Chapter 30 #2
I laugh softly. The sound echoes gently against the vaulted ceiling, too bright for the weight gathering in my chest.
“You are insufferable,” I murmur.
“And yet,” he replies, faintly pleased with himself, “you remain here.”
The humor lingers for only a heartbeat longer.
Then it fades.
I draw my knees closer, folding my hands over them.
“I meant this,” I say more seriously. “After.”
Understanding settles over him at once. The playfulness vanishes from his expression, replaced by solemn attention.
“I know,” he says quietly.
Outside, distant thunder rolls.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I repeat. “How to step back into my life as though nothing has changed.”
He pushes himself up onto one elbow despite his earlier dramatics.
“I don’t know how to stay away from you,” he says, and there is no humor left in it now.
That is worse than any teasing.
“It will be fine,” I say, though I do not fully believe it. “As long as Charles is away. When he is gone, the air feels…lighter.”
“And when he is near?” Malric asks quietly.
I hesitate. “When he is near,” I say carefully, “things are more complicated.”
His gaze sharpens, but he does not interrupt.
“I am free to take lovers,” I add. “It was agreed before we married. Political marriages require a certain…flexibility.”
“And yet,” he says, “you did not.”
“Only once.” I fold my hands together. “Years ago. A few weeks in spring. It ended before it could become anything of consequence.”
“Why?” he asks.
The question is gentle. I go still, staring at the stone floor between us. How much should I give him? He waits patiently.
“At first, it hurt,” I admit. “Charles took concubines almost immediately. I was young. I believed marriage meant devotion, I believed in love.”
The words feel foolish now.
“I had to learn quickly that it would never be a love match. It was alliances, territories, legacies.” I draw in a slow breath. “For a long time, I did not want anyone else. Even if I was permitted to. It felt…pointless.”
Ashford remains silent.
“Then things changed.”
“How?” he asks.
“He grew more intense.” I choose the word carefully. “More watchful. His temper shortened. He would say he did not mind if I sought companionship elsewhere, but there was always something in his eyes when I mentioned it.”
“What something?”
“Possession,” I say softly.
Ashford’s jaw tightens.
“I stopped feeling safe inviting anyone into my rooms,” I continue. “Not because he forbade it. He never did. But because I could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface.”
“And so?” Ashford’s voice has gone very still.
“I found a way to calm him.”
He leans back slowly, eyes lifting to the arched ceiling above us.
“I made a deal,” he says after a moment, voice measured, “to tell you the truth when I could.”
My pulse quickens. “Yes?”
“I know about the ring.”
My head turns sharply toward him. “How?”
“It is my profession to know things.” His gaze lowers back to mine. “Information is the purest form of leverage. Knowledge is the ultimate bargain.”
A hollow feeling opens in my chest. “Do you think less of me?” I whisper. “For using dark magic like that?”
His expression hardens. “I could never,” he says firmly. “You were protecting yourself. I am glad you did.” He continues, quieter now, “It means I do not have to worry about you.”
I look away, and a tear slips free before I can stop it. He notices instantly, and shifts closer.
“Ada.”
I shake my head, but he reaches for my chin gently, guiding my face back toward him.
“What is wrong?” His voice carries a low, dangerous edge now. “Did he hurt you? Did someone else?”
“No.” My voice wavers. “Not like that.”
“Then tell me.”
I draw in a breath that does not calm me.
“The ring is still working,” I say. “He loves me.”
Ashford’s eyes narrow slightly.
“But it is not natural,” I continue. “The magic bends the feeling. It twists it. What was once merely pride has become obsession. What was once irritation has become suspicion.”
His hand tightens where it rests against me.
“I can see it in him,” I whisper. “The way he looks at me. It is devotion, but it is warped. As though the ring feeds something dark inside him. I am afraid of what his love is becoming.”
Silence crashes down between us.
Then Ashford sits up abruptly.
“Fuck!” he swears, the word sharp in the sacred space. He rises to his feet in one fluid motion, pacing once before stopping. “I should have examined the binding more closely,” he mutters. “I assumed it would temper attachment, not distort it.”
“It was my choice,” I say.
“Maybe so. But it is my responsibility, you are my responsibility.”
He turns back to me and kneels, taking my hands and pulling me gently to my feet.
“I will not have you afraid in your own home,” he says, voice low and resolute.
“I am managing—”
“You are enduring,” he corrects quietly. “That is not the same.” His hands resting reassuringly at my waist. “I am taking you back to Acheron.”
The name sends a ripple through me.
“I will study the ring. I will set it straight.”
“How do you want to do that? Bending magic is dangerous. And what if you cannot do it?”
His expression shifts—something fierce, almost frightening. “Then I will find another way.”
“Malric—”
“I cannot bear the thought of losing you,” he says, the words breaking through his composure. “Or of you standing alone while something festers in the dark.”
The confession steals my breath.
He steps closer. “Ada,” he says, his tone quietly intense. “Do you trust me?”
This is not flirtation. Not seduction.
It is a threshold.
I search his face—the storm still flickering in his eyes, the resolve, the edge of something ancient and dangerous beneath his control.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His jaw sets. “Then let me protect you. Whatever the cost.”
Outside, the storm has nearly passed.
But something far more dangerous has just begun.
Click.