘What?’ she challenged, her chin lifting. ‘What are we, commander?’

‘Witches are meant to be alone. No one could love you.’

The words fell like a blade.

Dawn flinched. And though it ought to have satisfied him, proved his point perhaps, it didn’t.

Something twisted in his chest, sour and immediate.

Guilt clawed at him. The urge to reach across the space and pull her into his arms, to apologise, overwhelmed him.

He looked away, disgusted with himself for feeling anything at all.

‘You’re right, commander,’ she said, her voice quiet and distant, like a child who’d been scolded one too many times. ‘No one could ever love someone like me.’

‘I didn’t—’

‘What? You didn’t mean it?’ she scoffed, dragging her long, tangled platinum hair over one shoulder and beginning to braid it with clumsy fingers. ‘I know what I am, Kai Blackburn. I know what I’ve done. I live with it. I don’t need you reminding me.’

Her voice remained steady, but her hands trembled.

‘But don’t pretend that I cannot feel, just because of the colour of my eyes. Don’t assume I do not cry, that I haven’t grieved or lost or bled. It is because of those very things that I’ve become the monster you claim me to be. Not because of what I was born with.’

Kai went still, every breath caught in his throat.

‘We may be wicked,’ she whispered, ‘and cruel. But we are the consequences of other people’s choices. And the colour of my eyes? It does not make me dangerous.’

She looked up at him then, her violet gaze piercing.

‘They’re just eyes.’

Kai remained silent, his attention fixed upon her as she quietly plaited her hair.

He had no sense of how much time had passed, only the knowledge that he did not mind.

She had turned her back to him, shoulders straight, and he found himself content simply to observe.

Her fingers moved with swift precision, nimble and practised, weaving strands with a grace that almost entranced him.

She hummed under her breath, a soft tune that held no true rhythm, yet soothed the air between them like a balm.

Then, quite suddenly, she began to sing.

It was so quiet, barely more than a whisper of melody. But something in the way her voice carried, raw and unguarded, unsettled him. There was an aching familiarity to it, something that tugged at memory, something that brought him home.

He hadn’t expected that. Witches, in his mind, did not sing. They did not hum tunes or smile at the firelight or weave their hair into neat braids. They were destruction, wicked, spiteful things that slipped into the night with green fire in their hands and blood on their tongues.

‘Stop,’ he growled.

Dawn froze, her fingers stilling. She cast a glance over her shoulder, eyes glinting. ‘Why? Do you not like the song?’

‘Yes,’ he replied curtly. ‘I do. But I don’t like your voice. You sound like a cat being throttled.’

The tightness in her features softened. For a moment, he thought she might snap. But instead, she smiled, slow and sly. ‘I think perhaps you like my voice a little too much, commander.’

Kai rolled his eyes. ‘You think too highly of yourself.’

The shadow of sadness that had lingered in her expression vanished, replaced by that familiar, maddening grin of hers.

It was strange, the surge of satisfaction he felt at seeing her return to form.

As if some knot within him loosened now that she looked more like the sharp-tongued, defiant woman he knew and not the broken one he feared he had hurt.

‘I’ll have you know,’ she said loftily, ‘I was once highly praised for my singing.’

‘Where?’ he asked, deadpan. ‘A back alley full of stray cats?’

A small stone struck his shoulder. He blinked down at the pebble now resting by his hand.

‘Did you just throw a rock at me?’

‘Oh, commander,’ she said sweetly, feigning innocence. ‘It was barely a pebble. Do all wyverian males confuse size in such a disappointing way?’ Her eyes dipped meaningfully towards his trousers, her smile growing ever more wicked.

Kai’s expression did not falter. ‘I do not fret over such things, witch.’

‘Is that so?’ Her head tilted, eyes bright with mischief. ‘Shall we test that theory?’

She crawled closer, with a feline grace that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Her hand extended towards him, fingers glowing faintly with magic—an eerie, luminous green that sent a pulse of warning through his chest.

‘I’ve just enough magic left,’ she said, her tone dangerous and playful in equal measure, ‘to turn your little friend into something very, very small…’

Kai seized her wrist, the movement instinctive, too forceful.

She tumbled forward with a soft gasp, landing squarely in his lap.

Her cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson the moment she realised her hands were pressed flat against his chest. Kai stilled, the breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t meant to pull so hard.