Page 43 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

The moment I stepped into the dress, it felt like slipping into another version of myself—the truer one.

It was black, but not the kind of black you saw on mourning gowns or stiff ceremonial garb.

No. This was the color of a midnight storm rolling in from the sea.

Of smoke curling off a battlefield. Of power.

Dangerous, unrepentant power. The fabric clung to my curves like it had been sewn from shadows and whispered promises.

It shimmered like tiny little diamonds in the candlelight, like liquid obsidian.

The plunging neckline dipped low, the black lace edges curled over my skin as though they were alive, tasting my magic.

The skirt fell in a cascade of layered, smoke-black tulle, each thread threaded with a faint shimmer so that when I moved, it looked as though the night sky followed me.

Every step made the glitter dance like embers.

But it was the back that made me pause.

The gown dipped completely open, from the nape of my neck to the small of my back, leaving my scars on full display. Every welt. Every mark from the whip. The fabric didn’t try to hide them—it framed them. Like a fucking canvas. Like a declaration.

Let them see. Zayn wrote in his letter.

I was a woman. A survivor.

Let them see what the King did to me. What I lived through.

What I crawled away from and still dared to stand.

This dress didn’t cower in the face of those scars—it honored them.

Wore them like a crown of thorns. The sleeves were sheer and long, tight at my wrists with black beaded cuffs that caught the light like dew on a spider’s web.

Slits in the skirt ran high on both sides, revealing flashes of my thighs when I walked.

There was nothing modest or soft about this dress.

It was dark, sinful, and unapologetically bold.

It didn’t whisper.

It roared.

I dropped my glamour and let Yara and Kalista see me.

The real me.

Yara gasped first, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh… my stars.”

Kalista took a step back, eyes wide as they traveled the length of me. “You look like you were carved from the night sky,” she whispered. “You look… like a goddess. I don’t know if I should grovel or run away screaming…”

I glanced at myself in the tall mirror again, almost not recognizing the woman in the reflection. That wasn’t Elara Valdusian. That wasn’t a woman made to bow or be broken. That was me—the real me.

Elara Valdusian Aetheron.

“Can I touch them?” Kalista asked, reaching up to my pointed ears.

“That is rude!” Yara snapped. “You never ask to touch a Fae’s ears!”

I laughed. “It’s fine, really. Yes, you can.”

Kalista reached out and ran her finger along the tip of my pointed ear. When she touched me, I turned my head sharply, barking like a dog, which made her jump back and scream.

Yara and I busted out laughing.

“You bitch! So not funny!”

Yara reached for my chin and then placed her hand on my cheek. A tear rolled down her face. “I never thought I’d actually see a real Fae. Or, that I’d see the real you. Beautiful, my child. You are perfect in every way.” I grabbed her wrist gently and placed a kiss on her palm.

Kalista spun away and slipped behind the dressing curtain with the soft blue gown Fintan had given me to wear. When she stepped out moments later, I nearly choked on a laugh.

“Gods, Kalista,” I grinned, hands on my hips. “You look like some winter nymph sent to seduce royalty.”

She twirled dramatically, the light silk catching in the candlelight. “Well, I am royalty material. I just needed the right dress.”

A knock sounded on the door. Eryn stepped in, and for a moment none of us spoke.

She wore a sleek blue gown that hugged her tall frame like a second skin.

It was simple—no frills, no glittering beads—but elegant and stunning in its own way.

Her lavender hair had been left down, loose waves cascading over her shoulders, and there was silver glitter brushed around her sharp, silver eyes.

“Damn,” Kalista breathed.

Eryn raised a brow. “Wow. You two clean up nice. You, ugh, you gonna keep those ears?”

I arched a brow back. “Maybe,” I shimmied my shoulders. “You’re one to talk. Look at you in that sexy dress.”

Eryn gave a little smirk and shrugged. “Hey, I like wearing dresses. I just never do because I’m always busy training your stubborn ass.”

I laughed, and we turned toward the door where Gavrin stood, looking somehow more intimidating than usual in all white.

His broad chest stretched the crisp jacket he wore, and his brown skin looked stunning under the candlelight.

The silver streaks in his close-cropped hair caught the glow, and even his damn eyepatch looked regal.

He said nothing, but the twitch of a smirk curved his mouth when his gaze landed on Eryn.

Then—Whistling. Makar strolled in with a swagger only he could pull off. His long red hair had been tied back, a few loose strands falling around his striking violet eyes. He wore midnight blue and silver, but the way he looked at the three of us, you’d think he was a wolf among unsuspecting lambs.

“Well, fuck me,” he drawled. “Don’t you all look like a gods-damn dream.”

His violet eyes trailed over me like I was a shooting star. “My gods, look at you in your Fae form… I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

I smirked, “You? In heaven? Doubtful. Must’ve taken a wrong turn on the way to Hel.”

Makar grinned widely then looked Kalista up and down like she was a snack. “Then thank the gods for bad directions.” Her cheeks flushed immediately.

I leaned in and elbowed her. “He’s the one you’re crushing on.”

Kalista gasped softly and shoved me with a hissed, “Shut up!” But Makar had already heard. His smirk widened.

He held out his arms dramatically. “Ladies.”

Kalista hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. I took his other arm, and behind us, Eryn took Gavrin’s. I glamoured myself again and we made our way through the corridor and into the ballroom. And gods. It was breathtaking.

The castle ballroom had been transformed into a winter wonderland.

Everything shimmered in shades of white, silver, and soft frost-blue.

Grand, arched windows lined the walls, draped in sheer blue fabric that billowed gently in the draft.

Outside, snow fell in slow, quiet spirals, blanketing the gardens in purity.

Hundreds of candles lined the walls and chandeliers, casting soft golden light against the snowy backdrop, like stars caught in midair.

Tables lined the sides of the ballroom, heavy with golden trays of roasted meats, sugared fruits, and sweet confections dusted with powdered snow.

There were barrels of mead, pitchers of wine, and crystal decanters filled with amber whisky.

Laughter rang out. Music played softly. Dancers already twirled across the ice-like marble floor, their white and blue garments catching the light like flakes in a storm.

But I… I stopped at the top of the stairs.

Because suddenly, the hush came.

And I felt their eyes.

Fintan stood near the dais, his goblet frozen halfway to his mouth. When he saw me—his gaze trailing from the black dress, to my face—his expression shattered. Hurt. Regret. Longing. He said nothing, just stared like I was a ghost.

And King Aymon? He glared. That hatred burned through the distance between us like a blade pressed to my skin. He didn’t even try to hide it. His face twisted in disgust at the color I wore, at the statement I made. My scars weren’t welcome at this pristine celebration. I wasn’t welcome.

“Let them stare.” Zayn spoke into my head.

“How are you doing that?! I thought only Warlocks and Vampyrs could get past your shield?! And, my shield is up and locked!” I said back, not knowing where he was.

He didn’t answer me.

I looked for him. And suddenly, my world stopped.

Because I could only see him.

Zayn stepped out from the shadows near the far side of the ballroom, dressed in all black—a raven-dark coat lined in silver, a sword at his hip, hair falling loose around his chiseled face.

His green eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

Not the whispers I didn’t hear. Not the fear I didn’t feel. Not the crowd I didn’t see.

Only him.

I walked forward. Down the steps. Past the dancers. Past the wine and firelight and stunned, judging eyes. I passed Fintan without a word, and I didn’t look back.

“You’re doing great. Eyes on me.”

It felt like he wanted me to have this moment—wanted me to face them all, to show I wasn’t afraid of the King or the stares. Wanted me to walk to him through that ballroom alone, not because I didn’t belong… but because I only belonged to him.

Zayn stepped toward me.

He held out his hand.

I took it.

His fingers wrapped around mine, and the touch sent a jolt of warmth and magic racing through my blood. “Everyone’s staring at my back,” I whispered.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “No,” he murmured. “They’re staring at you. You are… breathtaking.”

My heart nearly broke open.

Zayn reached behind me at a nearby table and grabbed two glasses of wine and handed me a glass. I brought it to my lips and drank the entire glass in one gulp. He watched me with amused eyes and then drank his wine in one gulp, too.

“Let’s get drunk,” I whispered, placing my hand on Zayn’s hard chest, breathless and bold.

His hand slid to the small of my back, and a delicious shiver chased down my spine. Without a word, he guided me through the crowd like he owned the floor. On the way, he snatched a bottle of dark amber whisky straight off a table. A man nearby reached out, startled. “Hey!”

Zayn turned slowly, his expression darkening as he growled low in his throat.

The man froze. “I-It’s yours. Have it!”