Page 36 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

I woke drenched in sweat, my clothes sticking to my skin, my limbs tangled in the blankets. My head pounded with the dull ache of too much wine and not enough sense.

Gods, what was I wearing?

Everything, apparently.

The soft morning light spilled through the tall windows, casting a golden warmth across the chamber. The sheets were tangled beneath me, one leg draped over something warm and solid. Too warm.

I blinked.

My thigh was thrown across a body. A very hard, very male body.

Zayn’s body.

Shit.

I cursed under my breath and slowly—carefully—lifted my head.

He was fast asleep, one arm behind his head, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep rest. My entire torso was half across his, my arm sprawled over his abdomen like I belonged there. His shirt was gone.

Of course it was.

I stared for a second longer than I meant to.

Was he naked…

Half tempted to lift the sheet, I shook my head.

Then I remembered every frustrating thing he said to me last night. The smugness. The gods-damned towel incident.

I pushed myself off him, biting back a wince as the bed creaked slightly. He didn’t stir.

Good.

I tiptoed across the room, grabbed the first clean tunic and trousers I could find, and ducked into the bath chamber. I relieved myself, splashed cold water on my face, and peeled off my wrinkled, sweat-soaked clothes.

“Just once,” I muttered, “could I not wake up in some sort of disaster?”

As I pulled on the new clothes, a faint shimmer of magic sparked from my hand. A soft, glowing Mage Hand appeared; it hovered over my hand and then raised—gentle and familiar—and began brushing through my tangled hair.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

It worked quickly, braiding my hair into a simple plait. Then it vanished just as fast.

I didn’t want Zayn to see it. Or knowing I could harness Magecraft. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him.

I stepped out of the bath chamber—ready to sneak out again if I had to—but froze.

He was awake. And dressed.

Black trousers, a loose cream tunic half-laced at the chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His white hair was pulled back. His green eyes met mine, already full of that familiar, aggravating spark.

“Well,” he drawled, leaning against the windowsill. “Look who survived the wine bath.”

I rolled my eyes. “You wish I drowned in it.”

“Briefly,” he said with a shrug. “But then who would take up half my bed and sweat all over my sheets?”

I opened my mouth, but the words caught as his gaze dropped over me—lingering just long enough to make my skin itch.

“You still look like you haven’t eaten in a week,” he said casually. “Honestly, I thought after a few weeks with the prince, you’d have filled out a little.”

My jaw clenched. “Good to see your charming personality survived your absence.”

He grinned. “Missed me, Peach?”

“I missed silence.”

“Well, that’s about to change.” He stepped forward, arms folded. “I’ll be taking over your training from now on.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“No.” I took a step closer. “No, no, absolutely not. I would rather train with a drunken horse thief in a swamp than spend another hour listening to you bark orders.”

His grin widened. “Unfortunately, I’m harder to get rid of than that.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re untrained.” His eyes flicked over me again, sharper this time. “You want to survive what’s coming? You do it my way. Or you don’t do it at all.”

I stepped right into his space, barely keeping myself from shoving him. “Why don’t you go crawl back to whatever mountain you sulked on for the past few weeks and let me train with someone who doesn’t talk like a complete ass?”

Zayn’s gaze darkened slightly—but not with anger.

He was amused.

Too amused.

“Still warming the prince’s bed?” he asked quietly. “Or did he finally realize you’d rather bite than beg?”

I saw red. “I’m not with the prince anymore.”

That flicker—barely a blink—passed through his eyes. Something unreadable. Gone too fast.

“Good for him,” he said flatly.

“Gods, you’re such a—”

“You talk too much,” he said as he cut me off.

What. The. Fuck. The nerve of this dick!

“Are you kidding me right now?! I talk too much?!”

He stayed quiet, and my anger boiled.

“What, you can’t talk back now?! You’re such a dick!”

He watched me with a smirk on his face.

“You know what? I’m glad you’ll be training me now. Because now you can see how good I am with my magic!” I held out my hand and let my fire dance along my fingertips.

“I could always shut you up,” he interrupted, voice low and rough.

I blinked. “Yeah? And how would you do that?”

Zayn crossed the space between us in two steps. One hand came up fast, fingers gripping my chin, tilting my face toward his.

He leaned in, green eyes burning into mine.

“How about you get on your knees,” he murmured, “and I’ll show you, Peach?”

My breath hitched. Heat rushed straight through me—anger, want, everything tangled into one unbearable knot.

Electricity coursed through me.

“No way…” I paused, holding his gaze. “I’m afraid you’d like the view too much.”

His jaw ticked, and nostrils flared.

He let go of my face and opened the door.

By midday, we were deep in the Highgroove Woods—the trees thick enough to block out the sky, the wind hushed beneath the dense canopy. This place was far enough from the castle, far from eyes and ears. Only the forest would witness whatever Zayn had planned.

I gripped the training sword tighter, breath already shallow. I hated how nervous I felt under his gaze.

“Let’s see what Gavrin taught you,” Zayn said, circling me like a wolf stalking its prey. “Unless you’d rather lecture me again.”

I exhaled slowly, planted my feet, and moved into the stance Gavrin had drilled into me. Centered. Shoulders square. Blade up.

Zayn watched with that infuriating calm, as if he already knew how this would end.

I lunged.

He parried it easily.

I struck again, and again—frustration building with each swing. He didn’t even move his feet. Just twisted his wrist, knocking my blade aside like it was child’s play. His eyes never left mine.

Then he stepped forward, fast.

Before I could blink, my sword was out of my hand and clattered to the forest floor.

He caught me by the waist, spun me around, and pinned me tight against his chest—one arm wrapped around me like steel, his other hand gripped my wrist. My heart pounded, my breath ragged, pressed against muscle and warmth and power I didn’t want to notice.

But my body betrayed me.

I felt it. Every inch of him.

My skin buzzed where he touched me. My pulse roared in my ears. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You keep moving like that, Peach, and I’ll start thinking you want me to pin you down.”

My breath hitched.

But before I could respond, he smirked and added, “Shame your sword skills are as sloppy as your footwork.”

I scowled, jerking my wrist in his grip. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you just how sharp I can be while I shove my foot up your ass.”

Then—just as suddenly as he’d touched me—he let go. Cold returned like a slap, and he stepped back, eyes shuttered.

“Again,” he said flatly.

The softness from before? Gone.

But instead of returning to the stance, he raised a hand. “Magic. Now.”

I hesitated. “Which one?” I smiled.

“All of it.”

I clenched my jaw. “Perfect.”

I focused, letting heat rise in my palms, the fire within answering my call. Twin flames curled around my fingers—wild, flickering, unstable.

Zayn watched silently.

My magic hummed beneath my skin, a constant thrum in my veins. But unlike before, I had control now. Real control. It no longer surged chaotically, no longer exploded from me in fits of panic or pain.

Now, it answered.

It listened.

I didn’t have to reach too far. Didn’t have to fight it. I simply asked—and it came. My fiery dragon exploded from my hands, and I surged it towards Zayn. Shocked, he ducked, barely missing my attack. I smiled and extinguished my fire.

Then I stomped once, calling on the ground beneath me.

Roots shivered. A crack split the earth at my feet, as the roots slithered towards him, curling around his boots.

I held it for just a second before releasing it.

The earth stirred beneath my feet in gentle response, and I felt the familiar tug of life just beneath the surface.

Vines slithered up through the soil—slim, green, and alive with energy.

They moved as if summoned by instinct, not command.

Their petals bloomed as they rose, velvety and deep violet, glistening faintly in the light that filtered through the trees.

And then they shifted.

Not toward me—but toward him.

My breath caught.

The vines slid forward, weaving sinuously through the grass, drawn to Zayn as if he were a flame and they the smoke. They reached his boots and curled delicately around his ankles—not to trap or restrain. No, this wasn’t defense.

It was… playful.

The way the petals brushed his skin as they climbed his calf, curling gently up his leg, made heat flood my cheeks.

They were flirting.

My magic—my own damn vines—were flirting with Zayn.

It betrayed me.

Zayn’s lips twitched into a grin.

“Oh?” he said, voice smug and amused. “Look at that. They like me.”

I hissed under my breath and yanked the magic back, focusing hard. “Traitors,” I muttered.

The vines slowly unwound, reluctantly releasing his leg before sinking back into the earth.

Zayn chuckled.

I hated him.

And I hated how my magic knew what I refused to admit.

Lastly, I reached for the wind.

A light gust rippled through my hair.

Zayn raised his hand—and his gust flattened the trees behind me. Wind lashed around him in a roaring arc, branches snapping and scattering leaves like they were nothing. His air power dwarfed mine.

I stared, heart thudding.

“Congratulations. You’re stronger than me,” I paused and then added, “with air. Why?”

I knew why. I just wanted to hear him say it.

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. “Because I’ve trained.”

“No,” I said. “It’s something else.”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re the son of King Thrandor.” The accusation slipped from my tongue like a blade. “Royal Fae. From Windaria.”

Zayn’s shoulders went rigid, but his smirk was lazy, calculated. “Sharp little Peach, aren’t you? Took you long enough to piece it together.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So, what then? You came here as his spy? Planning to drag me back to him in chains?”

His gaze cut into mine—dangerous, unflinching. “If I were loyal to him, you’d already be on your knees before him.”

“Comforting,” I said dryly. “So if not him, who are you loyal to?”

“Myself.” His voice was flat, clipped. “Everyone else is temporary. Disposable.”

I stepped closer, refusing to flinch. “Your father killed my Fae parents.”

Something flickered in his eyes, sharp as a blade striking stone—but it was gone just as quickly. “I know,” he said. “I just found out who they were.”

The words hit harder than I wanted them to. I swallowed the ache in my throat and forced out, “Then you should also know your father’s throne is technically mine.”

That earned me a slow, predatory grin. “Then let me get it back for you.”

For one reckless heartbeat, I thought he meant it. But then his smile vanished, leaving nothing but cold steel in its place. “Don’t mistake that for loyalty. I’m no one’s pawn.”

I folded my arms, glaring. “How old even are you?”

“Ninety-eight,” he said without hesitation, lips quirking. “I age well, huh, Peach?”

I rolled my eyes. Fae matured in their thirties, then slowed to a near standstill, keeping us looking youthful for ages. “Congratulations, grandpa. Try not to break a hip while you’re brooding.”

His laugh was dark and low, the kind that promised nothing good. Behind the fury, something else lurked. I felt it. Something hurt.

And I wasn’t sure which side of him was more dangerous—the angry warrior in front of me, or the man who’d learned to survive with no one.

After another two hours of using my magic, I was exhausted. We took a break, sitting near a river.

I drank water from my canister and then placed the lid back on.

“Where did you bury my mother?” My question caught him off guard.

“In the wildflowers by the cliff. You know, the place where I came to get the prince—”

I cut him off quickly; the memory pained me. “I know where it is.” I fiddled with my fingers and then added, “Thank you. For everything. For what you did that night.”

He just nodded and looked ahead.

His silence pissed me off.

I stood up and brushed the grass from my britches. “Alright, nice chat.” He remained quiet. “Well, thanks for the training.”

“Who said we were done?” He finally said.

I glared at him.

“I’m saying we are done,” I snapped back. “I’m going to pay my mother the respect she deserves.”

Before he walked away, he stopped next to me.

“See you in bed,” he smirked.

His smile was so wide—like he couldn’t help himself—as he walked past me. His arm gently touched mine.

I turned around to face him as he walked away. “Respectfully, Zayn…. Fuck off.”

I stormed off.