Queen of Ash

𝒞𝓁𝒶𝓌𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈

Ashlyn stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was braided into a crown, small flowers braided into her golden locks. Her white dress pooled on the ground under her, sparkling in the moonlight. She blinked, noticing how red her eyes were. She'd been crying.

She flinched as the door suddenly opened behind her. As a man in black entered the room, striding over to her. She took in her surroundings as he reached for her. A giant room, a bed made out of golden sheets, a desk, and a wardrobe. The walls were made out of stone, except for one window.

Ashlyn tried to look out but couldn't see anything.

The fire wielder turned around and sized up the man before her. Black hair, dark ebony eyes, tall and muscular. A Fae warrior. But at top his head sat a crown of gold and darkness. He held his chin high, his hand hovering over his black hilted sword. She looked up and met the man's dark ebony eyes. The king's eyes.

"Hello Ashlyn dearest," he said, his voice cool as ice. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, into his arms. "You look wonderful today." His calloused hands caressed her hair. Ashlyn tried to wiggle free, but he held on. Like a master with his most prized possession.

He smelled of ash. No, she smelled of ash. Flames erupted in her hands, sending the King stumbling back. "What's wrong?!" he said, his voice rising.

She turned towards him, flames dancing in her palms. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"Ashlyn dearest, it's me,..." she couldn't hear his name over the roar of flames. He walked towards her again, reaching for her, trying to embrace her. Ashlyn fired at him, a cry ripping from her throat. She stepped back, nearly tripping over her white dress.

"Watch out for the window dearest, it's a long fall". He warned, darkness filling the room. Ashlyn tried to scream but she couldn't. Darkness, darker than the night wrapped around her legs and throat, choking her. The girl tried to run, but her legs wouldn't budge. She thrashed under the darkness's grip, clawing at her throat. But all she could do was cower in fear as the king approached her.

"Why are you running, my dearest," he said, his hands tilted her chin up. "Do you fear me?"

She couldn't answer, as if someone had cut off her tongue. "I'll ask again," claws ripped at her clothes, dressing falling to the floor. "Are you afraid of me."

The world rumbled from underneath her, stones falling from the tower's walls. Ashlyn struggled again, fire lashing out at the King. Flame and darkness battled overhead as claws formed at the edge of the King's hands. They were sharp in their own way, made out of darkness and evil, ready to shred. He placed one on her back, cold against her skin.

The king pressed it in, and twisted, pushing deeper and deeper. Blood poured, stars dotting her vision. The man grunted as he dragged his embedded claw across her back. Pain lashed through her, her legs buckling. But he caught her by the roots of her hair and asked,

"Are you afraid of me?"

She opened her mouth, her flames extinguishing, and met the king's searing gaze. Blood splattered the floor beneath her, glistening. But the claw didn't stop.

"Yes."

***

Ashlyn awoke, panting, her clothes sticking to her sweaty body. She looked around wearily, taking a moment to remember where she was. She was a day away from Misthaven, in the middle of the forest. Her mother and father were dead, her village burned and her only possessions were her hunting equipment.

Ashlyn shivered, almost feeling the familiar claw, ripping her back, and the king's ebony eyes. She didn't know who he was, didn't know why she was there. She never understood her recurring dream, she never understood the Fae warriors that ran around or the villagers screaming. She never understood the white dress and the crown of flowers or how the man of her nightmares called her "dearest".

A small flame appeared in her hand as she sat up, brushing off dirt. Rhoe lay next to her, his hood pulled over his head. She didn't know if he was sleeping or watching her. She didn't know if he'd heard her wake up panting, nearly screaming. The fire wielder watched the growing flame in her hand. It was beautiful, an array of orange, yellow and red. So beautiful yet so deadly.

Ashlyn got up and walked a couple of steps toward the edge of the cliff. They'd walked for miles until night had fallen. She didn't know why they'd set up camp near a cliff, for it was wide open and predators could easily see them. But Rhoe had insisted it was better for him and had avoided any of her questions.

So she sat on the edge of the cliff, her legs dangling over the abyss. All it would take was one push and Ashlyn would fall to her death. But instead of worrying, Ashlyn entertained herself by watching the stars above her and creating little animals out of fire.

***

Rhoe knew very well that Ashlyn was awake. He'd felt her toss and turn beside him, letting out occasional whimpers. He knew he should have gotten up and checked up on her, but deep down inside he knew he would have done much more. More than he was supposed to. For he was the same as her. The warrior woke up most nights, drenched in sweat, wishing someone was there to hug him, cradle him until he fell asleep again.

Rhoe knew that if he ever let himself to help her, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from giving her what he'd never had. Love and someone there to cradle him back to sleep. So he waited, hoping to fall back asleep, as Ashlyn sat on the edge of the cliff, making little animals out of the fire.

Ashlyn had wanted to know why they'd set up camp by the cliff, in the wide open. But Rhoe couldn't bring himself to tell her about his other gifts. His wings, his Elysian heritage. Oh, how he loved his silver feathered wings. They were a rare gift from his bloodline and he was the only one in his family to have inherited his grandfather's flying gifts. Rhoe had never told anyone about it, for he knew that hunters would stop at nothing to cut off his wings and pin them in their studies.

So he'd learned how to fly on his own. Ever since he was five, he'd practiced not dragging them on the ground and launched himself off the ground or any ledge, only to fall face-first on the ground.

He dreamed of one day flying as the Elysian did in the olden days. He wished he weren't alone and didn't have to hide his beautiful wings. When he'd return to the King's barracks, to train with the other warriors, they called him weak when he couldn't fight due to all the soreness in his back. But little did they know he was the strongest of them all.

He trained for years, flying around the city at night when no one could see him. Rhoe strengthened his back muscles and his wings, enough to carry armor and blades while flying. Even now it still took him some effort to lift people and carry them high into the skies, but he'd make an exception for Ashlyn if the time ever came.

Dawn broke as Rhoe sat up, startling Ashlyn. She teetered, nearly falling off the cliff, but Rhoe grabbed her before she started falling.

"Don't ever do that again," he breathed. "I need you."

Ashlyn wriggled out of his grip and put on her cloak and slung her bow over her shoulder.

"Where are we going?" she asked, cocking her head.

He stopped and gazed into her blue eyes. Ashlyn was stunning, and the king was lucky to be her mate. "Home."