A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

My gaze immediately went to his mouth. What did a mortal become once Ascended? I knew they did not become a god, but that wasn’t my most important question. “Will my Ascension take place then?”

The eather in his eyes flared intensely. “You will not be Ascended. You will remain mortal.”

Surprise rolled through me as I looked up at him. Even though I knew that it didn’t matter whether or not I Ascended. I didn’t plan for either of us to be around long enough to even begin comprehending something akin to immortality. But he didn’t know that. “How can you have a mortal Consort? Has there ever been one?” I asked. If so, it had never been documented.

“There has never been a mortal Consort. But this was never your choice. It wasn’t mine, either,” he stated, and the twinge of rejection was so utterly ridiculous, I wanted to smack myself. “And I would never force someone into a near eternity of this.”

Of this.

He spat those words as if he spoke of the Abyss. For a moment, I didn’t understand, but there was so much I didn’t know about Iliseeum and their politics—the gods and Primals that pushed the limits of others, and what exactly that often entailed beyond what I’d seen on the way into the palace.

And it was yet another thing that didn’t matter. I didn’t need him to be open to the idea of Ascending me. I just needed him to love me.

Nervous, I lifted my gaze to his. “Are there any more rules, Your Highness?”

A half-grin appeared, stroking my temper. “Why do I find you referring to me as such arousing?”

“Because you’re an arrogant, controlling misogynist?” I suggested before I could stop myself.

Ash laughed, and I swore the corners of my vision started to turn red. “I am arrogant and can be somewhat controlling, but I feel no hatred for women, no more need to control them than I would a man.”

I stared at him blandly. “Are there any more rules?” I repeated.

“You’re angry—and no, I’m not reading your thoughts. It’s obvious.”

“Yes, I’m angry.” I turned from him, once more walking the length of the shelves. “What you call agreements are rules, and I don’t like rules.”

“I never would’ve guessed that,” he remarked.

“I don’t like that you think you can establish rules as if you have the…” Common sense finally seeped in, urging me into silence.

Ash arched a brow. “The what, liessa? Like I have what? The authority? Is that what you were going to say? And did you stop yourself because you realized I have exactly that?”

I pressed my lips together. That wasn’t why, but it also probably should’ve been.

“I do have the authority. Over you. Over everyone here and every mortal in and outside of this realm, but that is not why I have these conditions,” he said as I came to the end of the shelves, near the portraits. “They are in place to help keep you safe.”

“I don’t need that kind of help,” I said, my gaze lifting to the portraits. One was a man. The other a woman.

“One of the bravest things to do is to accept the aid of others.”

“Do you do that?” I asked, staring at the woman. She was beautiful. Deep red-wine hair, almost the same as Aios’s, framed an oval-shaped face, the skin painted a rosy pink. Her brows were strong, her silver-eyed gaze piercing. The cheekbones were high, and her mouth was full. “Do you often accept the aid of others?”

“Not as often as I should.” His voice was closer.

“Then maybe you don’t know if that is brave or not.” My attention shifted to the male, and even though I suspected I already knew who these people were, I still wasn’t prepared for how much he looked like the Primal standing behind me. Hair shoulder-length and black—a bit darker than Ash’s hair—he had the same bronzed tone of skin as Ash. The same features, really. Strong jaw and broad cheekbones. Straight nose and wide mouth. It was like looking at an older, less defined version of Ash, courtesy of the woman’s softer features. “These are your parents, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” He was directly behind me now. “That is my father. His name was Eythos,” he said, and I silently repeated the name. “And that is my mother.” He came to stand beside me, and a long moment passed. “I remember my father. His voice. The memories of it have faded over the years, but I can still see him in my mind. This is how I know what my mother looked like.”

Fighting the burn in the back of my throat, I folded my arms over my waist once more. “It’s hard to see her…in your mind, isn’t it? When you’re not standing directly in front of this painting.”

“Yes.”

I could feel his gaze on me. “There is a portrait of my father in my mother’s private chambers. The only one that still remains. It’s strange because all the other Kings’ portraits line the banquet hall.” I took a deep breath, hoping to ease the burn in my throat. “I think it…pained my mother too much to see him. She loved him. Was in love with him. When he died, I think…I think he took part of her with him.”