The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

Copyright © 2023 by Carissa Broadbent Cover Art by KD Ritchie at Storywrappers Design. Under-jacket hardcover design by Nathan Medeiros. Interior Design by Carissa Broadbent. Editing by Noah Sky: [email protected]. Proofreading by Rachel Theus-Cass. Proofreading by Anthony Holabird: holabirdediting.com. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Author’s note: This book contains subject matter that might be difficult for some readers, including graphic violence, violence against children, discussion of sexual assault and rape, and slavery. This book also contains explicit sexual content. CONTENTS Prologue I. Night 1. Oraya 2. Raihn 3. Oraya 4. Raihn 5. Oraya 6. Oraya 7. Oraya II. New Moon Interlude 8. Raihn 9. Oraya 10. Raihn 11. Oraya 12. Oraya 13. Oraya 14. Raihn 15. Raihn 16. Oraya 17. Oraya III. Crescent Moon Interlude 18. Raihn 19. Raihn 20. Oraya 21. Oraya 22. Oraya 23. Oraya 24. Oraya 25. Raihn 26. Oraya 27. Oraya 28. Raihn IV. Half Moon Interlude 29. Oraya 30. Oraya 31. Raihn 32. Oraya 33. Oraya 34. Oraya 35. Oraya 36. Raihn 37. Oraya 38. Oraya 39. Raihn 40. Oraya 41. Oraya 42. Oraya V. Waxing Moon Interlude 43. Oraya 44. Oraya 45. Raihn 46. Oraya 47. Oraya 48. Oraya 49. Oraya 50. Oraya 51. Raihn 52. Oraya 53. Raihn 54. Oraya 55. Oraya 56. Raihn 57. Oraya 58. Raihn 59. Oraya 60. Raihn VI. Full Moon Interlude 61. Oraya 62. Oraya 63. Oraya 64. Raihn 65. Oraya 66. Raihn 67. Oraya 68. Raihn 69. Oraya 70. Raihn 71. Oraya 72. Raihn 73. Oraya 74. Oraya 75. Oraya VII. Dawn 76. Oraya 77. Raihn 78. Oraya 79. Raihn 80. Oraya Author’s Note Ready for more of The Crowns of Nyaxia world? Six Scorched Roses Also by Carissa Broadbent Glossary of Terms Acknowledgments About the Author PROLOGUE The king knew, in this moment, that his greatest love would also be his ruination, and that both would come in the unlikely form of a young human woman. He’d been putting off this realization for a long time. Longer, maybe, than he wanted to admit to himself. Clarity, strangely enough, came in a moment of utter chaos—in the raging screams of the audience, in the blood-soaked colosseum sands, in the flurry of bodies and sweat and gore as the young woman barely managed to stave off the brutal onslaught from her aggressor. The king wasn’t doing much thinking then. He was only reacting. Trying to get the Bloodborn’s attention away from the human. Trying to get between them. Failing every time. The Bloodborn contestant had one goal and one goal alone: to go after the human. One strike, and another, and another, and the young woman was on the ground, the Bloodborn towering over her, and the king couldn’t feel anything but his heart in his throat as the sword rose. And then the king looked up into the stands, and his eyes so easily fell to the Bloodborn prince, standing there with his arms crossed and a cigarillo at his lips, smirking. He understood exactly what that smirk said: I know what you want. You know what I want. It was here, in this moment, that the realization hit him. You have fucking destroyed me, he had told the young woman the night before. She would destroy him. And it would be worth it. Because the king didn’t even think, didn’t even hesitate, as he met the prince’s eyes—and he nodded. One little movement, and he sold away his kingdom. One little movement, and he knew exactly what he had to do. The next seconds blurred together. The prince’s smirk becoming a satisfied smile. His signal to his Bloodborn contestant. The contestant’s hesitation, so perfectly calculated, and the human woman’s sword through her chest. And then it was just him and her, and a prize that only one could live to claim. Only one choice was left then, of course. He didn’t question it. He had just made a deal to save her life—a deal that would destroy his kingdom, and that he had only one way out of. Three hundred years was a long time to live. More time, he’d often thought, than any creature deserved. The two of them stared at each other for several long, silent breaths, unmoving. He could read her face so easily. It was endearing that someone so prickly was also so transparent. Right now, her conflict—her pain—shone through the cracks in her walls. She wouldn’t move first, he knew. So he did. He knew her so well by now. He knew exactly how to push her to unleash all that ruthless, deadly, devastatingly-fucking-beautiful power. He was a good actor. He played his role well—even if beneath it, he flinched with every wound his blade opened on her flesh. Many years later, the historians would whisper, Why? Why did he do this? If they could have asked him that night, he might have said, Is it really so hard to understand? Her eyes were the last thing he saw when he died. They were beautiful eyes. Unusual. Bright silver, like the moon, though usually darkened by clouds. He found many things about the human woman beautiful, but he thought her eyes were the most stunning of all. He’d never told her so. The moment her blade came to his chest, Nightfire surrounding them both, he wondered if he should have. Those eyes always revealed more than she ever thought they did. He saw the exact moment she caught him in his act—realized he had tricked her. He almost laughed. Because of course she noticed. She, and those eyes, had always seen right through him. It was too late, though. His hand gripped her wrist as he felt her balk. His last words were not, You have beautiful eyes. His last words were,