Page 11 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

Time seemed to stretch as we remained there on the cool, damp grass, wrapped in each other’s silence. His hold on me never faltered, a steadfast anchor in my storm.

My tears had finally subsided, and I gently disengaged from the comfort of his chest. The heaviness around my eyes was a painful reminder of my sorrow, swollen and red from my recent outpouring.

I couldn’t bear to meet the prince’s gaze, shame swirling within me—not only for my tears but also for the horrific act of taking my mother’s life.

“Um, I’m fine now. You—you can go,” I stammered, staring down at my fidgeting hands, intertwining my fingers in a restless dance. “I’m sure you have more important matters than to waste time coddling a foolish woman who behaves like a child.”

Fintan, with a gentle yet deliberate motion, hooked his finger beneath my chin, urging me to lift my head and meet his eyes. Even seated, his presence loomed over me—strong and commanding—yet there was a warmth in his demeanor that made the world feel momentarily safe.

He lowered his head closer to mine, nearly bridging the gap between us, and with a tender smile that revealed his perfect teeth and charming dimples, he spoke softly, “I have nothing more important than to be right here, with you, El. However, I do believe that taking you back to the castle for some food would be a wise idea. I’m sure you must be hungry. You haven’t eaten in three days.”

That would explain the dizziness.

His beauty had been undeniable, almost luminous, radiating an aura that had drawn me in despite my mayhem.

“Would you like that? Perhaps I could also give you a tour of the castle if you feel up to it,” he suggested, his voice laced with an inviting warmth.

“Okay,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, but a flicker of hope ignited within me.

As a chill swept through the air, I shivered involuntarily.

My skin, once burning with emotion, felt starkly cold.

Fintan must have sensed my discomfort; he swiftly removed his royal-blue cape and wrapped it around my shoulders with protective ease.

“Here,” he murmured, fastening the front clasp at my neck and pulling the cloak snugly around my arms. “This should keep you warm. Plus,” he added with a playful wink, “it looks far better on you than it does on me.”

Fintan stood up, extending his hand toward me with inviting warmth.

My palm slid into his, a simple yet electrifying connection.

As he pulled me up, I found myself closer to him than I had ever dared to be before, our chests barely a breath apart.

I lifted my gaze to meet his, the mixture of nervousness and exhilaration swirling within me like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.

He held onto my hand, refusing to let go, as we continued our silent walk through the dappled shadows of the woods, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath us.

“How did you know I would be at the cliffside? How did you find me?” I finally asked, curiosity breaking the quiet spell. In a moment of uncertainty, I tugged my hand from his grasp.

Fintan halted, placing his hands casually into the pockets of his britches as he considered my question.

“You told me about this place, that you came here when you needed to cry and escape the world. You said you visited every day. So when I got to your room—well, Zayn’s room—Eryndor said you had run off.

She tried to follow, but apparently, you were too quick for her,” he said, flashing a roguish smile.

“We should go running together sometime. I relish a good challenge.”

Just then, an embarrassing growl had emanated from my stomach, echoing in the stillness and causing my cheeks to warm with a flush. Fintan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he took my hand once more. “Let’s go get you a proper meal,” he declared with a wink.

As we approached the same castle doors I had so recklessly fled through not long ago, a familiar unease began to stir within me. It started as a whisper in the back of my mind, but soon grew into a wave crashing through my chest, tightening my throat and slicking my hands with sweat.

The massive iron doors stood like sentinels before us—cold, stiff, ancient. My gaze was drawn to the symbols etched deep into the metal, twisting and coiling like living things. They shimmered faintly in the sunlight, not with gold or silver, but with something… older. Something watching.

I tilted my head, studying them. What language was this? It felt like it should be familiar, but the characters danced just beyond recognition, slippery and strange.

Fintan, walking a step behind me, must have noticed my fascination.

“Ah,” he said with casual arrogance, “those are wards—spells, actually. Woven into the iron by some Mage who lived here long before any of us. My father used to go on about how they were meant to keep Fae out of the castle.” He gave a short, amused huff.

“Doesn’t really make sense to me, honestly.

I mean, what’s the point of a ward if someone on the inside can just open the damn door anyway?

” He shrugged, as if ancient protective magic was just another inconvenience.

It made perfect sense to me, though.

Given how the doors had burned me before—without even touching them—I was more than inclined to believe the spell still had bite. I made a silent mental note: Never trust a door in this gods-forsaken castle.

Just as a sliver of doubt slithered into my chest, the prince—ever poised and unreadable—stepped ahead. Without a word, he pressed his hands to the great iron handles and pulled them open with effortless grace.

The doors groaned in protest, as if the castle itself disapproved of my return, but they yielded. The prince didn’t look back at me, only motioned for me to enter first with a slight incline of his head.

It wasn’t kindness. It was courtesy. But still, it struck me.

He was nothing like his father.

Not yet anyway.

Stepping inside the kitchen, the rich aromas surrounded me, a symphony of spices and roasted meats that hinted at the elaborate feast being prepared for what felt like hundreds of people.

The same four figures were hard at work, moving with practiced precision amid pots bubbling over simmering stoves and trays laden with vibrant ingredients.

The short woman, with her keen eyes and infectious smile, observed me as we approached.

“Mmmm!” Fintan hummed. “Do you mind if we help ourselves, Molyara?” the prince asked her. Her dark brown skin glowed against the soft lighting.

She smiled at the prince; something about her seemed incredibly welcoming, and I couldn’t help but think maybe they were friends. “Please, Prince Silverthorn, you know I prefer you to call me Yara.”

Fintan walked up to the large table where the food was spread out and grabbed two plates. “And you know, Yara, I prefer it when you call me Fin. You practically raised me. You have the right to call me that.”

“Elara, this is Molyara—”

“Yara,” she interrupted, her voice assured, surprising me with her boldness. That single act of defiance had often been a grave offense in the court; anyone who spoke to royalty like that could easily have their head chopped off.

Fintan had returned her warmth with a broad smile, “And this is Sivka,” he had motioned to the tall woman with his head and then continued, “Cendrin—our main chef, and truly a culinary genius—and this lovely lady is Kalista.”

“Named after the goddess herself,” Kalista said.

“You wish,” Cendrin laughed, causing Kalista to huff.

Fintan waved a hand toward Sivka, who bustled nearby, her hands deftly arranging the fragrant dishes, and then gestured to Kalista, who was adjusting a bouquet of flowers on the table.

“Yara and Kalista will be around often, as they will be tending to your room and preparing you for special events. Sivka is usually in the kitchen, though her primary focus is usually on the Queen.” Sivka gave a sarcastic expression, making the prince chuckle.

I couldn’t help but notice the way Kalista had gazed at the prince, her eyes sparkling with an unmistakable admiration that made it clear she had a crush on him.

As he introduced her to me, she avoided making eye contact, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

Kalista had been incredibly striking; she was younger, probably around my age.

Her long, light-blonde hair had been meticulously woven into a single braid that cascaded down her back, framing her curvy features.

I bet the prince liked his woman curvy..

. not skinny and bony like me. However, I did have a nice ass.

When the Prince shifted his gaze away, I caught a glimpse of Kalista’s irritation; she shot me a sharp glare, as if blaming me for the prince’s fleeting attention.

Well, shit. I’ll have to remember not to be on her bad side.

Cendrin was a heavyset, older man who you could tell had poured his heart into the cuisine he made.

His large, rounded belly jiggled as he pointed to me with a large wooden stew spoon.

His light skin glistened with sweat. “Anything you ever need, you just let me know, little lady. A friend of the prince is a friend to me!” I adored his thick accent.

Fintan started filling two plates with assorted cheeses, fruits, meats, and some bread. My mouth watered just looking at everything. “It smells divine in here!” I said.

He began filling two plates with an assortment of artisanal cheeses, succulent fruits, savory cured meats, and freshly baked bread, each item more mouthwatering than the last. The rich, fragrant aromas wafting through the air had made my stomach rumble in anticipation.

“Thank you all so much!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my delight.

“Oh, please. It’s not like we made this for you. You’ve probably never even seen food like this before, let alone this much… given being a peasant and all,” Kalista said with disdain. Why did she hate me so much already?

I knew that would eat me up. Being a people pleaser and all. I shouldn’t care. But I did.

Fintan shot a quick glance toward Kalista, his expression suddenly severe. “You better watch that tongue, Kali, or I’ll cut it out myself. Elara now lives here at the castle, and you’d best remember that she is with me. She will be respected just as you respect me. Is that understood?”

My eyes went wide listening to Fintan snap at one of his staff that way. Maybe I should be a little more careful around him… he is the King’s son after all.

“Apologies, my lord. I meant no disrespect,” Kalista murmured, her blue eyes staring at her feet. As Fintan turned his attention back to me, she flicked her gaze upward, delivering a glare so fierce it could slice through steel.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a child of impatience, lamenting the things she cannot have,” Sivka interjected with a calm yet knowing smile. Kalista, taken aback, shot her a venomous look and defiantly stuck out her tongue.

I observed the dynamic between them—a curious blend of camaraderie and tension—and wondered what it would be like to have friends. The thought of helping out in the kitchen stirred something profound within me—a nostalgia for the warmth and familiarity of home.

Home. A sudden wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm me, and I blinked rapidly to hold back the welling tears, fighting against the tide of memories that threatened to drown me.

“I’m really good at hunting,” I blurted out, breaking the charged silence.

Instantly, all eyes turned toward me. “Well, I’m really good with my bow.

I don’t care much about hunting the animal, but…

” I was rambling. “I mean, if you ever needed assistance, I could hunt and… um, help prepare meals,” I offered, my voice gaining a hint of confidence.

Yara’s face broke into a warm smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “That is so kind of you, dearie. We have men for that, though.”

I felt a tiny bit of disappointment. It would’ve been nice to have a routine I was used to, to try and normalize my new life.

Fintan’s deep, resonant voice followed, as if he could sense my disappointment, “Perhaps you can teach me a thing or two, and I can return the favor,” he said flirtatiously, his gaze inviting. He sent a pleasant shiver down my arms.

Emboldened, I returned his smile shyly, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

Kalista made a loud noise of disdain, her frustration palpable, and stormed out of the kitchen, her heels clattering angrily against the stone floor. “She’s always seeking the dramatic exit,” Cendrin remarked, shaking his pale bald head with an amused smile.

“Anyway,” Fintan said, shifting his focus back to me as he approached with a pair of plates stacked high with an array of delectable food. “I have other plans for you, El. Let’s head up to my quarters to eat and discuss them,” he suggested, his tone light but teased with something more serious.

I nodded in acquiescence, a flutter of nerves swirling within me at the prospect of being alone with the prince in his private space. The only man I’d ever been alone with was Landen, and even those fleeting moments had been all too brief, given that we were friends with benefits.

“See you all later,” Fintan called over his shoulder, acknowledging his staff before leading the way, and with that, I followed him out of the kitchen, taking one last glance at Yara, smiling at her.

I paid close attention to where we were walking, not really listening much to what the prince was saying—I almost didn’t hear him.

“And down there, that is where the dungeons are.” He stopped walking so he could watch my expression.

I had almost forgotten that the only person I had still left in my life was imprisoned here at the castle.

My father.