The Queen of Ash and Blood

Chapter 1

Aubrey

"Do you have any last words, my love?"

The voice was like honey laced with poison. King Roderick. My husband. He stood just beyond the flames, his golden hair like a halo in the smoke, his face a mask of false sorrow.

"I loved you," I rasped, my throat raw from screaming. The heat was unbearable, a monster devouring my skin.

He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "You loved a crown, Aubrey. And you were not fit to wear it."

Beside him, my sister Celia preened. She adjusted the sapphire necklace around her throat. My necklace. A wedding gift from Roderick.

"It looks much better on me, don't you think?" Celia asked, her voice light and musical. "You were always so pale. The color never suited you."

Tears mixed with the sweat on my face. "Celia, how could you?"

"It was so easy," she whispered, her smile a beautiful, deadly thing. "You trusted everyone. That was always your weakness."

"Traitor!" a man in the crowd screamed.

"Witch!" another shrieked.

The flames leaped higher, kissing the hem of my thin shift. Pain, white hot and absolute, shot up my legs. I refused to scream again. I would not give them the satisfaction.

I locked eyes with Roderick. "You will regret this."

"I doubt it," he said, turning away. "The kingdom needs a strong queen. Your sister will do nicely."

He placed a hand on Celia's stomach, a possessive, triumphant gesture. Understanding dawned, another agonizing blow.

"I curse you," I choked out, the words ripped from my soul. "I curse you both. May your line turn to ash and your kingdom crumble to dust. May you know a pain a thousand times greater than this."

My vision blurred. The jeering crowd, the stone courtyard, the smug faces of my betrayers, they all melted into a swirl of orange and black.

The fire consumed me.

And I knew nothing more.

…

Cold.

Why was I cold?

A gasp tore from my lungs. My eyes flew open. I was not in the courtyard. I was in bed.

Soft linen sheets, a plush down mattress. My bed. In my father's house.

I shot upright, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands flew over my body. Smooth skin. No burns, no scars. I touched my hair. Long, silver blonde strands fell through my fingers, not a brittle, blackened mess.

My throat wasn't scorched. My lungs didn't burn. I could breathe.

A dream. It had to be a nightmare. The most vivid, terrifying nightmare of my life.

A soft knock came at the door. "My lady? Lady Aubrey? Are you alright?"

That voice. I knew that voice.

"Lena?" I called out, my voice trembling.

The door opened and my handmaiden, Lena, bustled in. Her kind, round face was etched with concern.

"You screamed, my lady. I was so worried."

I stared at her. "Lena… you're alive."

Lena blinked, a confused little frown on her face. "Of course I'm alive. Why would you say such a thing?"

Because I remembered. I remembered her weeping body being dragged from the palace after she tried to smuggle me a piece of bread in the dungeons. Roderick had her executed for it.

"What day is it?" I demanded, my voice sharp.

"It's the tenth day of the Sun's Bloom, my lady," Lena answered, startled by my tone. "The day of the final preparations. For the ball tonight."

"What ball?" I asked, though a cold dread was already seeping into my bones.

"The Royal Selection ball, of course!" Lena said, her cheerfulness returning. "Prince Roderick will announce his choice. Everyone says it will be you! Isn't it exciting?"

Prince Roderick. Not King.

The Royal Selection. Three years ago.

It wasn't a dream.

I stumbled out of bed, my legs shaking. I crossed the room to the ornate silver mirror on my vanity.

The girl who stared back was me, but not me. She was eighteen, her face unlined by grief and betrayal. Her eyes, wide and trusting, held a spark of innocence I thought was long extinguished. This was the girl who believed in fairy tales, the girl who was desperately in love with a golden prince.

The girl they had led to the slaughter.

"No," I whispered.

Lena fussed behind me. "We must get you ready! The dressmaker sent the white silk gown. It is absolutely divine. The Prince will not be able to take his eyes off you."

"Get out," I said, my voice dangerously low.

"My lady?"

"I said get out!" I screamed, the sound echoing in the opulent room.

Lena flinched back, her eyes wide with fear, and scurried out the door, closing it softly behind her.

I was alone.

I stared at my own reflection, at the naive fool smiling back at me from the past. All the pain, all the humiliation, all the agony of the fire came rushing back. I saw Roderick's smirk. I saw Celia's triumphant smile as she wore my jewels.

"You trusted everyone," my sister's voice echoed in my head.

My hand clenched into a fist. A wave of rage, so pure and potent it left me breathless, surged through me. This wasn't a second chance at happiness. This was a second chance at vengeance.

They had played their game. Now I would play mine.

With a guttural cry, I snatched a silver hairbrush from the vanity and hurled it at the mirror.

The glass shattered, exploding outwards. My reflection fractured into a thousand sharp, glittering pieces. A thousand broken girls.

I stared at the destruction, my breathing ragged. A single shard of glass on the floor caught my eye. In it, I could see a sliver of my face. My eyes were no longer innocent. They were cold, hard, and burning with a fire far hotter than the one that had killed me.

Roderick wanted a gentle, compliant bride. Celia wanted a sister she could easily manipulate. They expected a lamb.

This time, they would get a wolf.

"No more white silk," I whispered to the broken reflection.

A slow, cold smile spread across my face. A smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"This time," I vowed, "I'll be the one holding the torch."

My gaze drifted to the window, towards the distant capital where a golden prince awaited his bride. He was a dead man. He just didn't know it yet.

Neither did my sister.

But they would learn. Oh, they would learn. I would teach them a lesson written in blood and ash.

I turned away from the shattered mirror, feeling a strange calm settle over me. The fear was gone, replaced by a chilling sense of purpose.

"Lena!" I called, my voice steady and commanding.

The door creaked open a moment later. Lena peeked in, her expression nervous. "Yes, my lady?"

"Find my black mourning gown," I ordered.

Lena's eyes widened in shock. "Your mourning gown? But my lady, for the ball? It is inappropriate!"

"Is it?" I asked, my voice smooth as ice. "I think it's perfect. I have a great deal to mourn, after all."

"But… but what will people say?" she stammered.

"They will say whatever I wish them to say," I replied, walking towards my wardrobe. "And they will say the Prince looks very handsome."

Lena looked utterly confused. "The Prince?"

"Yes," I said, pulling the severe black dress from its place in the back. "The other prince. The one they keep in the shadows."

I remembered him now. Prince Kaelen. Roderick's half brother. The bastard prince. The Wolf of the North. In my first life, I barely noticed him. He was just a dark, brooding figure everyone avoided. But I remembered whispers. Whispers of his cruelty, his battle prowess, his hatred for Roderick.

An enemy of my enemy.

A perfect tool. Or perhaps, a perfect weapon.

"My lady, you cannot be serious," Lena pleaded. "Prince Kaelen is a monster. They say he is more beast than man."

"Good," I said, holding the black dress against my body. It felt right. It felt like armor. "I'm counting on it."

I had died once because of a handsome prince's love. This time, I would live because of a monster's hate. The board was set. The pieces were in place. And this time, I knew every move before it was made.

My name is Aubrey Vane, and my story would not end in fire. It would be forged in it.

Chapter 2

Aubrey

I stood before the shards of the broken mirror, feeling nothing but a cold, hollow space where my panic had been. The girl in the pieces was a stranger. A ghost. I was the one who had come back to haunt her life.

Lena crept back into the room, her hands twisting in the fabric of her apron. “My lady? Should I… should I send for someone to clean this up?”

“No,” I said, my voice flat. “Leave it. I want to remember what happens when you trust a fragile thing to hold your reflection.”

She stared at me, her eyes filled with a fearful confusion that I knew would become a permanent fixture. “But your preparations… the ball.”

“The ball is hours away. Bring me breakfast. Tea, no sugar. And toast, burned.”

Lena’s mouth opened and closed. In my old life, I loved honey cakes and sweet milk in the morning. “Burned, my lady?”

“You heard me,” I said without looking at her. “I’ve acquired a taste for it.”

She scurried away, leaving me in silence. I walked to the wardrobe and ran my hands over the fabrics. Silks, velvets, brocades. All in the pale, innocent colors my mother had insisted upon. Colors for a maiden, for a future queen of a golden prince. They felt like lies against my skin.

My fingers found the rough wool of the black gown at the very back. It was simple, severe, high-necked and long-sleeved. A dress for grieving.

“Perfect,” I whispered.

The door opened again, but it wasn’t Lena. It was her.

“Aubrey, darling!”

Celia swept into the room, a vision in spring green. Her auburn hair was already artfully styled, and her smile was as bright and false as a gilded coin.

“I heard the most awful crash yesterday evening,” she said, her voice dripping with manufactured concern. “Papa said you were just overwrought with excitement. Nerves, you know.”

I turned slowly to face her. My sister. The viper I had warmed in my own home. I felt the phantom heat of the flames on my skin, and my hands curled into fists.

“I’m perfectly calm,” I replied, my voice cool.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She had expected hysterics or giddy blushing. She didn’t know how to handle this version of me.

“Of course you are,” she recovered smoothly. “You were always the steady one. But tonight! The night Prince Roderick finally chooses you. You must be thrilled beyond words.”

“Must I?”

Celia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, yes. It’s all anyone has ever wanted for you. It’s all you have ever wanted.”

“People change,” I said.

She let out a light, tinkling laugh. “Oh, Aubrey. Don’t be silly. You haven’t changed. You’re just nervous.” She glided over to the bed where Lena had laid out the magnificent white silk gown before she fled. It shimmered under the morning light, embroidered with thousands of tiny seed pearls. The dress I had worn in my first life. The dress of a lamb to the slaughter.

“It’s exquisite,” Celia breathed, reaching a hand out to touch it. Her other hand held a small plate with a jam tart, its dark purple filling threatening to spill over the edge.

I remembered this moment. A memory so faint I had almost forgotten it. She had “tripped.” The jam would have ruined the delicate silk an hour before the ball. I would have wept, and she would have comforted me, the loving sister to the rescue.

“Don’t touch it,” I said. The words were sharp, like cracking ice.

Celia froze, her fingers hovering just above the silk. “What’s wrong? I was only admiring the craftsmanship.”

“Your hands are sticky,” I said, gesturing to the tart. “You should be more careful, Celia. You wouldn’t want to have an accident.”

Her face, for the first time, went blank. The mask of doting affection slipped, revealing the cold calculation beneath. She slowly withdrew her hand.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice a little tighter than before. “How clumsy of me. I’ll just put this down.”

She placed the tart on a side table, her movements stiff. The air in the room was thick with a tension only I understood. She thought I was being difficult. She had no idea I was seeing the ghost of her past sins.

Lena returned then, carrying a tray. She stopped short when she saw Celia, offering a nervous curtsy.

“Your breakfast, my lady,” Lena stammered.

Celia looked at the blackened toast and curled her lip. “Good heavens, Aubrey. What is this? Are they starving you?”

“I’m in mourning,” I said, taking the tray and sitting in a chair by the window. I took a bite of the burnt bread. It tasted like vengeance.

“Mourning?” Celia scoffed, recovering her composure and leaning against a bedpost. “Who died?”

“The girl I used to be,” I said, looking her directly in the eye.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Celia shifted her weight. She was losing control of the conversation, of me, and she didn’t like it.

“That’s not very funny, Aubrey.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“You need to stop this foolishness and get ready. The hairdresser will be here soon. You can’t greet Prince Roderick looking like you just crawled out of a tomb.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. I stood up and walked to the wardrobe. “That white dress is entirely unsuitable.”

Relief washed over Celia’s face. “Exactly! You need something that sparkles, something that shows the prince what a radiant queen you will be.”

I pulled the black mourning gown from its hiding place. I held it up against myself. The severe, dark wool seemed to absorb the light in the room.

Celia’s jaw dropped. Lena let out a tiny gasp.

“What is that?” Celia demanded, her voice shrill.

“My dress for the ball,” I stated calmly.

“Have you lost your mind?” she shrieked. “You cannot wear black to the Royal Selection! It’s an insult! People will think someone in the royal family has died!”

“Let them,” I said with a shrug. “Prophecies have a way of coming true.”

“Papa will forbid it!”

“Papa is two hundred leagues away settling a border dispute. By the time a raven reaches him, I will already be engaged.”

Celia’s eyes blazed with fury. This was a direct challenge, and she knew it. My compliance was something she had always taken for granted. My sudden rebellion was a threat to her own carefully laid plans.

“Engaged to whom?” she spat. “Roderick will not choose a madwoman dressed for a funeral.”

“Perhaps Roderick isn’t the only prince at the ball,” I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Understanding, and then horror, dawned on her face. “You wouldn’t. Aubrey, no. Not him. Prince Kaelen is a savage. A monster.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my lips. It was a cruel thing, this smile, and it felt more natural than any I had worn in my previous life. “Maybe I want a monster.”

“He will ruin you!”

“Better to be ruined by a wolf than coddled by a snake,” I retorted. I turned to my terrified handmaiden. “Lena. Help me with this dress. Now.”

Celia stared at me, her chest heaving. She was searching for a weakness, a crack in my new armor, but she found none. The sweet, pliable sister she had planned to betray was gone. In her place stood someone she did not recognize, someone with eyes that looked like they had already seen the end of the world.

“You will regret this, Aubrey,” she whispered, her voice a venomous hiss.

“No, sister,” I said, turning my back on her to face the broken mirror once more. “You will.”

In the fractured glass, I saw myself in the severe black gown. I didn’t look like a bride. I looked like a queen attending the execution of her enemies. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I thought I looked beautiful.

Chapter 3

Aubrey

The royal ballroom was a galaxy of glittering jewels and shimmering silks. A hundred chandeliers dripped crystal light onto the polished marble floors, turning the vast space into a cage of unbearable brightness. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the low hum of gossip, a sound I now recognized as the buzzing of flies on a corpse.

My entrance in the black mourning gown did not go unnoticed. The music seemed to stutter for a moment. A wave of whispers followed me as I descended the grand staircase, parting the sea of pastel-colored nobles like a ship of black iron.

They stared. Good. Let them stare. Let them wonder. Let them fear.

I saw him across the room, holding court near the gilded thrones. Prince Roderick. My golden prince. He was as handsome as I remembered, his smile easy and his posture confident. He was laughing with a duke, a glass of champagne in his hand, the very picture of a future king.

Then he saw me. His laughter died in his throat. His blue eyes widened, first in confusion, then in disbelief, and finally, in a flicker of irritation.

He excused himself from the duke and began to walk toward me. Each step he took was a step toward a ghost. He had no idea he was walking toward the woman he had already murdered.

“Aubrey,” he said, his voice a low, controlled greeting. He stopped a few feet from me, his eyes sweeping over my black dress. “A bold choice for the evening.”

“Boldness is required for survival, Your Highness,” I replied, my voice even and cold.

He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Survival? This is a celebration, my lady, not a battlefield.”

“Is it?” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Sometimes I find it hard to tell the difference.”

His smile vanished completely. “What has gotten into you? You have been distant. And this dress… it is an insult.”

“The only insult is a lie,” I said. “And I am done with lies.”

I turned and walked away from him, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the floor. I could feel his stare, and the stares of half the court, burning into my back. It felt like nothing. A pale imitation of the fire I had already endured.

I needed a drink. I needed air. I needed to find my monster.

I took a glass of wine from a passing servant and scanned the room. My sister, Celia, was watching me from across the floor, her face a mask of fury and confusion. She stood beside a group of chattering ladies, but her attention was fixed on me. I raised my glass to her in a mock toast before turning my back.

He wasn't here. Of course he wasn't. The Wolf of the North would not be found in the center of the pack, basking in the light. He would be on the fringes. In the shadows.

I made my way through the throng of bodies, ignoring the startled looks and hushed comments. I was headed for the doors to the terrace, the long stone balcony that overlooked the royal gardens.

It was colder out here. The moonlight was a stark, silver wash over the stone balustrade. Most of the nobles avoided the terrace, preferring the warmth and light of the ballroom. But it was not empty.

He stood at the far end, shrouded in the deep shadows cast by a marble column. He was exactly as the whispers described him, and worse.

Prince Kaelen was not a man built for ballrooms. He was a creature of the mountains and the snow. He was immense, a head taller than any other man I had seen, with shoulders as broad as a doorway. His black hair was long, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. A jagged scar cut from his left temple down to his jaw, a pale white line against his weathered skin. He wore the black and silver uniform of the Northern armies, stark and severe, without any of the golden frippery Roderick favored.

He wasn't looking at the party. He was staring out into the darkness of the gardens, a cup of something dark held loosely in one large, calloused hand. He radiated a palpable aura of menace, a stillness that was more threatening than any overt display of aggression. The few other people on the terrace gave him a wide, respectful berth.

They saw a monster. I saw a weapon. My weapon.

I started walking toward him. The sound of my heels on the stone was unnaturally loud in the quiet. I felt his head turn, his attention shifting from the night to me. His eyes were dark, and even from a distance, I could feel their intensity.

I did not slow down. I did not drop my gaze.

I stopped when I was just a few feet away. He looked me up and down, his expression unreadable, a faint curiosity mixed with contempt.

“You are a long way from the fire, little dove,” he said. His voice was a low rumble, like stones grinding together. “Did you lose your way?”

“I came looking for you, Prince Kaelen,” I said clearly.

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “No one ever comes looking for me. They stumble into me by accident and then run away. You should do the same.”

“I don’t run,” I said.

“A mistake,” he said, turning his gaze back to the gardens. “Especially for someone like you. Go back to the party. Go dance with my golden brother. He is your future, is he not?”

The casual venom in his voice when he mentioned Roderick was exactly what I had hoped for.

“Roderick is a fool and a liar,” I stated.

This got his attention. He turned his head fully, his dark eyes boring into me. They were not black, I realized, but a grey so deep they seemed to swallow the light. The color of a storm cloud just before it breaks.

“Those are dangerous words to speak about a future king,” he warned.

“The truth is often dangerous.”

“And what does a girl like you know of truth?” he sneered. “You, who was raised on silks and sweet words.”

“I know that the world is not what it seems,” I said, stepping closer. I was so close now I could feel the cold radiating from him. “I know that some men who look like princes are demons. And some who are called monsters are merely misunderstood.”

He studied my face, his own a mask of stone. “Whatever game you are playing, play it somewhere else. I am not a toy for a bored noblewoman to entertain herself with.”

“This is not a game.”

“It always is with your kind,” he growled, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Now leave, before you get hurt.”

“I am not afraid of you, Wolf of the North.”

“You should be,” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

I took the final step, closing the space between us. I looked directly into his stormy eyes, summoning a memory from a future that would never happen, a piece of information I had overheard from a drunken, weeping chambermaid who had once served in his mother’s household.

“Should I?” I asked softly. “I don’t think so… Kae.”

The world seemed to stop. The music from the ballroom, the rustle of the wind, it all faded into nothing.

His body went rigid. The casual contempt in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, violent shock. It was as if I had struck him. His hand tightened on his cup, his knuckles turning white.

He moved faster than I thought a man his size could move. In a heartbeat, he had me backed against the cold stone of the column, his body caging mine in. His face was inches from mine, his expression terrifying.

“What did you just call me?” he demanded, his voice no longer a rumble, but the deadly snarl of a wolf with its teeth bared.