Throne of Ash and Blood

Chapter 2 Changes

They grew up together in secret, in little worlds carved from stolen moments. Worlds where titles didn’t matter, and where no one cared that he was the crown prince and she was only a beast servant.

They stole pastries from the kitchens when the cooks weren’t looking, dusted with sugar that clung to their fingers and made them laugh with mouths full. They raced through the palace gardens until the guards shouted after them, pretending to be furious though their eyes always softened at the sight. They dared each other to climb the ancient oak by the pond, its gnarled branches stretching high enough to see the rooftops of the city.

One sweltering summer afternoon, they slipped away to the lake, feet burning against sunbaked stones. Without hesitation, they stripped down to nothing, leaping into the water with wild, uncontained laughter. The shock of the cold stole their breath, but they came up grinning, splashing each other until their arms ached. They were too young to understand the weight of vulnerability, but something in that moment settled into both of them—a memory neither would forget.

It was during these years that Emiko started imprinting on him. The instinct was older than kingdoms, older than the very walls around them—an ancient tether between her heart and his. She never marked him nor told him, though. That wasn’t her place… not when the court would never see her as anything more than a beast. So she kept her devotion quiet, fierce, and without expectation.

Alphonse, even then, had already begun weaving her into his future. He would arrange “accidental” meetings—slipping away from his lessons to find her in the gardens, pretending to stumble just so she’d catch his arm, lingering in the stables where they could talk without the ever-listening palace ears. Sometimes, he would sneak her into his chambers after the palace slept, letting her curl up on his bed, white fur brushed by moonlight, her breathing steady beside him.

But around the age of ten, Alphonse began noticing changes in her. Beast people matured faster than humans—puberty came early, and with it came instincts that could not be ignored. Her body was changing, subtly at first, then more noticeably. And then came the day he learned why, once a month, she disappeared.

Emiko would be locked in the dungeon with the other unmated female beast people in the castle, the heavy iron doors sealing them away for the entire night. It was their heat cycle—a cruel biological rhythm that gripped them in a fever of need, driving them to mate with an intensity that was as painful as it was uncontrollable.

Those days were agony for her.

Alphonse hated it. Hated knowing she suffered behind cold stone walls, reduced to an “animal problem” the palace handled without care for her dignity. He would wait, always, for the cycle to end, never failing to be there when she was released—tired, pale, and trembling from the strain. He’d take her somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes, and let her rest. Sometimes he would hold her until she fell asleep, his hand smoothing over her white hair, whispering words he didn’t dare speak in the daylight.

And in those moments, the bond between them—unspoken, forbidden—grew stronger than either could admit aloud.

It had started like any other lazy summer afternoon in the palace gardens. The sun spilled through the swaying branches, dappling the grass with shifting patches of gold. Alphonse and Emiko sat cross-legged across from each other, trading dares like they had been doing all morning.

“Your turn,” Alphonse grinned, leaning back on his hands, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Emiko narrowed her gaze, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “Alright… I dare you to climb that tree and hang upside down.”

He did it without hesitation, which only made her ears twitch in mild annoyance. "This is kind of boring, Alli."

Once he dropped back down, dusting his hands, he crossed his arms. “One more, it's my turn. I dare you…” His grin widened. “…to kiss me.”

Emiko froze. “Kiss you?”

“Yeah,” he said casually, as though it was the most obvious dare in the world.

She scoffed, but her cheeks warmed. “That’s dumb.”

“What’s the matter?” he teased, leaning forward. “I thought you were part fox, not part chicken.”

Her ears flattened slightly. “I am not a chicken.”

“Oh really?” He started making clumsy clucking sounds, flapping his arms like wings. “Bawk bawk!”

That did it. She stood, brushing grass from her skirt. “Fine. You asked for it, Alli.”

Alphonse smirked but felt a strange flutter in his stomach when she stepped closer. Her small hands caught the collar of his shirt, tugging him toward her. For a moment, her eyes met his, and then she shut them tight, leaning in until their lips touched.

It was brief—soft, warm, and over almost before it began.

Alphonse blinked, feeling an odd lightness in his chest, like the air had been stolen from his lungs. He didn’t know why his heartbeat had picked up so fast.

Emiko stepped back, ears still angled shyly, tail twitching nervously. Her lips tingled, and she wasn’t sure why she suddenly couldn’t look him in the eyes for too long.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” Alphonse said, trying to sound cool, though his face was hot.

“You’re lucky I didn’t bite you,” she muttered, turning away, but there was the faintest smile tugging at her mouth.

Neither of them said it out loud, but both knew something had quietly changed between them that day.

The morning sunlight spilled into the practice hall, glinting off the ripple of water that floated in midair above Alphonse’s hands. His brow furrowed in concentration, though there was no wand in his grasp, no murmured incantations passing his lips—just pure will and a boyish determination. The water obeyed him as if it had always belonged to him, swirling into ribbons, then freezing into a suspended lattice of frost before melting back into a single droplet.

His family had long been water mages, their legacy tied to oceans and rivers, to healing rains and relentless tides. But even among them, Alphonse was… different. When he was only four years old, they’d discovered his strange gift—no conduit required. While others had to channel their magic through staffs or wands, he shaped it with his bare hands. And unlike the other apprentices, who had to recite spells aloud, his magic was silent, instinctive.

“Good, Alli,” his father had once said during a lesson, smiling with quiet pride. “It’s not just talent—it’s control.”

While Alphonse honed his abilities in the echoing chamber, Emiko’s attention was rarely on the lessons. The high windows overlooked the training yard, and she often perched on the sill like a watchful fox, chin resting in her palm as she studied the guards below. Most of them were broad-shouldered, wearing armor that clinked and rattled with each swing of their swords. But one—one in particular—moved differently.

He wore lighter armor, daggers at his hips instead of a sword. His steps were measured, precise, and his strikes were quick and deliberate, each one finding its mark with surgical accuracy. He didn’t fight like a soldier. He fought like a shadow.

She watched him day after day, memorizing the subtle way he shifted his weight before striking, the way his body seemed to melt out of sight before reappearing in a different position.

Eventually, he noticed her. Instead of shooing her away, the guard—his voice low and his gaze sharp—asked, “You want to learn?”

Emiko didn’t hesitate. She nodded once.

Training began in secret, in the quieter corners of the courtyard where fewer eyes roamed. He showed her how to move without sound, how to make her breathing match the rhythm of the wind, how to hold a dagger so it became an extension of her hand rather than a tool. She was quick to learn, her natural instincts blending perfectly with his teachings.

But secrecy couldn’t last forever.

When Alphonse’s uncle discovered the arrangement, his outrage was immediate. “You’re teaching an assassin’s craft to a beast girl?” he’d snarled before the court. “You’re handing her the means to slit your throat in your sleep—and worse, the prince’s!”

His proposal was swift: exile both the guard and Emiko, before their supposed treachery could take root.

The hall had fallen silent then, all eyes shifting to the throne where the king sat. His gaze lingered on Emiko, calm and calculating, before he finally spoke.

“No,” King Halvard said firmly. “This girl is no threat to my son. She is his protector.” His tone brooked no argument. “If she has the will to defend him, she should have the skill to do so. The training will continue.”

And that was the end of it.

From that day forward, the guard trained her openly. Emiko, the white-furred fox girl with sharp eyes and sharper instincts, was no longer just a bystander to Alphonse’s life—she was his shadow.