Chapter 36
I open my eyes, and it’s almost surprising when they’re clear. I sit upright in bed. This is Ash’s bed. Not my own. I scan the room, find Edvear sitting by the door on a little stool. He smiles at me, bright and relieved.
“You’re awake, my lady.”
I draw the covers to my chest self-consciously, then reach up and touch my matted hair. Thoughts race around my mind, loud like a cacophony of ringing bells, mingling with stray memories. I put myself in this bed. When Ash was poisoned. Or, rather, when Ash poisoned himself. The running around the Aursailles palace—a dream, then. Was the vague memory I have of collapsing against the door, of staring blearily up into Ash’s shocked face, a dream too?
I blink at Edvear. “So it would seem. Where is His Highness?”
The smile falters. “The High King summoned him.”
“Oh.” That’s not good. But the High King cannot kill Ash until he’s sired an heir, which hasn’t happened yet. So this cannot be that bad, right?
“Would you care for a change of scenery? I can help you to sit by the windows in the living room, to give you a little fresh air until His Highness returns.”
It would indeed be nice to get out of this bed. “Fresh air would be lovely.”
He fetches me a thick robe while I use a brush to work out the worst tangles in my hair. My strength hasn’t fully returned, but I don’t lean on his arm as heavily as I expect when he takes me out to the living room. The sunlight feels so good on my eyes, and the sight of the beautiful gardens outside the windows immediately lifts my spirits. I sit in one of the settees facing the gardens and sip the rich, warmed chocolate another servant brings me.
I feel so much better.
Suddenly, the front door bangs open, startling me.
Edvear is there at once to greet Ash, who doesn’t see me at first. He tosses his cloak to the live coat rack. The rack catches the cloak out of the air and goes still. But Ash grips the back of one of the upholstered chairs with white knuckles, his shoulders bowed. My heart falls straight to the floor.
“My lord?” Edvear asks. “What has happened?”
“A new position has opened up on our staff,” Ash replies darkly. “We also need medical attention immediately. Send for one of the low fae doctors. Was Rahk here?”
“No, my lord. No one has come to the door.”
Suddenly queasy, I set down my hot chocolate on the end table near me. The dish clinks against the wood. That’s when Ash looks up—spots me. His flashing eyes pierce mine.
“See to those things,” he orders Edvear, his attention never leaving me as the steward leaves. His face is such a mingling of intensity that I can hardly tell the fury from the relief—the latter, I think, from me being past whatever sickness has plagued me these last few . . . days?
But beneath the fury is something fragile. Something that’s already broken.
My mouth is so dry, but I speak anyway. “Ash.”
A growl bursts from him. He shoves aside the upholstered chair and crosses the distance between us. Then he’s beside me, dragging me into his arms with a long, low groan. He buries his face in my neck.
My body goes taut. That is . . . not what I was expecting. “Ash?”
“Stella,” he growls in response, tightening his grip on me. Edvear is gone, but I’m acutely aware of the fact that he can return at any moment.
I close my eyes, an ache building in my chest. Slowly, I let myself soften against him, and reach up one tentative hand to brush the long strands of dark hair out of his face. “What happened?”
“I’m a fool,” he groans into my neck.
“What happened?” I ask again.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
My brow furrows. I stroke his hair behind his ear. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to worry you.”
I give a dry little chuckle. “Too late.”
“And maybe if I don’t tell you, it won’t be real.”
My hand slows, my heart hammering.
“And because I’m just so glad that you’re still alive. I’m so glad, but I am so angry, and I’m afraid of what I’ll do—how I’ll retaliate. I’m a fool, Stella. A fool for bringing you into this. A fool for thinking I can outmaneuver that snake. Everywhere I go, death follows me.” His fingernails dig into my side, though not enough to be painful, and he pulls me closer, his breath hot against my skin as he groans again. “Everything I love dies. And Stella, I love—” He cuts himself off abruptly, then finishes. “I love more than I should. I know I shouldn’t care about anyone—anything! So why can’t I help it? Why can’t I just be heartless? Why can’t I just be more like my wretched father? He wants a monster. And I want to be a monster. But I just . . . can’t.”
Alarm builds inside me until I’m breathing hard and tensing back up in his arms. I’m too afraid to ask what happened, too terrified to know what he lost.
One of Ash’s hands slides up to tangle in my hair, his mouth pressing short, desperate kisses against my throat, my jaw. “I need to send you away,” he growls softly in my ear. “I need to get you out of here. I’ll just kill him. I don’t care about the throne. I’ll kill him, I’ll give up my right to rule, and I’ll let the Courts destroy themselves. And then I’ll come and find you—after the world has burned itself to the ground. It’ll be just the two of us then, and there will be nothing left that can hurt you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. His voice, his words, are the sound of heartbreak. Hopelessness. Futility. All this time, this was beneath the strength, the cunning, the confidence, and intimidation.
Heartbreak.
The memory of Rahk’s voice is in my ear: “He killed Ash’s mother.”
And now Ash is afraid to lose me.
I work my hands free of his embrace, plant them against his chest, and push. He only resists for a moment, then lifts his head to look at me with such desperate, mournful eyes. I rest my palm on the side of his cheek, and he leans into it, tilting his face so he can press his mouth to my wrist in a short kiss.
“Ash,” I say softly. “Don’t be afraid.”
He snorts—a dark, sardonic thing. Then his blue eyes flash, arresting me with sudden force. “Why, my darling, shouldn’t I be afraid?”
“Because,” I say slowly, “neither of us is dead. And because we can face your father together.” I finish by giving his nose a little bop with my finger. “You’re smart. I’m . . . less so, but not wholly useless, I think. We’re the perfect team. We’ll think of a way to handle whatever situation comes up.”
He stares at me as though I’ve sprouted three new heads. So I just smile.
Then, before I know what’s happening, the back of my head hits one of the settee pillows, and Ash’s hands are planted on either side of me. I gasp, staring up at him as unexpected intensity fills his face. He brings his mouth to mine until there’s only an inch separating our lips. “Ask me to kiss you.”
My eyes widen, my heartrate skipping and tripping ahead of itself as another gasp lodges in my throat. “What?”
He lifts one hand, trails the rounded edge of his knuckle down my temple, my cheek, making it harder and harder to breathe. “I won’t kiss you. Not until you ask. So ask me, Stella. Beg me. Please.”
My gaze falls to his lips, so full and warm. I really have married my own destruction, haven’t I? It would be so easy to say yes, to lift my own mouth just a fraction higher . . .
Instead, I manage: “Are you . . . begging me . . . to beg you?”
He lets out a long sigh and leans his forehead against mine, our noses brushing. “You are just determined to be the death of me, aren’t you?”
I cannot help my little giggle. “Torture is my specialty.”
His eyes darken. “Fine, you confounded woman. If you want to play games, I’ll play games with you.”
And with that, he sweeps my hair away, and leans down to press his lips in a scalding kiss against the hollow of my throat. I suck in a sharp breath, and he rasps a low chuckle.
“Ask me to kiss you,” he murmurs, moving his mouth to my jaw. “Ask me, Stella.”
Part of me wants to be stubborn, to resist him past his self-control, until he just breaks and kisses me, anyway. But if I do that, his control might not snap, and he’ll pull away, and the offer will be past.
Losing this game is still winning.
I smile as he presses a third kiss just below my ear. I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze. “Ash?”
He stares down at me, his chest heaving with his fast breaths. “Yes, love?”
I give him a little grin. “Will you kiss me?”
His eyes shutter closed as a groan slips from him. “Great Kings, finally.”
Then his mouth is on mine, his arms wrapping around me, pressing me close, kissing me like the world is crumbling around us, and we’re the only ones left. His lips coax mine, moving slowly, then fast, then slow again, as though trying to hold himself back. As though making sure I can keep up. If he wasn’t still kissing me, still tangling his fingers in my hair, I’d smile. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me, until the world is nothing but warmth and sweetness, and I want for nothing but to drown in it.
When he pulls back, I open my eyes. He stares at me, lips swollen, his expression torn between blistering hope and that sorrowful devastation. He’s thinking about losing me again, isn’t he?
My fingers are strung together at the back of his neck. I use them to pull myself up, just close enough to rub my nose against his. He nuzzles me back, softly, sweetly.
“I think we need to talk,” I whisper.
“I’d rather keep kissing you,” he breathes back, nuzzling me again. But he doesn’t kiss me, and instead we prop ourselves up against the back of the settee. He reaches out, takes one of my hands, and threads his fingers with mine.
When I look up at him, his gaze has hardened.
“The High King demanded I lead his armies into battle,” he begins, jaw flexing. “Tomorrow. Against—”
“Aursailles,” I breathe, my gut hollowing out. An unwelcome memory returns, of what one of those fae women said at the banquet. That Ash has slain thousands. Another memory assaults me of him killing those fae who came for me. He’d ended a dozen lives before I’d barely had a chance to breathe.
My father wouldn’t stand a chance.
Amelia.
Ash nods.
“What did you say to him? I thought the boundary between our worlds was stronger!” I refuse to pull my hand away from his, but I cannot deny that the impulse is there. What if I kissed him right after he’d betrayed my people? After he’d betrayed me? After he guaranteed the death of my beloved sister?
“The treaty only prevents a certain terrorization of humans by individual fae and the invasion of fae lands by humans. It doesn’t stop the High King from conquest,” he growls. “I refused the order.”
The pensive, dark lines haven’t left his face. “You don’t say that like it’s a good thing.”
“He sent Rahk to do it instead.”
Shock thrums through my body. Ash tightens his grip on my hand, as though afraid I’ll pull away. My voice comes out in a croak. “What? And Rahk—he will do it?”
“He has no choice. If he refused, it would give the High King the grounds he’s wanted for centuries to get rid of my only friend. When Rahk is compliant, and does what he asks, the High King cannot kill him without enraging the Nothril Court. Rahk has gotten by for a long time by avoiding notice, and since the High King cannot directly harm him, I didn’t have to worry. But now he’s figured out a way to use Rahk against me, and in a way that doesn’t anger the Nothril Court.”
My lungs tighten as I listen. Is there anything we can do? Anything Ash can do to stop it?
No. I won’t worry about that yet. Not until I hear the rest of it.
“What else?” I ask, bracing myself.
“For my defiance, he inflicted one of his punishments.”
“Punishments?” I scan his body, looking for sign of injury and finding none.
“His favorite means of punishment these last couple of centuries has been executing a member of my staff.” Ash’s face darkens, followed by a flash of pain as his jaw flexes. “He took Hylath. He made Rahk cut off her eyes.”
I gasp, covering my mouth with both my hands, and before I can stop them, tears well up, clouding my vision. “Hylath?”
“And he knows he upset me this time—I didn’t hide my reaction as well as I usually do. Which means he knows this is an effective way to break me.”
Two tears slip down my cheeks, but I swallow the rest behind a firm wall of determination. “He’s not going to break you, Ash.”
He looks at me, emotions warring across his face. “Sometimes I think he won’t, and other times it seems the inevitable outcome.”
“He’s not going to break you,” I say again, firmer this time.
His eyes narrow. “You sound so convinced of that. Pray, tell me why, little wife?”
I squeeze his hand, meeting the force of his gaze with my own. “Because the High King is fighting against you, against anyone who defies him—human or fae. But you, Prince Trenian, are fighting for something.”
Slowly, his lips part, his jaw going slack, and he stares at me as though stunned.
“He’s fighting to keep his tyranny,” I continue, bolstered by his reaction. “But you are fighting for freedom. For hope, for peace. For me, Ash. That’s why you won’t break.”
Before I know what is happening, he’s captured my face in both hands, my lips with his mouth, kissing me with a sudden burst of passion that leaves me dizzy.
“How did I just walk up to your father’s palace and find you?” he breathes between kisses. “How did I marry a stranger—only to discover I’d wed an angel? I’m half afraid the moment I turn around, you’ll have sprouted wings and flown out of my reach.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going anywhere,” I say, pulling back just enough that our lips aren’t touching anymore. “But we must figure out what to do about the invasion! Can we get word to my father? So he can prepare?”
Ash springs off the couch, setting into a vigorous pace in front of me. I go cross-eyed watching him go back and forth, back and forth, so I pry my eyes away from the pensive line between his brows, the way he rubs the stubble along his jaw with one of his large hands, and instead focus them on my lap. That’s when I realize I’m still wearing my nightgown and robe.
My sickness.
I have many questions to ask Ash.
“The human armies will be no match for the High King’s forces.” His voice is grim when he adds, “Or Rahk. Sending word won’t make a difference.”
“They could evacuate the cities! Perhaps the children could be spared, if they could be warned and aided.”
Maybe Amelia is already in Enslington. Time flows differently between our worlds. She might be married and safely out of harm’s way. Or maybe she is just as at risk as everyone else.
He shakes his head. “They won’t be able to move fast enough. They’ll be overtaken, and then they’ll spend their last days hunted and terrified out of their wits.”
“So a slaughter is better?” I demand, fisting my hands in the fabric of my robe.
He lifts a hand, staring at the floor as though his mind is working. “No, no, of course not. We must stop the armies from leaving.” He pops his head up suddenly, one eyebrow upraised. “We could kidnap Rahk.”
I flash him a dubious expression, and he nods even without looking, waving his hand toward me.
“No, you’re right. I can’t overpower Rahk, so I’d have to come up with some trick, which might work in a pinch. But the key is to ensure that the High King is the one who finds Rahk tied up—well, no, that would humiliate him.”
Rahk’s humiliation is definitely preferred to the mindless slaughter of my people, but I keep my mouth shut. For now.
“Besides, taking Rahk out of the equation will only delay the inevitable, but not as much of a delay as we need. I can bargain with the High King. That would show my hand—that I’m against this, even though I implied the opposite in the throne room. But it might be the only good option. If I can think of an enticing offer . . . something he wants more than the human lands. Or, rather, something worth delaying his conquest for . . .”
Ash looks up at me, frowning severely. I blink back at him.
“He wants you dead,” he says. “Not that I would sacrifice you for your people—Great Kings, no. I don’t care how many people must die for you to live. But, maybe . . .”
A slow but sure grin spreads across his face as those cunning eyes light on me. “I’ve got it.”