Chapter 27
Iclose the distance.
It is the smallest movement, barely there. My lips brush his in a feather-light kiss.
For a heartbeat, he does not move, and then he exhales.
The sound is not triumphant or possessive. It is a broken, aching thing—drawn from somewhere deep in his chest, like a man who has been drowning and has only just cracked the surface. A soft, reverent moan against my mouth, almost disbelieving.
I feel it more than hear it, a rumble underneath my feet, as if the earth itself responds to our kiss.
His hands do not seize me. One remains warm against my waist; the other still cradles my wrist as though I am fragile and priceless. He lets me choose the pressure, lets me set the pace.
I press closer.
His lips part beneath mine—slowly, searching. There is no demand in it; his hunger is held carefully in check, like a question asked without words.
I answer.
My fingers slide from his cheek into his hair, fisting it and pulling it ever so slightly. He shivers, another low sound escaping him, softer this time, a whimper, and it does something devastating to my heart.
He is not conquering, he is receiving.
I deepen the kiss, hesitant at first, then braver when he follows my lead with equal enthusiasm. His mouth moves against mine like he is memorizing me. Like he has been imagining this for centuries and still cannot quite believe it is real.
Our tongues touch, he tastes of smoke and night air and wine.
The world narrows to warmth and breath and the slow pain of lips discovering one another.
When I shift closer, he makes that sound again—low and helpless and full of wonder.
It vibrates between us, and I realize with a jolt that he is not trying to hide it.
He is not embarrassed by his pleasure. He lets me hear every soft sigh, every unguarded murmur, as though my touch is something precious rather than owed.
For my entire life, kisses have been preludes to negotiation. To expectation and power.
This one feels like being chosen without condition.
His thumb brushes my wrist again, but not absently now. Intentionally. A slow stroke that matches the unhurried rhythm of our mouths. He leans into me, the touch of my tongue drawing soft whimpers from his chest.
When at last we part, it is only by inches. Our foreheads rest together. His breathing is uneven, almost shaky. He lets out one final, quiet sound—half-laugh, half-disbelieving sigh.
“If this were a deal,” he says softly, thumb brushing over my bottom lip, “it is one I could never hope to fulfill.” His voice lowers. “There is nothing I possess that could equal what you have just given me.”
I can only stare at him. Then something warm and fearless rises inside my chest.
“Good,” I say softly.
His brows lift slightly.
I press my hand flat over his heart, and it is beating just as wildly as mine.
“Then do not try to repay it,” I murmur. “Keep it.”
His breath stutters, and before he can answer, he glances toward the door and his expression shifts.
“Rowan will be back any second now.”
Only then do I realize—my feet are not touching the floor. A startled laugh escapes me as he lowers me to the floor, my knees feeling unsteady when they meet the ground.
“What just happened, I—” I begin, then stop, shaking my head.
He looks entirely too pleased with himself.
I take a step back, but I do not look away, I cannot seem to.
Something in me has settled, something long restless has gone quiet. And then, absurdly, happiness bubbles up. It rises so suddenly I clap both hands over my mouth to contain it—but the giggle slips through anyway. Light and unrestrained and entirely unlike a queen.
He blinks at me, and then he smiles. Not the careful, edged smile he wears when he is in company.
A real one. Lop-sided, bright, and boyish. Which only makes me laugh harder.
The door opens.
Rowan steps in, halting when he sees us both grinning like conspirators. He looks from me to Ashford, then back again.
“Have I missed something?” he asks.
“We were enjoying a perfectly pleasant conversation,” Ashford replies smoothly. “You are welcome to join us, provided you intend to contribute something equally delightful.”
Rowan folds his arms. “I am simply wondering what has you in such good spirits after tonight’s events. You are not known to make the ladies laugh.”
Ashford presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me. I am an exceptional conversationalist. Wit beyond compare. Charm in reckless abundance.”
“You clearly were struck over the head.” Rowan huffs.
Ashford lifts a shoulder. “A minor inconvenience.”
“You were nearly unconscious.”
“I was contemplating a brief strategic nap.”
Rowan’s gaze sharpens. “You are usually insufferably grumpy before noon. Now you are radiant.”
“I am not grumpy,” Ashford protests. “I am discerning.”
“You glared at a kettle yesterday for boiling too loudly.”
“It was excessive.”
Rowan’s eyes shift past him then—and land on the open bottle of wine on the counter.
A pause.
“…Ah,” Rowan says.
Understanding settles over his expression.
I follow his gaze and exhale. “It was a single glass, Rowan.”
“Of course it was.”
“It would have been discourteous not to offer Her Majesty refreshment,” Ashford interrupts.
Rowan grabs the bottle from the counter. “At dawn?”
“Time,” Ashford says loftily, “is largely symbolic.”
Rowan studies him one more time, clearly still unconvinced but marginally reassured.
“If you begin slurring your words,” he says, “I am sending for the doctor.”
“I would expect nothing less from your tender concern,” Ashford replies dryly.
I laugh again, softer now, shaking my head as they descend into familiar bickering.
I drift toward the window.
The sky is no longer night-black. It is softening at the horizon, pale gold spilling slowly upward as the sun begins its climb.
The promise of another hot day glows in streaks of amber and rose.
A flock of birds lifts from the distant fields, their wings catching the first light.
They rise together in a drifting column, turning as one before scattering into the brightening sky.
Click.
* * *
I return to my room after Rowan assures me that Pepin and his men have left the estate.
It seems impossible to go back to sleep after the events of the night, yet as soon as my head lands on the pillow, slumber finds me.
* * *
When I awake hours later, the sun is already streaming through the blinds, tiny flecks of dust floating lazily in the warm light.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you,” Aileen whispers, poking her head through the door.
“Do not worry,” I say, stretching, the stiffness in my limbs dissolving. “It is about time for me to get up. I can’t remember the last time I slept this late.”
She steps inside, closing the door with a soft click. “You must have been terrified, what a shock,” she says, eyes wide.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my voice casual. “Terrified? Not exactly. Ashford was brave and—sat perfectly still.”
Aileen blinks at me. “I…I meant Pepin’s attack.”
I pause, realizing the misunderstanding, then burst out laughing. “Oh! That too. Yes…that was…unpleasant. I am so grateful that Rowan made sure he left right away.”
Aileen frowns. “Wait. You just…forgot about the attack for a moment?”
I wave a hand helplessly. “Not forgotten! Distracted. Momentarily distracted. I fear I am not completely awake yet.” I get up and walk over to the window to open the blinds.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Distracted…by what, exactly? And why was Ashford even here? Why do you look so…so—” She gestures wildly, “—happy?”
I laugh nervously, trying to smooth my hair back. “You’re imagining things. Maybe you should head back to bed?”
She does not believe me, not even a little. She darts forward, snatches a small pillow from the bed, and tosses it at me.
“Liar!” she squeaks. “I know something happened! I feel it! Your cheeks—they’re betraying you!”
I dodge the pillow, laughing, but it bounces off my shoulder anyway. “Aileen! That’s unfair!”
“Oh, is it?” she chirps, grabbing another pillow. “You’re glowing! Your Majesty, I demand answers!”
“I…what? Nothing happened! Go find Rowan, I’m sure he—”
She tackles me from the side, and we both fall onto the bed once more.
“No excuses! Tell me! Come on!”
I squeak, laughing, squirming. “You’re relentless!”
“I’m observant! Very, very observant!” she insists, bouncing in her excitement. “I know you better than anyone, Fastrada! You can’t hide that much joy from me. It’s criminal!”
I cover my face with a pillow, muffling my laughter. “You are impossible!”
She throws the pillow at me again, squealing. “Now—what happened with Ashford?!”
I peek over the edge of the pillow, feigning exasperation, but the corners of my lips betray me. “It’s…complicated…”
“Oh, I knew it!” she cries, bouncing a little on the bed. “I knew! And don’t even think about teasing me. I want every detail!”
“All right, sit down, I’ll tell you…I woke up last night to find Pepin in my bedroom, doing unspeakable things to…himself.”
Aileen recoils, letting out a horrified retching sound. “Devil’s mercy!”
I wave. “Honestly…it was ghastly. But you know, I always knew a pauper and a prince aren’t all that different sometimes.”
Aileen stares at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Pepin is a prince,” I say, shrugging lightly, “but still…the same horrifying habits.”
She shudders dramatically. “You must have been terrified!”
“I was,” I admit, “until Ashford came. He pulled him off me, but Pepin hit Ashford over the head, and then Ashford said something so terrible…so horribly humiliating that Pepin wet himself and fled.”
Aileen’s eyes widen. “He…peed?”
I nod gravely. “Yes. And after that, Rowan arrived. We got Ashford to the kitchen. I cleaned him up, stitched him back together. Heroic, all things considered.”
Aileen leans forward, eyes shining. “And…that’s it? Nothing else happened?”
I sit up straighter, trying to keep my face neutral, but I can’t quite hide the smile tugging at my lips. I get up and walk to the wash basin, pretending to busy myself.
“No…nothing else,” I say slowly, then spin around, grinning brightly. “Other than…we kissed.”
Aileen screams so loudly I nearly drop the basin. She jumps onto the bed, squealing and clapping her hands, laughing hysterically. “Oh lord!”
I hold up a hand, laughing. “Calm down! No one can know. Promise me, or you’ll give me away before breakfast.”
She squeals again, bouncing on the bed.
“Where did this come from? How was it? Tell me!”
I smile, letting myself relax into the memory. “It was…magical. Familiar, but new at the same time. Everything I didn’t even know I wanted.”
Aileen tilts her head. “And…what does that mean?”
I let out a small sigh, looking out the window for a moment, sunlight glinting off the glass. “That’s exactly where the problems start,” I admit. “But…right now, I don’t want to think about it. I just want to be happy…for once.”
Aileen lets herself fall back onto the bed, squeaking and laughing, hands flung wide. “Oh, I am so happy for you! I’ve never been this excited in my life!”
I can’t help it—I laugh with her, the sound spilling warmly into the room. For the first time in a long while, everything feels light.