Chapter 26
Back in my chamber, Aileen helps me take down my hair. It’s been braided all day and now falls to my shoulders in dark, intricate waves. I run my hands through it to untangle the mess, while Aileen is laying out my sleep garments for me.
“What did you think of tonight?” Aileen asks.
“I will need a day or two to put my feelings in order. I was aware people wanted to limit Charles’s power—and I agree—but replacing him through any means necessary is something I do not know how to support.”
Aileen nods thoughtfully. “He is your husband after all, and the father of your children.”
I stop with my hands still tangled in my hair.
“Please don’t think I will turn my back on the opposition; that is not what I am saying.
My loyalty lies with my family, my friends, and the subjects in and outside of this kingdom.
Charles has not been kind to me, but I can’t help but feel that there must be another way.
My main concern, though, is replacing him with someone who seems equally as unstable… ”
Aileen sits down next to me in front of the mirror and watches me brush out my hair.
“I understand, I truly do. To be honest, I never thought my father would go so far as to involve Pepin in this. My guess is that they are all tired. They have been fighting for years to no avail and are now considering more drastic measures.”
“Of course, the opposition has been draining their own funds for years in an attempt to stop Charles, and they have poured their time and effort into securing their own estates. It must be exhausting to not see the results.” I put the brush down.
“Let the events of the past few days settle and we’ll come back to this conversation,” Aileen suggests. “I believe that nothing is going to happen any time soon, and there is still time to shape the actions the opposition is going to take.”
When Aileen leaves, I sit on the bed. My candle has almost burned out, so I set aside the letters I have been receiving from Charles and my family and get comfortable under the covers.
* * *
Wake up!
I jolt awake. Something moves inside my room, and I grab the candlestick on my dresser.
“Who’s there?”
My only answer is someone breathing heavily.
I can see the outline of a man standing at the end of my bed, a towering frame with a hunched back.
“Pepin, please leave this instant, or I am going to call for my guard,” I say with force.
My heart is beating out of my chest.
While I cannot see the details in the dark, I recognize his shaky hand movements. He is stroking his cock, and it looks like he is holding my clothes in his other hand, holding them up to his face.
Bile rises up my throat.
“So beautiful, Fastrada,” he rasps, his breathing uneven. “My father might be a bastard, but he has excellent taste. You smell like a summer flower, so wild and untamed. I want to bury my cock inside your sweet pussy so badly—”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I throw a pillow at him. It is a pointless gesture, but at least it takes him by surprise and gives me a short moment to get out of bed and rush for the door.
Before I can reach it, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me back hard. I scream out in pain, but his hand closes swiftly over my mouth. I can smell the muskiness of his dirty cock on his hand and try to bite, but his grip is too strong.
“You gamble boldly for a queen whose crown rests on a madman,” he whispers, with wet lips touching my ear. “I could be tempted to keep you alive when I finally take the throne, if only you’d play nice with me.”
His hand is pressing so firmly on my mouth and nose that it’s getting harder to draw a breath. Memories resurface of Charles towering over me, choking me, and suddenly I feel it. The ring on my finger, warming up, pulsing ever so slightly.
Pepin lets go of me.
He looks confused, befuddled even, and still he approaches again, pushing me hard until my back hit’s the wall near my bedroom door.
“What are you? Are you a witch, Fastrada? Is that it? Have you enchanted my father? Are you doing the same to me?” He is angry now, stuffing himself back into his trousers.
I remain silent, slowly inching closer to the door. If I can just get out into the hallway, someone will hear me.
It doesn’t even come to that, for the door opens slowly and a figure clad in dark steps inside. In one swift motion, they grab Pepin, raise him up into the air, and drive him into the nearby wall. The resounding crash vibrates throughout my body.
It is a surreal sight, as if I am watching a scene from a play unfold before me. As if I am detached from whatever is happening. In the dark, I can only see the outline of bodies, Pepin struggling to get free.
“I wonder what your father will think when I tell him I found his heir in his Queen’s bedroom.
” I cannot see his face, but I recognize the voice: Ashford.
His frame looks huge in comparison to Pepin, and he is holding him with ease, as if carrying a bouquet of flowers.
Pepin’s arms are flailing at his side. A second too late, I understand what Pepin is doing.
He is trying to reach the candelabra on my dresser.
“Ashford, watch out!” I cry, but Pepin has already swung the golden candelabra and hits Ashford’s temple.
He lets go of Pepin, a motion so sudden that Charles’s son falls to the ground onto his knees.
“Fuck!” Ashford growls but recovers quickly.
He bends down to where Pepin is struggling to get up and lifts him up by his shirt. Ashford raises his left fist and crashes it into Pepin’s face.
I am not a woman of violence, but the resounding crack I hear feels satisfactory to an alarming degree.
Pepin is groaning in pain, clutching his hand to his nose, and I smell the blood before I can see it.
“Leave,” Ashford says evenly and sets Pepin down on his unsteady legs.
But before he can turn, my savior pulls the prince close again.
He leans in and whispers something into Pepin’s ear.
I cannot hear the exact words, but his body is going rigid.
Even in the dark, I can see his eyes widening with fear, a choking sound escaping him.
Ashford shoves him toward the door, and I watch in awe as the Vranquian heir stumbles over the threshold.
In the dimly lit corridor, a dark outline on his trousers becomes visible—he peed himself in fear.
Only my uneven breathing cuts through the dark.
“Thank you,” I say, not even sure if Ashford is still there. With his uncanny ability to appear and disappear, I would not be surprised if he had left already.
“There is no need to thank me, Your Majesty.” His voice sounds unnaturally calm in the dark.
A light is coming down the corridor, Rowan and another guard with candlesticks.
“What happened?” Rowan calls out as he enters the room, finding me pressed against the wall. He shines his candle into my chamber and I gasp when I see Ashford, steadying himself with his hand on the wall, while dabbing at an open wound on his temple. Blood is streaking down his face and throat.
“Quickly, let’s get him to the kitchen. We’re going to need some hot water and towels. And wake the doctor, please,” I say to Rowan.
“No doctor,” Ashford says. “I can clean up and stitch the wound myself. We cannot reveal how I got this injury, so it wouldn’t be wise to involve more people.”
Rowan nods and steps closer to Ashford, handing his candlestick to the other guard. “Alright, but let’s go to the kitchen nevertheless. Here, put your arm around me.”
Ashford groans as he lifts his arm, and when they step forward, he sways on his feet.
“Here, let me help,” I say and grab his other arm. “Hold on.”
Ashford looks down on me, his eyes as black as night, a strange look on his face.
I break eye contact and gently start guiding him toward the staircase.
We make it to the kitchen without rousing any other guests or servants. While the other guard starts a fire in the stove, I search for clean towels. Rowan is placing candles around the room to take a better look at Ashford’s injury.
“What the fuck happened?” Rowan says yet again and looks at me expectantly.
“I was asleep in my room, but woke when I heard someone enter.” I leave out the fact that something else woke me up, but I can see Ashford watching my face, as if he can sense that I am lying.
“It was Pepin standing at the edge of my bed, he was…ehm …pleasuring himself.” I lower my eyes to the floor, suddenly embarrassed.
Ashford’s body goes rigid, and he looks like he is about to jump up, when Rowan presses him back down onto the bench.
“You’re not going after him. I can’t trust you to be rational.” Rowan’s tone is serious. “I will take Peterson here with me and make sure that Pepin leaves this instant. Will you two be alright in here?”
I nod. “Thank you, Rowan. Thank you both.”
Rowan claps Ashford on the back. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try not to cry when she cleans that wound.”
Ashford huffs a soft laugh, but winces instantly from the motion.
When Rowan and the guard leave, silence surrounds us once more.
“Can you try to lie down on the table?” I ask, moving closer.
“Yes, I think so,” Ashford says and gets up slowly. I hold his elbow while walking him over to the table. I have placed a stack of linens on one end for his head to rest on. It takes a moment, but once Ashford lies on the table, I begin placing candles near his head.
“The water is boiling. I am going to wait for it to cool down, and then I will clean your wound. I only have sewing needles and yarn, but I can assure you, I am good with the needle.”
He nods slightly. “Can you get me a drink?” he asks.
I get up and rummage through the pantry, returning with a bottle of what smells like cheap wine. I fill two cups and bring them over. He sits up slightly, propping up his weight on his elbow.
He clinks his glass against mine.
“A surgeon drinking before they sew their patient up is not a good sign,” he says and I can’t help but laugh.
“In this case, it is only beneficial to you; it’s going to calm my nerves.”