Chapter 21
His kiss surprises me, enough that I scramble away when he lets me go. Part of me hates myself for not being bold enough to stay. It’s better, though, to not indulge. I’ve only mostly forgiven him for tonight. Partially because of his explanation, but more so because of the sheer devastation on his face.
“These are your chambers, then?” I ask and swallow a yawn before I betray how exhausted I am after this long day and all those tears.
“They’re our chambers, yes,” he replies, and something about the way he says it makes my neck turn warm.
I spin toward him, clasping my hands behind my back. “Well? Are you going to give me a tour, my lord?”
He winces at the title, making me wonder if he adopts his princely persona so thoroughly that he doesn’t even realize the inconsistencies. Nevertheless, he gets to his feet, which only serves to remind me how tall he is, and gestures for me to follow him.
The room we stand in has couches arranged in a semi-circle facing six curtained window arches. The tables between each couch are wooden, maintaining their natural color and shape and even a few leaves, but they’re polished with something that gives them a lovely sheen.
Two gnarled tree-things flank the door. I take them to be the fae version of a coat rack, because when Ash gets up, he removes his overcoat and flings it onto one of the branches. My eyes might be teasing me, because I could have sworn the branch extended just a fraction, as though to catch the overcoat.
“This is where I welcome any guests I choose to receive,” Ash says, gesturing at the couches where we were just sitting. White walls are accented by roughened, dark wood beams and punctuated by something like climbing ivy. My heart thrills at the sight of the strange but beautiful plant. Once I’m settled, my first order of business will be to explore the plants of Faerieland. “It is also for leisure, should you like that. I haven’t had much use for leisure, and I haven’t had much use for guests either, so this room isn’t used very often. You’re welcome to do as you please, though you should be aware that this is considered a public space.”
“So don’t wear only my shift out here. Understood.”
He gives a surprised chuckle, but when I glance at him, he’s already looked away, giving me nothing to focus my gaze upon except a long, pointed ear that seems a little redder than it was a moment ago. “As I said, you may do as you like. I merely intend to inform you. In there is the dining hall, for taking meals.” He points through an arched doorway at what appears to be part of a long table. Then he continues toward the back of the quarters, to a hallway with several doors. He stops at the first door and pushes it open. “This is my study, where I spend most of my time.”
I peer around his bulk to discover a smallish chamber with bookshelves lining every wall, a shocking amount of the bookshelves’ occupants scattered like a child’s discarded toys across the floor. Papers flutter on the desk at the center of the room, anchored down by ink pots, quills, and other detritus.
It looks like a tornado blew through the space.
His steward must keep the rest of the quarters clean but isn’t allowed to touch Ash’s important documents.
“That is quite the judgmental face,” Ash remarks dryly, pulling the door shut and cutting off my view. “At this rate, I might be forced to ban you from my study. I can’t endure your pretty face set so critically.”
My cheeks heat, both at his unexpected compliment and that my thoughts were so obvious. I tighten my clasped hands behind my back and bounce on the balls of my feet, saying nothing and trying to look as innocent as possible.
Ash narrows one eye at me, then continues his tour, pointing out the next door as the bathing chamber, and leading to the final door in the hallway. “And this is the door to our private quarters.”
He pushes open the door. It’s a very large room, with another sitting area to the left beside a great big window covered by a gauzy white curtain. I nearly gasp at the sight of flowering vines draping down the wall like a blanket, though the blossoms are all closed for the night. It’s easy to imagine taking tea and breakfast here while staring out the window at whatever lies beyond.
Maybe I can make a life here.
If the High King doesn’t kill me first.
That’s when I survey the rest of the room and notice the large bed to the right, with a rich green coverlet and white embroidery. More gauzy white fabric twisted with silver ivy drapes the four posters.
My throat goes suddenly dry, and when I peek at Ash, he’s not looking at me. His long ears are pink again. Why does it excite me to see him flustered? Perhaps it feels a little bit like comeuppance for how he treated me earlier. Is there something I can say to embarrass him further?
“This is where we will sleep tonight?” I ask.
The color of his ears deepens as he clears his throat. “You may sleep here if you like. I will be in my study for the duration of the night, catching up. But I thought you might prefer to see your room.”
I blink and realize there’s yet another door at the far end of the room. Why does my stomach sink? Did I think Ash would hold me in his arms every night as I fell asleep? Now that I set my mind to it, it’s a ridiculous notion. He even said yesterday that he doesn’t need sleep like I do. Of course I will be sleeping alone.
It’s better this way. I’m used to this.
He pushes open the door. Of all the rooms, this is the one that I love the most. It’s octagonal—odd, but I can’t help but like the character it has—with windows on one half of the octagon overlooking a beautiful garden and waterfall. The furnishings are simple, but elegant. A large, downy-soft bed, with a coverlet of many beautiful blossoms and all different colors woven together, rests in the center of the room, its headboard set against a wall completely covered in vines. All the air leaves my lungs.
My lips part slowly at first, then split into an enormous grin. “It’s—”
But Ash’s finger falls to my lips suddenly, his eyes darting around the space. I swallow my words, trepidation washing away the awe and excitement of the moment before. Is something wrong?
He frowns, pulling his finger away from me, as he prowls silently across the room. I watch, not twitching a single muscle, as he shoves his hand behind one of the pillows on the bed and . . . grabs something.
It squeaks.
I gasp.
Ash shoots a sharp look at me, telling me to be quiet. I clamp my hands over my mouth, refusing to breathe as he pulls something out from behind the pillow.
It’s a small, winged creature that writhes in his grip. It shakes its tiny fist at Ash, its mouth opening and closing as though it’s yelling. No sound comes, however. Did Ash just glamour away the sound like he did when he pulled me aside after we left the throne room?
Ash continues through the room, the one humanoid creature in his fist. He yanks another out from the curtains, and a third from a drawer. Then he marches to one of the windows, unlatches it, and flings the creatures outside, slamming and locking the window shut behind them.
“Well!” he says, brushing off his hands on his trousers. “My apologies for that. I would have rather inspected the rooms before you came, but alas, it couldn’t be helped.”
I slowly pull my hands away from my mouth as the tension eases out of my body. “What . . . were those?”
“Oh, just pixies. Someone likely hired them to spy on you and wait in your room until you arrived.”
“Spies?”
“Don’t worry, they wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“But . . . are you sure you got them all?”
“Of course. I learned a long time ago to keep my wits about me. Pixies are good spies, but once you know their smell, it’s impossible to miss them. They’re gone now. And they’re not in any of the other rooms either.” He pauses, studying me, and then lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. I will take care of you.”
I nod, accepting his assurance. He has every motivation to keep me alive. I trust he will do everything to keep me safe.
Whether it is enough remains to be seen.
I try to bring my mind back to the room, back to the beauty of the space, the fact that it almost seems made for me. “What is this room for?” I ask, changing the subject.
“You.”
“No, before me.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “For a mistress. Normally, a princess consort would have her own suite, but I didn’t want you to be so far away. Thus, I brought you here.”
I nod again, and when I can think of nothing to say in reply, we end up standing there silent for several minutes.
Finally, he says abruptly, “Your trunks are stacked in my study. I didn’t think you’d want them cluttering your room until you’ve had a chance to sort through them. You can wear your human clothes if you like, but . . .”
“I have no attachment to human fashion,” I reply, glancing down at the beautiful dress I wear. “This is much more comfortable. If you’d prefer that I wear fae fashion, I will oblige.”
He glances at me, and a pleased expression warms his face. “Very well. There are a few spare sets of clothes that should last until we can have more things made for you. For now, I ought to remove your glamour.”
He steps forward, hesitates slightly before taking my face in his hands and resting his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle, our mouths so close. I still can’t quite bring myself to close my eyes, staring wide-eyed at him as he shuts his own, brow furrowing in concentration.
The beautiful white dress begins to glow, and slowly melts away, revealing my sweltering, fur-lined travel garb from earlier. He pulls back, and I tug at one of the scratchy sleeves.
“Will I have a maid?” I ask.
“If you would like one.”
“I believe I would. If that would not be dangerous.”
“My staff cannot hurt you. They are bound by oaths. I’ll arrange for someone to see to your needs first thing tomorrow. Now, you must get sufficient rest. I’ve heard that humans need plenty of sleep, and I intend to take good care of you.”
With that, he leans down, presses a chaste kiss to the top of my head, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
I blink, suddenly alone.
It takes some time, but eventually I manage my way out of my dress. I find a beautiful light pink nightgown in the drawers on the opposite side of the room and slip it over my head. It falls like butter over my hips, soft and silky but not cold like satin.
Exhaustion tugs at my body, but I walk past the bed to the wrap-around windows, dusk light and fireflies dancing across the garden. It’s like a fairytale, beautiful, romantic, and magical.
But I don’t smile.
This is a completely different world from my home—but also from what I expected. I’m not prepared to face a king’s vengeance, or my husband’s cunning machinations.
To some extent, I can trust Ash. I do believe him when he says he will do what he can to protect me, that he will try to not blindly throw me into situations I’m not equipped for without a warning.
At the same time . . . he is a fae. He is one of them.
He can be cold and callous. He can be wicked and wild. That is not the sum of him, but it remains that I must be on my guard around him.
I will not blindly trust him.
This does not mean I blame him for bringing me here. I can understand wanting to challenge a king whose goal is to kill his only son. I can understand many things about his situation. That does not mean I will believe everything he says or expect a complete reformation of how he treated me this evening.
I must make sense of this world and how it works, or I will die. Beyond that, I want my people spared from the High King’s conquest. Beyond that . . . I dare not let myself consider what else I want. At least, not yet.
I cannot rely on Ash for everything.
That’s when I notice three little potted plants set on the corner of my windowsill. My herbs. My rosemary, thyme, and lavender. I chew my lip, and maybe I forgive Ash a little more for earlier.
Crawling into bed, I pull the coverlet up to my chin. It’s the softest bed I’ve ever encountered, much softer than even a goose feather mattress. Despite the newness of this world, the constant alertness in my body, I quickly fall asleep.
I run a hand through my hair as I make my way to my study. It is strange and disconcerting to leave her alone after being at her side for these last twenty-four hours. What if something happens to her? What if there’s some trick I didn’t sense?
I shake my head. She is safe here. My wards indicate no breach. The pixies are gone.
She’s safe.
For now.
Why did I have to marry the most likeable woman I’ve ever met? I ought to have married some grisly old dowager queen. Then maybe I’d be less worried about her all the time.
I open the door to my study, only to be greeted by a stack of sealed missives left by Edvear, and the pile of my wife’s trunks stacked to one side. I flop down into my chair, lean my elbows onto the desk, and rake my hands through my hair and fist them tightly, closing my eyes.
It seems I might need rest too.
But I can’t.
The first thing I do is open the secret compartment beneath my desk, unlock the ward with my thumbprint, and pull out the vials. Six in all. I study them grimly for one moment, at the sloshing liquid contained in each. Most are clear, but one is black and viscous. I unstopper the first one and take a bitter swig. I move through all of them until I get to the black one.
No matter how many times I do this, the black one always remains the most disgusting. I fortify my strength and take my swallow. It slides down my throat like a slug, coating it with something that tastes like tar. I cough, take a few desperate swigs of an old, tepid cup of mint and grell tea as my eyes water.
It’s done. Until tomorrow.
I straighten, and before I touch those missives, I take a stack of fresh parchment and set to work. The first is an order for the royal tailor to come by midday tomorrow. The second is for Edvear to shift duties of Hylath, who has been on my staff for some forty-odd years, and set her as Stella’s personal maid.
Then I take the top letter off the stack. It’s an invitation. I slide my knife under the seal and open it.
Lulythinar Masquerade Ball.
I toss it aside and continue to the next one. It’s a sealed note from Edvear.
Mama Bagogs says she will be delighted to receive you tomorrow afternoon, if it should please Your Highness.
One of the tattoos on my arm twinges—half of a broken heart. I dip my quill into ink and scrawl my reply on the same sheet.
Perfect. Tell her that I will bring Stella if she cares for an outing.
Tomorrow, I will initiate the second step of my plan. The step of bringing about the unlikely alliance between the Nothril Court and my father’s most powerful emissary, the Neverseen King.
The next isn’t even sealed. It’s merely folded and hidden between the other letters. I recognize the disguised handwriting despite the lack of a signature.
A star burns at midnight. It won’t set for three days.
I snort ruefully and mutter, “My sympathies, Rahk. May the moods of Lord and Lady Nothril not prove too overbearing. Though it’ll be wise if you delay your return more than three days.”
The last note is also not sealed. It’s on a torn sheet of paper, in Edvear’s hand, scrawled so quickly it’s almost illegible. I frown at it, tilting it to decipher its meaning. At last, I make sense of the scrawl.
Do you really intend to do this to her?
My jaw hardens. I toss the paper into the glowing embers of the fire and let it darken and curl until it’s consumed.
It’s easy to criticize those who make hard choices when you never have to. I don’t pretend to be proud of what I’ve done. Who I am. What I’ve become. But I would rather be a monster to give those better than me a chance at a good life.
If I must be a monster to keep Stella alive and get my throne, then I will be the ugliest, deadliest monster.
And I won’t regret it.