Chapter 24
Ash escorts me out of his quarters on his arm, and I half-expect him to revert to how he was last night. The palace is empty, however—seemingly drunk into a stupor—and Ash maintains that approachable expression as he leads me outside.
What I see makes me stop dead.
It’s strange, because I looked at this garden out my window, but something about walking into it is so magical that it almost overwhelms me at first.
A long, arched walkway stretches before us, the entire thing covered in vines of pink roses. Petals fall to the stone path beneath our feet, and butterflies of all different colors and sizes flit from flower to flower. Running water burbles nearby from a fountain I cannot see. Beyond the walkway, the garden opens into a dazzling array of color and beauty, making me want to run to see it all, while still walking slowly enough to savor each part. To think I was once afraid I couldn’t grow anything in Faerieland!
My mouth gapes in awe until a butterfly flies toward me, and I hold my breath to avoid scaring it. It keeps coming, until it lands on the tip of my nose.
I stare cross-eyed at it as its wings slowly fold and unfold, filling my vision with whorls of blue and purple. When it still doesn’t move, a grin slips free of my restraint. Then I giggle. The butterfly flaps its wings and flies away.
“Did you see that?” I demand, whirling toward Ash and grabbing his arm. “It landed on my face!”
He’s smiling down at me. “Yes, I saw, love.”
Then he bends down and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, right where the butterfly was. I stand still, even more stunned than when the butterfly landed on me. But Ash takes my arm and brings me deeper into the garden, either oblivious to how hot my face has gone or purposefully ignoring it.
“You’ll like this,” he says, tugging me toward what appears to be a gazebo tucked away in a corner. I eagerly follow him, barely containing my excitement as we reach the overgrown structure made of chiseled and polished granite. I can hardly decide what is prettier between the colorful flowers wrapping around its pillars and dripping from the ceiling or the sparkling crystal streaks through the stone. Ash guides me up the steps until we’re standing on a blanket of petals, surrounded by so much beauty.
I gasp, twirling to see every section of the gazebo, and clap my hands. “Oh, Ash! It’s so lovely! I cannot believe this is right outside your quarters!”
He gives a pleased grin, then drags me right back out of the gazebo. “You’ll like this too.”
And that’s when I realize it.
He is trying to make me happy. It pleases him to delight me.
Now my face heats even more than before.
Don’t get too carried away, I tell myself as Ash leads me through countless rows of the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen, heading toward a stunning waterfall ahead. It’s a challenge when I want to gasp at everything I lay my eyes on, but I must be on my guard. There are things I still need to understand and questions I must ask.
But I cannot help exclaiming, “Oh!” as Ash brings me right to the mossy bank beside the waterfall tumbling over the edge of rocks into a small pool and stream that winds through the entire garden.
Ash grins at me. “There’s a bench here. Come, let’s sit.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from a pair of dancing butterflies, so I just let Ash lead me to the bench.
“You seem a little overwhelmed.”
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!”
“I have. I’ve seen something far lovelier, in fact.”
“Then you’re quite lucky.”
He only chuckles. “Indeed.”
I drink in my fill of the landscape, then force myself to focus. My husband sits beside me on the bench, his arms sprawled wide across the back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His handsome face is turned away from me, watching the waterfall. I take a deep breath and ask, “Ash?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Am I to be queen?”
Silence falls. His gaze flees from me, focusing on the pair of butterflies I admired earlier. “You are to exist. That is it.”
Not queen, then. Part of me is relieved. I have no interest in being queen over a people I do not understand. A larger part of me is concerned. If Ash is to be High King, and I am not to be his queen, is that because of my humanity, or is it because I am not expected to survive long enough to claim the title?
It might be both.
Something leaping out of the water, straight into the air, and falling back beneath the pond, interrupts my thoughts. “Was that a fish?”
“Was what a fish?”
“Watch!” I point, studying the water and refusing to look away.
My determination is rewarded. Only a moment later, the thing jumps out of the water and plops back in with a splash. It has a long, sleek body the color of a shiny blueberry. “See? That!”
“Ahh. Indeed, it is a fish. Are you surprised?”
“I haven’t seen any so vivid, and certainly none that jump out of the water!”
He chuckles. That merriment fades after a moment, a line appearing between his brows.
“What?” I ask.
He studies me. “You’re different.”
“Different?”
“From when we met.”
My shoulders ease and I turn away from that intense gaze. “Oh. Well, that was because I needed to not scare you off. Now I’m not worried about that.”
“Scare me off?” asks Ash, a note of surprise in his voice. “What makes you think I’m so spineless that a human princess would scare me?”
I sit up straighter, brushing my hands down my skirts to smooth them. “Do not underestimate princesses. They can be quite vicious when provoked.”
A sudden laugh bursts from my husband. It’s such a pleasant sound, I’m emboldened to think of something else unexpected to say. Something to elicit another laugh.
Don’t talk too much. Be clever and unexpected—but not too unexpected.
The memory of Jacquelle’s voice pulls me back to the ball where I was supposed to attract King Ilbert and failed. I’m not sitting on a bench by a waterfall, but one in a ballroom, waiting for the King of Enslington to bring me back refreshment as Father and Prince Brochfael discuss my future as though I am a breeding horse for sale.
Ash waves his hand at me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You’re thinking things, but you’re not saying them. My courage is insulted yet again.”
“You want me to say what I’m thinking?” It’s a question steeped both in mortification and hope.
“Of course,” Ash says, as though it is nothing. “What else should I want you to say?”
Nothing. Quiet pleasantries. Something witty and flirty. Something unexpected, but not too unexpected. I chew on my lip.
Show my refined breeding. Be alluring—but not too alluring. Don’t be overshadowed.
“H-human princesses are bargaining tools,” I say slowly, summoning my courage. “If they’re lucky, they will be betrothed from birth, and the most important accomplishment of their life will already be established. All that would be left is bearing heirs.”
Ash listens quietly, not interrupting.
“For those of us who are not so fortunate, we are responsible for ensuring that we capture the interest of a suitable match. If we are unsuccessful, then either our father has less bargaining power when negotiating the terms of the alliance, or there simply is no alliance. As such, it has always been imperative that we please our potential bridegrooms. If he should find you lacking, then you are considered snubbed, unfit for the one thing you were born to be.”
Ash is quiet. Then he echoes softly, “Unfit for the one thing you were born to be.”
The tone in his voice is more telling than the actual words he repeats.
I’d bet good money that Ash claims he doesn’t care about any of it. The truth, however, is obvious. Perhaps he’d call it a weakness, and that’s why he hides behind the persona of a cavalier prince.
I don’t have time to articulate a response or formulate a question, because just then, a gaggle of fae children come running down the path. If they were humans, I’d guess they were six or seven years old. For all I know, they could be twice my age. They resemble human children except for long, poking ears that are far too large for the rest of their body and the fact that one of them has light blue skin and white hair.
It wasn’t the passel of fae children that made me squeak and pull my legs onto the bench.
It was the enormous wildcat cub at their heels, with two rows of fang-like teeth and long, protruding claws.
Ash smirks at me, then calls out to the children, “What mischief are you hooligans up to?”
“Ith that the human printheth?” the blue-skinned one lisps, pointing at me. The others gasp, eyes wide as they stare at me. I stare back for only a moment because the wildcat leaping toward me makes me let out a shriek and stand up on the bench.
“Whoa there,” says Ash with a laugh, catching my wrist so I don’t lose my balance and tumble backward. “Have no fear, darling. The cub won’t hurt you.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say, even though the children give no reaction of being suddenly assaulted by the stench of iron. The black-and-white patterned cub reaches the bench and sniffs the edge of my skirt. I squeak and step back, nearly knocking myself over the back of the bench. Ash nudges the cub away and tugs me back down.
The children are laughing. Hysterical, am I?
One of them whistles for the cub, and it bounds back, jumping on one of them and knocking him clean to the ground while the others laugh.
“That creature is d-dangerous,” I insist, trying to ignore the gleam in Ash’s eye as he tries not to laugh at me. “Children shouldn’t be playing with it.”
“Can the human princess play with us?” asks one of the children with a grin on her face. A grin that concerns me.
“I don’t think she likes your pet,” says Ash, matching the child’s grin.
“We could put Tolgot away!” says the blue-skinned boy.
“We could show her the caves behind the waterfall!” says the third child—a boy with long, shaggy brown hair and a pair of ears even wider than the others.
“Oh, the caves are so beautiful!” says the girl, clapping her hands.
“And spooky!” says the shaggy-haired boy.
I chuckle despite myself. They seem sweet, and they’re all alone. Besides, now I’m curious about these caves. Surely children aren’t too much of a threat, right?
“Maybe another time,” says Ash. “She’s busy at the moment.”
Three pairs of eyes blink at me. “She doesn’t look busy.”
Ash lowers his brow, then slides across the bench to wrap his arm around me, making me stiffen. “See? She’s busy. With me.”
“Dithguthting,” the blue boy grumbles.
“But the caves are so pretty!” cries the girl.
I’m not sure I can handle their pleading much more. Besides, I need to learn to understand this world. I scoot so I can whisper in Ash’s ear: “Is it safe to play with them?”
He flinches, then shivers—and clenches his jaw.
That is not the reaction I was expecting.
“She touched his ear!” one of the children loud-whispers to the other. They stare in shock at me, at Ash. Then down at their own feet.
I blink.
Ash shoots to his feet, looping my arm through his elbow. “Maybe another time, children,” and drags me back onto the path toward his quarters.
I glance back at the gaping children and the cub gnawing on the blue-skinned boy’s trouser hems. Then I look up at Ash’s clenched jaw. “What just happened?”
“Nothing,” he says. It’s obviously a lie, but his face shows no sign of reacting to the taste of iron. Does he lie often?
“I just b-broke e-etiquette I don’t know a-about, didn’t I?”
“I suppose you make a regular habit of touching and whispering in men’s ears, then?” It’s almost a growl.
I’ve offended him. Embarrassed him, if the color rising into his neck and cheeks is any judge. “N-no, of course not. It’s just . . . I think it means different things in our cultures.”
“What does it mean in yours?” he asks, almost scoffing.
“It means I don’t want anyone else to hear what I’m saying.”
He scoffs again.
“What?” I demand, frowning.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone can still hear it. So is it a human thing to just go around whispering in ears?”
I suppose I did forget about fae hearing. “Well . . . we u-usually only do it to p-people who are r-relatively cl-close to us. Or if it’s very important to k-keep something quiet—”
He stops. Spins toward me. Lifts a hand and traces the pad of his thumb down the arch of my ear. It’s so unexpected, and his touch is so teasing and light, I shiver.
“Ha!” he bursts, triumphant. “See? Your ears are sensitive too! And here you are saying I’m overreacting!”
“It’s a little sensitive, but not much!” I insist right back.
“Not much?” He scoffs again.
“Try again. See if I react this time.”
“Fine, I will!” And with that, he touches my other ear—a soft caress on the outside shell.
I cannot help my flush as I stare up at him, as his fingers brush a few loose strands of hair. But I don’t move a muscle.
He blinks, his jaw dropping open. “How do you do that?”
I try to hide my mischievous grin, but part of it slips through. “You cannot hold still if I touch your ear?”
He turns away, giving an irritable grunt. “It’s sensitive.”
I burst into laughter.
His ears turn red, and I have the very sudden and very strong impulse to test his claim, to dare him to hold still while I touch his ear the exact same way he touched mine.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pulling me toward the exit of the garden.
I giggle all the way back.