Chapter 7
As soon as Acheron comes into sight, I know that our time together is up.
We still have a couple of hours of ride ahead of us, and yet the streets are already lined with people.
Every village we pass by is in upheaval, farmers are loading up wooden carts full of produce, hunters are on patrol in the woods to secure meat to take to court.
The villagers bow deep or wave and cheer at us when we pass through.
I am exhausted; the past few nights on the road have taken a toll on me. The cold and the impending doom of returning to court have made sleep evasive.
“You look tired, my Queen,” Charles says and extends his hand to me, willing me to take it. I stretch my arm over to him, which is not an easy feat with both of us sitting on our own horses.
“I did not sleep well those past few nights,” I say and smile faintly. “I am sure I will be alright when I get to sleep in a proper bed again tonight.”
I stare ahead as I am talking and notice him watching me from the corner of my eye.
“You always need to be truthful with me, love.” He speaks calmly, but there is no mistaking the warning behind his words.
“What makes you think I —”
Before I can finish my sentence, a loud shout echoes through the trees.
“Haaaaalt!” His deep voice cuts through me.
He jumps off his horse, his sudden anger visible on his face in the taut lines around his eyes and the tight set of his mouth.
Everyone stops in their tracks, from foot soldiers to priests to servants, low murmuring indicating that they are just as confused as I am.
“My lord, how can I be of service?” Charles’s valet Nichols asks with a deep bow.
“Get my wife a blanket and something to eat. Take the reins of her horse, she will be traveling with me.”
I shake my head in confusion.
“I am not hungry, Charles. I am more than capable of finishing the ride to the palace on my own.”
He does not listen. He stalks around Hugo, his impressive white mount, and steps beside my own horse, Eva.
“Come down, Fastrada,” he orders a little too loudly.
He has never spoken to me like this, especially not in front of our servants.
A vein in his throat ticks, his hands are fisted at his sides, his posture radiates anger, but I cannot figure out why.
“Truly, Charles—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
With one swift motion, he grabs me by the waist and lifts me off my horse. Instead of putting me down to allow myself the dignity of mounting his stallion, he unceremoniously lifts me onto his horse, dropping me in his saddle like some unruly child.
Without saying another word, he takes back the reigns of his horse and climbs back up onto Hugo’s back, settling in behind me.
“Where is the food?” he bellows.
A young servant girl hurries over and hands him a small goblet of ale and a chunk of fresh bread.
Charles gives a wave of his hand and the whole procession starts moving again.
“Eat,” he orders, his voice suddenly sounding tired.
I nibble on the bread, even though I am not hungry, but I don’t want to anger him any further.
He silently holds out the goblet to me, his eyes trained on the treeline in front of us.
I take it and down a few sips before holding it against his lips.
He lowers his eyes at me, and suddenly all the anger seems to fade from him. Charles empties the goblet and stashes it away in his satchel.
“My beautiful Queen, you always take care of me, don’t you?” he murmurs and pulls me closer to him. Pulling the blanket around me, he bends his head and kisses me.
“I should not have raised my voice,” he murmurs against my hair. “Forgive me. The thought of you unwell unsettles me.”
His arm tightens around my waist protectively.
“I only want to keep you safe,” he continues softly. “And happy. You are…everything to me, Fastrada. When you suffer, I cannot think clearly.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he speaks on.
“You must be open with me,” he says. “Always. I cannot protect you from what I do not see. Let me carry these burdens for you.”
Another kiss, pressed into my hair, reverent and claiming all at once.
“Rest now,” he murmurs. “I am here. Nothing will touch you while you are with me.”
I close my eyes and let my weight sink back against him, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath us blurring the edges of my thoughts.
He reacted in anger because he cares.
He holds me because he loves me.
He knows what I need better than I do.
I am safe.
I repeat them until the words lose all other meaning.
* * *
“Open the gates!” an unfamiliar voice shouts across the fog in my brain.
“You need to wake up, love, we have arrived.”
I slowly open my eyes and see that we are standing right before the town gates.
There is no actual city wall around Acheron, there simply is no need for it.
This part of the kingdom has been pacified for decades now, so the low wall surrounding the city and the imposing gates are more for show than anything else.
I straighten myself and feel every muscle in my body protesting.
“Is m’lady going to ride in on her own horse, Your Majesty?” his valet Nichols asks.
“No, she is going to ride with me,” Charles responds and gives a signal for the procession to continue.
As the gates slowly swing open, the roar of the crowd erupts around us.
They cheer when we pass and call out blessings.
I smile and lift my hand when I remember to, though my fingers are numb with cold. My clothes cling damply to my skin, the chill of the road has settled deeply into my bones. The thought of stone walls, a fire, and hot water is the only thing keeping me from crying.
Charles, by contrast, seems to draw strength from the sight of his capital.
His posture straightens, his voice carries further when he speaks to his men, his presence expanding until it fills the road ahead of us.
This is his element. I feel it keenly—how the man who rode beside me for months is already giving way to the King.
Charles’s hand settles at the small of my back as we dismount, guiding me forward. Every few steps someone stops us.
“My lord—”
“Your Majesty—”
“A word, if I may—”
They press in from all sides, questions tumbling over one another. Charles answers some, dismisses others, and promises time he does not have. His attention fractures, pulled away piece by piece, and I am left standing at his side, smiling until my face aches.
My clothes are soaked through now. I am so tired I can barely keep my thoughts in order.
“Charles,” I say quietly, leaning close so only he can hear me. “I think I will go up to our chambers. You have…quite a lot waiting for you.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
“No,” he says at once, irritation flashing across his face before he can mask it. “Stay.”
“I’m freezing,” I murmur. “And you are being pulled in a dozen directions. I will only be in the way.”
He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. For a moment, I think he will refuse outright. Then another lord calls his name, and another, and another.
“I will come to you as soon as I can,” he says finally, bending close. His voice drops, intimate despite the chaos. “Do not disappear on me.”
“I won’t,” I promise, though I am not entirely sure what he means.
He presses a brief kiss to my temple before releasing me, already turning back to the crowd. I retreat quickly, following a servant who leads me through winding corridors and up familiar stairs.
The King’s chambers are warm when I enter, fire blazing merrily in the hearth. The air smells of soap and herbs, clean and comforting. Relief washes over me—until I notice the women waiting inside.
They rise and bow as one, faces pleasant, composed. None of them familiar.
I glance around the room, expecting to see a familiar shape near the window, a familiar grin.
“Where are my maids?” I ask in confusion.
“They have been excused after the long months of traveling. We will be attending to your needs, m’lady,” the oldest of the maids answers.
“Aileen?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Another maid steps forward. “Lady Aileen has gone to visit her family, Your Majesty.”
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard. “I see.”
It makes sense, of course. Her hometown is near, she would want to see them.
“Has she been gone long?” I ask.
“Since yesterday, my Queen.”
Yesterday. Charles had not mentioned it.
The maids move efficiently around me, unfastening my cloak, loosening damp layers. I submit to their hands numbly, suddenly aware of how little of this I control. When the bath is announced ready, steam curling invitingly from behind the screen, I sigh in gratitude.
As I sink into the hot water, sensation rushes back into my limbs painfully, then sweetly. I close my eyes and breathe, letting the warmth seep into places the cold has claimed for weeks.
“Have any letters arrived?” I ask, resting my head against the rim of the tub.
“Yes, my Queen.” A maid crosses the room and retrieves a single folded parchment from the desk. “This came for you this morning.”
She hesitates before handing it to me. I notice immediately that the seal is intact.
Relief flickers through me.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it. “You may leave.”
The maids withdraw, the door closing softly behind them. Alone at last, I break the seal and unfold the letter, my father’s familiar hand precise on the page.
He asks after my health. My happiness.
Then, between careful phrases and courteous concern, the real question reveals itself—whether I have learned anything of value, whether circumstances might allow for a discreet meeting, whether I remember why I was sent here at all.
The bathwater laps gently against my skin as I read, heat fogging the air around me. Shame settles low in my stomach, heavy and cold despite the warmth.
I have been everywhere. Seen everything.
And yet, I have nothing to give him.
I let the letter fall into the bath, the paper instantly crinkling at the sides, the ink bleeding off the page, tendrils of dark spreading through the water like black smoke.
By the time I pull it free again, there is nothing left to read—only proof of how easily intentions dissolve.
* * *
It’s late at night when Charles finally comes to bed. He moves through the room silently, but I am aware of every movement. When he climbs into bed beside me, I lean into him and let my head drop to his chest. His heart beat is slow and steady.
“Nichols tells me you received a letter from your father?”
His question surprises me. Why would his valet inform him of my correspondence?
“Yes, it arrived this morning. I guess my father must have known we’d arrive soon, I told him as much in my last letter,” I respond sleepily.
“Is everything alright at home? Is he intending on coming for a visit soon?” Charles asks, his eyes already closed.
“It appears that everything is as usual. My mother has been ill recently, but has recovered since and he thanks you for sending him the ginger bread. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I lie.
“It would be nice to see your family again, yes?” he slowly strokes his hands over my bare arms.
“It would be indeed, I have been thinking about going to visit them, actually.”
I can feel him tense, but he does not say a word.
Instead, he lifts my arm off his stomach and gently places my head back on the pillow. He rolls me to my side, away from him, and starts kissing my throat.
“What are you doing to me, love?” he growls into my ear, his hands roaming my body hungrily.
I am instantly ready for him, like a moth to a flame I am drawn to his heat and hunger. He hasn’t even truly touched me yet and I am already afire.
I moan softly when his tongue moves along my ear, his heavy breathing turning me on even more.
“I am addicted to you, my Queen. When you are not beside me, I am nothing and no one. You give me purpose and strength. Never leave me,” he groans and pushes my night gown over my hips in a fluid motion.
His hard cock is already in position, pressing against my entrance. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me into him and onto his cock. I cry out, the sudden movement a little painful. But the pain is quickly replaced with hunger and lust.
Charles pounds into me, whispering words of love and affection into my soul. He places his finger in my mouth and orders me to lick it. I do it willingly, glad to have something to do with my mouth. He groans, his thrusts growing more frantic.
He pulls his finger out and moves it between my legs, the spit coating my clit and intensifying the sensation a hundredfold.
“Charles,” I shout, reaching behind me and weaving my fingers in his hair.
“That’s it, my Queen, ride my cock. Use me in any way you need it. I belong to you,” he growls, urging me on with his words.
It doesn’t take long and I come undone in his arms, clamping my legs shut over his hand, riding the wave of my orgasm until the stars in front of my eyes subside. Charles keeps pounding into me, and I turn my head slightly to offer my mouth in a kiss.
His lips find mine, and I tense the muscles of my pussy, massaging his cock while he pumps into me. The effect is imminent: With a loud roar, he comes inside me.
His breathing slows down instantly, and I can feel him relaxing his hold. I want to get up and wash myself, but he keeps me in place.
“Don’t get up, stay with me,” he says sleepily.
I do not move, and in that quiet obedience, something in me learns to be silent.