Claire Kent returns to her post-apocalyptic world with Ashes, a story that leans heavily into quiet survival, domestic rebuilding, and the softer edges of romance in a broken world, similar to that of Homestead in her Kindled series. Framed as a Cinderella retelling after the Fall, this is a marriage-of-convenience story where safety, stability, and shared labor matter more than grand gestures. It is intimate in scope, deliberately restrained, and very much about two people choosing each other because the alternatives are far worse.

Teresa is a heroine shaped by endurance rather than rebellion. Trapped in a household ruled by a cruel stepmother and an equally unkind stepsister, she has learned to survive by keeping her head down and doing what is expected of her. She is gentle, compliant, and deeply insecure, but not without quiet strength.

Mason, on the other hand, is the village “prince” only by post-apocalyptic standards. He owns land, produces food, and lives alone. He is socially awkward, emotionally reserved, and profoundly decent. There is no swagger here, no alpha posturing. Mason’s appeal lies in his steadiness and his instinctive protectiveness, even when he barely knows how to articulate what he feels.

Their union begins as a practical solution rather than a romantic one, and much of the story unfolds around learning how to live together, work together, and slowly trust each other. The emotional tension does not come from external threats so much as from internal uncertainty, unspoken fears, and the weight of expectations placed on marriage in this new world order. Teresa’s fear of being unwanted and Mason’s fear of failing her shape nearly every interaction between them, creating a relationship that is tender but often frustrating in its hesitancy.

What worked for me was the care Kent took in portraying two inexperienced characters navigating intimacy for the first time. The sexual exploration between two virgin protagonists is handled with sensitivity and patience, and it fits the tone of the story. There is also something quietly satisfying about watching Teresa gain confidence in her own worth through competence, work, and being genuinely appreciated. Mason’s decency, his concern for her comfort, and his willingness to learn alongside her are undeniably endearing.

That said, Ashes leans too heavily into sweetness for my taste. The lack of meaningful conflict gives the story very little edge, and without sharper tension, it often feels more like a slice-of-life romance than a post-apocalyptic one. Compared to Homestead, which remains one of my favorites in Kent’s catalogue, this story lacks grit and emotional bite. I also found Teresa’s constant giggling distracting and, at times, grating. I found myself craving a broodier hero, stronger internal stakes, or at least a situation that forced real confrontation rather than gentle resolution.

Ultimately, Ashes is a quiet, domestic romance set against the backdrop of a ruined world. It will appeal to readers who enjoy soft heroes, slow emotional growth, and low-conflict storytelling. For those who, like me, prefer darker tension and more hard-won romance, this one feels a little too safe.

Recommended for: Readers who enjoy marriage-of-convenience romances, virgin protagonists, gentle heroes, and post-apocalyptic settings with minimal danger and maximum emotional softness.

Final Verdict: Ashes is a tender but overly sweet post-apocalyptic, Cinderella themed romance, that favors comfort over conflict. Pleasant, readable, but lacking the grit and intensity that gives this genre its edge.

Purchase Links: Amazon