Chapter 39 The Crown of Ashes #3
Ella’s stomach churned as she tried to shove the words away, as though refusing them would make them less true.
She told herself Octavia’s visions were nonsense, nothing but riddles draped in honey.
But denial held only so long. The images pressed back against her, unwanted yet undeniable, and suddenly she was picturing faces despite struggling not to.
Jakobav, steady and infuriating and far too close.
And the Fae man of silver and shadow, whose presence unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite smother—a draw she didn’t want, didn’t understand, and absolutely would not admit aloud.
Octavia clapped once, untroubled by anyone’s existential crisis. “More tea?”
“I think we’d better be on our way. It was interesting to meet you. Thank you for the kind words about my mother,” Ella said, very carefully, as if the floor might buckle if she were too loud.
Ella squirmed under Octavia’s bright stare, tugging her sleeve back down.
Jakobav’s gaze caught the motion and slid to her wrist. He stilled, appearing to be putting something together that didn’t quite make sense.
For a heartbeat he didn’t move, then his hand flexed once against his thigh, tendons sharp beneath the ink.
His gaze hardened, the kind of look that said more than words ever could, and the line that cut between his brows warned her exactly how furious he was.
Her mind was spinning. Did he have any idea what the Thread-burn meant? Or was he just upset that she hadn’t told him about it? Ella was dying to ask him.
He drew a slow breath through his nose, controlled, almost too quiet, and when he finally looked away toward Octavia, the movement was clipped, as though every inch of him had been locked into restraint.
“We appreciate your time,” he said, the words even but carrying none of the ease of politeness.
Ella’s pulse tripped. He’d seen. He knew. And if not for the other woman watching them, she had no doubt he would’ve demanded answers right then and there. Answers she didn’t have.
Jakobav was the first to move. He turned on his heel and strode for the door without another word, his shoulders squared, his silence a wall she was forced to follow. Ella dipped her head once to Octavia, though her throat was too tight for speech, and trailed after him into the humid afternoon.
The air outside was dense, the forest waiting for them like a living thing.
Jakobav didn’t slow, his steps cutting a path through the overgrowth.
Ella kept close, the skirt of her dress snagging on bushes and brushing leaves still damp from an earlier rain.
The jungle noise swelled and hushed in waves, a tide rising and falling, and beneath it, the taut thread between them was drawn tighter with each step.
The silence became unbearable. Panic rose in her chest, her face going pale.
She stopped walking and folded her arms tight across her body.
“So what, you’re just going to give me the silent treatment all the way back to Orchid?
Or are we going to act like adults and talk about it?
Ask me what you want to know. Say it, Jake. ”
He halted so abruptly she nearly stumbled.
Slowly, he turned, his shadow falling over her as he closed the distance in two strides.
Icy anger radiated from him, prickling her skin.
“Oh, so you’re going to open up to me now?
Suddenly you are feeling forthright, Ella?
” His voice was low and dangerous, and when he leaned in impossibly close, her lips parted before she could stop them, traitorous and wanting.
It seemed he might kiss her, but he drew back, cold and distant.
“I guess opening up and letting me in was only in the physical sense,” he said, and hurt flickered across his face before the mask of indifference slid back into place.
Fuck. What if this isn’t just a fight? What if I pushed him past the point of return?
“Jake—” Her voice cracked, stuttering against the thought of it. “It’s not like that. I haven’t figured out how to tell you what I need to tell you. I haven’t had a chance to breathe since I met you. I want to open up, I want to tell you everything, but I wasn’t sure I was ready. I’m—”
He cut her off, his tone final. “Then let me know when you are. Until then, I have no interest in being lied to.”
Her temper snapped. “I haven’t lied to you.”
“You’ve left me in the dark,” he shot back without hesitation, the words striking harder than any shout.
She faltered, realizing he wasn’t wrong, the truth hanging heavy between them. He turned with a scoff, his cloak brushing leaves aside as he strode back toward the horse.
“Let’s get you to your castle, Princess,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to face her.
At last the path bent, and the horse came into view where they’d tied it among the ferns.
The animal lifted its head at their approach, ears twitching in the thick heat.
Jakobav didn’t reach for her hand this time, nor even look at her.
He stood waiting, his expression unreadable, until she hauled herself into the saddle alone.
Only when she was seated did he mount, the leather groaning as he settled behind her, his arm brushing hers as he gathered the reins in a brisk motion.
She looked straight ahead, but the words fell out, quiet and urgent.
“Just give me some time. Time to figure everything out.” She almost left it there, almost swallowing the rest, but the thought of losing what they’d built forced her to say it with unguarded truth.
“Let me deal with the return to my kingdom, and the fallout of my mother’s death. Then I’ll tell you everything.”
She knew it was a low blow to invoke her grief to soften his fury, but he’d changed so much since the night she first met him, and she couldn’t let everything unravel here.
Jakobav exhaled, the sound half sigh and half surrender, and wrapped one arm protectively around her waist. His other hand gripped the reins as he steered the horse toward her homecoming, the quietude now less punishment and more like a promise held in check.
The jungle closed in on either side, the canopy muting the light. Heat radiated up from under the leaves, and the kingdom that was already hers, whether she was ready for it or not, breathed steady beneath her feet.
Octavia’s words clung like burrs: Tall. Foreign. Two paths. One crown.
The horse carried them forward, hooves thudding in rhythm with her heart, and each step twisted tighter in her chest. Either terror or relief, both seemed to war inside her.
Behind them, Octavia’s soft laughter returned like a bell struck in an empty room, an eerie lullaby following them into the trees.
By the time the jungle thinned and the salt wind found them again, Ella’s pulse still hadn’t steadied. The closer they drew to the castle gates, the heavier the crown of Orchid seemed to settle on her shoulders, though she hadn’t yet touched it.