Throne of Ash and Blood

The grand hall of Norwich Castle rang with laughter, but none of it belonged to Alphonse. Golden banners hung from the high-arched ceiling, embroidered with the royal crest — a silver stag standing proud against a crimson field. Candles blazed in towering chandeliers, casting pools of warm light across marble floors polished so bright they reflected every shimmer. Outside in the courtyard, children of the noble houses played under the watchful eyes of their attendants, their fine silks fluttering in the breeze like the wings of exotic birds. Alphonse, dressed in his own ceremonial tunic of white and blue, approached them with a shy smile, hoping — just for today — that they might let him join in their games. They didn’t. The first boy, the son of a high lord, sneered at his boots. “Those aren’t even real leather,” he scoffed, though they were — just worn from use. A girl with golden curls giggled into her gloved hand. “Look at his hair. It’s a mess. Doesn’t he have a servant to fix it?” Another boy added, “Maybe the prince likes rolling in the mud with the pigs.” Their laughter stung sharper than any blade. Alphonse’s smile faded, and he turned away before they could see the heat in his eyes. He told himself he didn’t care, that their words meant nothing — but his steps were slower as he crossed the courtyard, slipping into the cool, shadowed halls of the castle. He wandered aimlessly, letting his fingers brush along the stone walls, tracing the grooves in the mortar. He passed servants carrying trays of sugared fruits and chilled wine, their eyes darting away respectfully. Somewhere deeper in the castle, voices murmured — and one of them made him stop. It was his uncle, Malric. The Regent stood tall in a robe of deep violet trimmed with black fur, his iron-grey hair slicked back, sharp features set in their usual mask of quiet disdain. Before him knelt three beast-people — rabbits, their long ears drooping, their brown fur patched and worn. Iron collars gleamed around their necks. “Kitchen,” Malric ordered coolly, as though speaking to dogs. “Clean it. Then prepare for the boy’s party. Quickly now.” They bowed low and scurried past Alphonse without meeting his eyes. Malric’s gaze followed them until they were gone, then shifted to his nephew. The smile he gave was thin and cold. Alphonse mumbled something polite and moved on. The laughter from the courtyard was far away now, replaced by the echo of his own footsteps. The castle felt too large, too empty — like he didn’t quite belong anywhere inside it. Then he heard the deep, familiar voice that could still make him stand straighter. “Alphonse!” His father’s figure filled the doorway at the end of the corridor, broad-shouldered and smiling beneath his well-trimmed beard. “I’ve brought you something special, my son.” Alphonse hurried forward, curiosity brightening his eyes. His father stepped aside, revealing a small figure behind him. She was about his age — six years old, perhaps — but unlike any child he’d ever seen. Her hair was snowy white, streaked with silver that caught the light like frost. Her eyes, bright amber with a ring of molten gold, burned with a wild, unblinking intensity. A bushy white tail, tipped in black, flicked nervously behind her. Faint russet markings traced the edges of her cheeks and the backs of her small hands. A leather collar encircled her neck, a chain leash dangling from it, held loosely in the king’s hand. “It’s yours,” his father said with a hint of pride. “A fox breed — rare, even among beast-people. It’ll make a fine servant for you when it’s trained. For now… feed it, care for it, and keep it controlled. It may fight you at first.” “It?” Alphonse echoed softly, frowning. But his father didn’t notice. With a chuckle, he handed his son the leash and strode away, already calling for his advisors. The little fox-girl’s eyes narrowed into slits. A low, rumbling growl escaped her throat, sharp canines flashing. When Alphonse stepped closer reaching for the collar, she bared her teeth — and lunged. Her small jaws clamped around his hand before he could react. He yelped, more from surprise than pain, and instinctively pulled back. A bead of blood welled where her teeth had broken skin. Still, he didn’t raise his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently, his tone more soothing than scolding. “I just… I want to take this off.” He nodded toward the collar, noticing how the rough leather had already rubbed the skin beneath raw. Red welts ringed her throat, and he thought he saw the faint shimmer of dried blood. He moved slowly this time, keeping his voice calm. She flinched when he reached out — but then, curious, she sniffed his wounded hand. Her nose twitched. She took another breath, then another, never looking away from him. At last, she allowed him to touch the buckle. The collar came free with a soft snap. Alphonse’s chest tightened at the sight of the bruises and small cuts marring her skin. Without thinking, he whispered a charm, his palm hovering just over the wounds. Light bloomed faintly between his fingers, and the injuries faded, leaving smooth, unmarked skin. The girl touched her throat, eyes widening. “There,” Alphonse said with a small smile. “Better, right? What’s your name?” She tilted her head like a curious animal, saying nothing. “Do you… speak Common?” he tried again. Her brow furrowed, and she stepped closer. Slowly, she began sniffing him again, moving from his hands to his shoulders, to his neck. He giggled — he couldn’t help it. “That tickles.” Finally, she drew back, her lips parting for the first time. “Emiko,” she said, her voice quiet but clear. “My name is Emiko.” Alphonse’s smile widened. “Emiko. That’s pretty. I’m Alphonse.” For the first time, her gaze softened — just a little. The birthday hall was filled with warm candlelight and the mingled scents of roasted meats, sugared fruit, and too much perfume. Laughter floated over the string music, but Emiko kept her eyes low, her white fox ears twitching at every word that wasn’t meant for her. She had been scrubbed clean, dressed in fine silk far too delicate for her work-hardened hands, her white tail brushed smooth until it swished softly behind her. Still, she could feel the stares. "Is it a wolf?" someone whispered behind a jeweled hand. "No… a fox." "A fox? White? That’s rare… especially one with sun-kissed skin." "What a waste… bought as a child’s plaything." Emiko’s ears flicked, her chest tightening. She didn’t know whether to shrink away or stand straighter. At the dais, Malric’s face betrayed nothing, but his sharp eyes tracked the murmurs with faint, icy disapproval. He held his wine cup a little too still, the knuckles pale against the stem. If one looked close enough, they might notice the subtle downturn at the corner of his mouth—just enough to signal he found their comments distasteful. Alphonse's tousled chestnut-brown hair kept falling into his face despite the palace maids’ earlier efforts to tame it. His eyes—stormy gray with flecks of blue—caught the light like steel under the sun, bright with boundless curiosity. Without hesitation, he reached out and slid his warm, soft hand into hers. The murmurs flared again. "That’s not appropriate." "He should have it on a leash, not holding its hand." Alphonse didn’t even look at them. His grip was gentle but sure. “It’s okay,” he told her, his voice carrying the simple certainty of a child untouched by prejudice. “You’re mine now. My friend.” He didn’t say it like a master claiming property, but like a boy declaring the start of something precious. Emiko stared at him, speechless. She had never been claimed in kindness before. Something deep inside her shifted—a warmth she couldn’t name taking root. From that day forward, she was his shadow.