Page 22 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

“So you do know? Please, I have to know!” I pleaded, desperation creeping into my voice.

“Hush now,” Yara whispered, lowering her voice further. “These walls listen. You must be cautious. Do not speak of this again inside the castle. There is something dangerous. I do not know what it is, but you are correct. There is a deadly weapon.”

I nodded. “Thank you.” I squeezed Yara’s hands gently. “But the castle walls? What do you mean?”

“Magic is everywhere, Elara. As I said, everything is not as it seems,” she said, her dark brows knitting together in concern. “Now, the Prince is waiting for you. Best not keep him waiting any longer.” Yara’s tone shifted, becoming more cheerful. “I will be back tomorrow to help you get ready.”

“Better you than Kalista,” I quipped, a mischievous smile breaking through my earlier worry.

Yara’s mouth curved into a brighter grin.

“She would probably make you look like a clown.” Laughter bubbled between us, a sweet moment shared before I pulled Yara into a warm embrace.

In that instant, the gentle, motherly essence of Yara’s presence enveloped me, reminding me of the safety and kindness I desperately craved.

I ventured through the castle’s dimly lit corridors, my destination: Fintan’s room.

As I rounded a stone corner, I collided with Queen Faylinn and King Aymon.

Between them stood a guard, a man clad in gleaming armor that concealed his face entirely.

The cold metal glinted under the flickering torchlight, amplifying the unsettling aura he radiated.

An oppressive weight hung in the air, his dark energy sending a shiver down my spine, and I instinctively sensed that meeting his gaze would reveal frightening depths I truly wished to avoid.

Shit.

“Elara!” The Queen’s face illuminated with warmth.

“It’s so lovely to run into you; we were just talking about you.

” Her voice flowed, sweet and inviting. In stark contrast, the King’s gaze held a cold disdain as he interjected, “WE were not talking about you. The Queen was simply going on about you. I, for one, do not care that you are my son’s whore—” His words were abruptly halted by the Queen’s hand gently pressed against his chest. It was fascinating; the moment her fingers made contact, his defiance seemed to evaporate.

Interesting, I thought. He didn’t strike me as the sort of man who would permit a woman to silence him.

“My love, I’m going to walk with Elara. I’ll see you later,” she declared, dismissing him with a knowing smile before leaning in for a quick kiss. However, something about that kiss felt oddly misplaced.

King Aymon scrutinized me as he strode away with his guard, leaving the corridor feeling strangely lighter as they disappeared from view.

“Come, take a walk with me in the gardens,” she beamed, extending her arm for me to link mine through. Yara’s cautions echoed in my mind, causing me to hesitate.

“The Prince is expecting me. I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” I replied, managing a polite smile.

The Queen waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Patience is what makes the heart grow fonder. Come,” she urged with a gentle insistence.

Reluctantly, I slipped my arm through hers, and we walked together through the cold, expansive palace.

“Fintan is quite taken with you,” she said, her eyes sparkling as we strolled.

“It seems you have won his heart.” I glanced up, noting her dark brown hair cascading down her back in soft waves, an unmistakable mirror to Fintan’s features, though his eyes were different.

“And I am very fond of the Prince, Your Highness,” I answered, my voice steady. We stepped into another corridor, this one bearing a heavier atmosphere, more shadowy and cold. At its end loomed a large iron door, adorned with shimmering silver symbols illuminated by flickering torches.

The Queen caught my gaze, and we stopped.

“Ah, that. It simply leads to a cave beneath the palace. The symbols are ancient, carved into the door with silver way beyond our time,” she said, but my mind began to buzz with unease.

Her words faded as a deep, resonating growl filled my mind, and shivers coursed through my body.

My magic surged powerfully in this space, an odd sensation that I struggled to rein in.

What was that?

“Anyway, you don’t want to go there. Nothing to see besides rats and old books forbidden from this kingdom,” she continued, her tone casual.

“Old books?” I inquired, curiosity tinging my voice.

“Mmhmm. Some aren’t even in a language we speak. Anyway, this way,” she gestured discreetly to the right as we moved through an archway, leaving the iron door behind.

I wondered why she was sharing so much with me. If she didn’t want me to go down there, she certainly wasn’t giving off that vibe.

As we stepped outside, a beautiful flower garden that I had no idea existed stood in front of us. There had been so much more of the castle I hadn’t seen. My breath hitched in my throat as I took in the gorgeous view.

The garden stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun, a quiet paradise tucked between the low hills and the soft sigh of a distant stream.

Rows of flowers bloomed in brilliant color—violets, golds, deep reds, and soft blues—all swaying gently in a breeze perfumed with lavender and honeyed earth.

Marble paths wound through the beds like ribbons, leading past stone fountains and shaded alcoves where ivy curled around carved benches.

“Wow,” was all I managed to say. The Queen unlocked our arms and walked to some lilies. She gracefully held the bloom in her fingers and bent down to smell it.

Beyond the garden walls, the land rolled gently into vineyards.

Lush green vines clung to the hillsides in tidy rows, heavy with clusters of deep purple grapes that shimmered under the sun’s gaze.

The cool autumn air was filled rich with the scent of ripening fruit and sweet blossoms. Bees drifted lazily between petals.

Everything felt still, and slow, and golden—like time had forgotten to pass here.

“This is my oasis. I come here almost daily,” she remarked, leading the way down a winding path. I followed closely, taking in the vibrant colors around me. My fingers brushed softly against the velvety petals of the roses, their fragrance wrapping around me.

“It is stunning. I can see why you like to come here.”

The Queen smiled down at me, “You may come here anytime you like. The castle is basically yours now.”

My eyes quickly searched hers. “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Sit,” The Queen gestured to a bench near some hydrangeas, and we both took a seat.

Like clockwork, Sivka appeared holding a tray with two teacups and a steaming pot of tea.

She set them down on a small table next to the Queen.

“Thank you, Sivka. You are free to go,” the Queen smiled, and Sivka bowed her head.

Before leaving, she glanced at me quickly and smirked.

I wasn’t sure if that was welcoming or not…

The Queen poured tea in both cups and handed me one. I took it, thanking her.

“My son is thirty, as you are aware,” she said.

I took a tentative sip of the steaming tea.

The bitterness lingered on my tongue, but the honey swirled within softened it enough to swallow.

I gulped down a few large mouthfuls, desperate for something to occupy me as unease settled in the pit of my stomach.

She continued, “He cannot be King without a Queen.” I nearly choked on my drink, the warmth suddenly turning constricting. The Queen’s hand found my back, her touch both calming and unnerving. “I wish for you to marry him, Elara.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with expectation.

“The King disagrees because you do not originate from royalty,” she continued, her posture regal as she folded her hands in her lap.

“Yet my son and I are not bound by tradition,” she emphasized, her gaze steady.

“I desire for him to wed for love, not for politics. And you, my dear, have undoubtedly captured his heart.”

I struggled to process what she was saying. Did the Prince want to marry me? Me, a nobody...

Thoughts collided within my mind like a storm, each one more frenetic than the last.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” I managed to say.

“You needn’t say anything. Just marry the prince and be his Queen. It’s quite simple,” she chuckled, still holding her tea. I noticed she hadn’t taken a single sip.

Suddenly, my body started to sway, almost as if I was intoxicated.

I didn’t mind the feeling. Thinking about the prince had me feeling giddy.

My heart pounded in my chest, and my cheeks flushed as I thought about his strong hands and how good he was with his tongue.

I squeezed my legs tightly for friction as I started to ache between my legs.

I shifted my weight, feeling how soaked I was.

I suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable feeling this way and sitting with the Queen.

I needed Fintan. Or perhaps, Makar. I thought to myself. Honestly, I would’ve pounced on either of them if they stood in front of me and I’d beg them to fuck me.

What in the Hel is wrong with me?

Feeling embarrassed from the rush of feelings, I took another large sip of the warm liquid.

The tea was bitter. Not the kind that came from over-steeped leaves or forgotten heat—but deep, clinging bitterness that coated my tongue and lingered at the back of my throat.

It tasted of bark and dry roots, sharp and astringent, with a faint metallic aftertaste that made my jaw tighten.

I took the last sip, not wanting to be rude, and this time I savored it, letting the flavors unfold.

I closed my eyes.

Angelica root.

Red raspberry leaf.

A touch of mugwort… and—my breath caught, chasteberry.

I knew these herbs. I had picked them with Mother, hands stained green from crushing leaves. They weren’t just plants—they were secrets, tucked in glass jars alongside beeswax candles and cherry wine bottles in our cupboard.

A memory flickered—Mother’s careful voice: “These blends aren’t for everyone. They stir desire, or bring fertility, depending on what’s asked of them. Handle them with respect, Elara. Herbs listen.”

I set the empty cup on the bench, panic buzzing in my chest like one of her bees in a jar. These weren’t innocent tea herbs. They were purposeful. Deliberate.

I repeated the names again in my head, Angelica. Raspberry. Mugwort. Chasteberry…

My thoughts spiraled as my body tingled in places it shouldn’t be. These were herbs Mother gave to women who came to her quietly—wives, healers, even nobles in disguise. They were the herbs used to help women conceive and get them in the mood for sex—unimaginable desire.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh, good, you enjoyed your tea.” Her smile was beautiful but held a hidden agenda. “Would you like some more?” The Queen asked. I shook my head ‘no’ as her voice trailed off.

A memory flickered—Mother’s careful hands, her quiet instructions, the way she never wasted a single leaf of those blends. I sat frozen, eyes wide with realization, the bitterness still curling in my mouth like a secret finally remembered.

I needed to get out of here. Needed to be touched.

The bitterness of the tea lingered, but it was no longer the only thing I tasted.

Warmth spread through my chest, down my limbs, curling low in my belly with a slow, heavy ache.

It was subtle at first—a hum beneath my skin—but it built quickly, pulsing in waves that made my breath catch and my fingers twitch against my lap.

I shifted again in my chair, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on the Queen’s voice droning on about court matters and taking her son as a husband—but the words no longer made sense. My mind felt clouded, like honey poured over my thoughts, sweet and thick and impossible to think clearly.

And then the craving really came.

Not for food. Not for air.

For him.

My body buzzed with heat, my skin oversensitive, my thoughts drawn to his strong arms, his voice, the way his eyes lingered on me. My heart pounded, flush rising to my cheeks, my thighs tightening beneath my dress as the ache deepened even more into need.

I stood abruptly, barely hearing the Queen call after me. I couldn’t stay here another second.

I ran through the entryway, back into the castle, and ran down the corridor. I didn’t look back.

My steps were quick, almost silent through the corridor, my magic buzzing beneath my skin like it too had been stirred awake. Every breath I took was filled with lust, every beat of my pulse whispering his name.

I needed him.

Now.

However, he wasn’t here. So instead, I knocked on the Prince’s door, breathless and sweaty, I practically panted like a bitch in heat.

Fintan opened the door.