Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
I’m not sure what to expect when I receive my new quarters, but what I’m faced with catches me off guard.
It’s a royal suite of chambers, traditionally belonging to the queen, as it adjoins the king’s rooms. Ashland was quick to inform me that my placement here is so he can keep a close eye on me—as if I don’t already know that.
It seems nobody has used the chambers in years, possibly decades.
The stale air smells of burnt wood and dust, making me sneeze as I step in.
My footsteps sound hollow on the creaking floorboards as I observe the deep forest-green walls and the blackened fireplace that gives the impression of a long-ago fire growing out of control, charring the mantel, and nearly swallowing the entire wall standing between the king’s and queen’s chambers.
To my relief, a massive four-poster with a recently stuffed feather mattress and clean sheets appears inviting.
Next to the bed, a small bookshelf is littered with books covered in a thick layer of grime, while an empty wardrobe lines another wall and a locked trunk sits at the end of the bed.
Every item claims secrets and stories untold.
Women have lived and died here, and now it’s forgotten—neglected—like everything else in this castle.
After a maid brings in a bath, I sink my tense body into the hot water and try not to picture what pretending to be his courtesan captive will look like—what a man like the Witch-King could order me to do.
Leaning on the tub’s edge, I lazily run a cloth over my skin, staring at the burnt wall and thinking of nothing until my mind wanders, imagining Lir pulling my naked body under the waves near his seaside cottage.
The whispers roar like the ocean, but a current strikes back with the force of an enraged tide.
Stop.
Lir is living his life with someone else. I can’t fault him for that. And even if that weren’t the case, none of that would matter because I’ll never see him again if I fail to escape. Though the thought of escaping feels nearly impossible as exhaustion weighs my naked and exposed limbs down.
Attempting to change the course of my thoughts, I begin to wonder if Captain Wellcrest’s scouts are helping Rett find the missing womenfolk. Or how Klara is managing with me gone. Then I remember how distant and powerless I am to help, which makes me bury those thoughts too.
The stern housekeeper stomps in when the water turns tepid. She’s carrying a wicker basket full of dresses, shoes, and undergarments, fresh from the seamstress and cobbler. She hangs them in the wardrobe.
Before my bath, I didn’t know what to do with it, so I hid the diary under the cushion of an upholstered chair. I watch her closely. She doesn’t do any tidying, but she does hand me a sealed note with a disgruntled sigh before she leaves.
Dinner at 7:00. Wear something nice. Be prepared to meet people.
—A
Already?
But I need more time to rest. More time to gather my thoughts. More time to prepare—so I don’t act as though I hate everything about this man in front of the very commanders I promised to convince.
Although…
My eyes dart to the wardrobe’s array of new hand-me-down gowns—heavy emerald velvet, navy silk glinting with golden thread, and vibrant crimson satin—out of fashion, but still regal.
I bite my lip, knowing the type of scandalous gown the Witch-King would want me to wear. The type that impresses men…
Jumping from the tub, I carefully scrutinize each dress. Finally, I stop, my hand hesitating over my selection. A feline smile takes over my face, and I grab it.
Even with a maid’s help, it takes a ridiculous amount of time to dress in the high-necked, long-sleeved contraption.
It has nearly a hundred pearl buttons down its brown silk front.
I frown at the reflection in the dressing mirror, worrying that my curves strain excessively against the skin-tight silk, but it will have to do.
I pin my hair into an elegant, twisted coiffure with tendrils framing my face and finish the outfit with a dusky pink shawl. Never forget that we are enemies, repeats in my already busy mind.
Oh, I won’t be forgetting.
A knock sounds at the adjoining door. I open it and find Ashland standing there.
His broad shoulders fill a finely embroidered black-as-midnight tunic decorated with intricate silver knotwork and adorned with medals of valor.
It used to bother me when Balor only wore dark colors because it brought out a sickly yellow in his pallor, but on Ashland, it suits him, which burrows an annoyance under my skin like a hard-to-find splinter of wood.
He takes in my appearance, a twitch of surprise running across his fine features, but he doesn’t remark on my choice of outfit—just an offer of his arm. I don’t hesitate for fear I’ll show weakness. So I take hold without a second thought.
In the shadowy corridors, he says, “Call me Ashland tonight, without formal titles. We must convince them you’re here willingly, or they’ll never believe you share my bed.
” I nod in agreement as an unwelcome warmth floods my veins, and I thank the fae above that he disdains me enough not to desire that.
When we reach the dining hall, he makes me wait outside until they’re ready. Standing behind the giant doors, I try to listen in on their hushed conversations. Perhaps something that could help me in the future, but just as I lean in—
“Are you late also?” a female voice asks behind me.
I startle and flip around to find a beautiful warrior woman of prominent rank.
Face to face, she’s a vision of russet skin brushed with accents of rose blush across her high cheekbones.
Her powder-pink hair twists away with gold pins that rise into spiral cones tipped with rubies while connected chains delicately rest on her forehead.
Despite the magnificent diadem she wears, she doesn’t bother dressing in a formal gown.
Instead, she’s outfitted in expensive leather pants and a gold breastplate decorated with filigree that fits the curves of her small bust. Though she is lithe, her muscles are well-defined, and her violet catlike eyes say strength is the least of her abilities as she surveys me in return.
Not bothering to hear my answer, she strolls into the dining room, leaving me behind.
Another agonizing fifteen minutes elapse before the double doors swing wide and stay open.
I enter the cavernous dining hall, my footsteps tapping on the broken marble floor. Iron candelabras line the long mahogany table while the generals and commanders sit stiffly, their whiskered faces illuminated by the candlelight.
I’ve always been used to people leering, even pointing.
But this is different.
This sets my soul on edge. Their eyes dig in while I fight the urge to run in the opposite direction. Do they itch to grab their weapons like the men in the village? Would I be prey for this den of wolves as they watch their leader toy with me? My breathing hitches in my throat.
I scan the table for a seat, but no chairs remain. Uncertain about my next move, I shift back and forth on my feet.
The Witch-King reclines lazily in his high-backed chair at the head of the table, his eyes gleaming as he appraises me. The generals follow his gaze, astonishment rippling across their faces. Ashland gives me a come-hither look that would melt an average woman—yet it sours my gut.
Everyone gawks as I make the long trek to the head of the table.
Ashland opens one arm, welcoming me to his lap.
Embarrassment wraps around my neck as I lower myself to sit in his embrace, his hard-muscled thighs tensing under me as his chest radiates warmth.
He immediately pulls the hairpin from my updo, releasing my tresses from their constraints.
My hair falls around my shoulders in big, bouncy curls, and my cheeks grow hot as he tucks a spiral behind my ear.
Out of the corner of my vision, I catch sight of the generals and commanders who watch wide-eyed, their mouths slightly agape.
Ashland’s voice booms, “Let me introduce our guest of honor, my beautiful courtesan, Tabitha Rilea Metalla, Queen of Alexandria.” I suppress a shudder, forcing myself to smile coyly as gasps erupt.
For better or worse, this is the path I tread.
Ashland raises his goblet. “Her presence represents a new era of possibility for our kingdom. Long have we fought a losing war. Now, under my reign and with Tabitha’s cooperation, we shall prevail once and for all.”
Everyone lifts their drinks and reluctantly sips in the cold silence.
Before long, introductions go around the table, none of which I’ll ever recall.
I will only remember how each commander looks as if they would kill me instantly, given the chance, as disdain and hatred and disgust paint their ravaged faces.
My thigh trembles until Ashland places his hand over it, steadying it with his broad palm. Without moving it, he introduces the bejeweled warrior woman from earlier. “This is General Valora Andarta, my second-in-command. If I’m not around, she’s in charge.”
“Just call me Valora,” she says. “When the history books write about me, I want no confusion about what name my enemies scream with their dying breath.” She fluffs and tucks a cloth napkin around her neck.
I respond with a polite nod, making a mental note not to get on her bad side.
The butler directs footmen to serve the meal.
It’s a plain menu of mutton, greens, and other root vegetables, but there is plenty to accommodate so many people.
The savory aroma of the roasted meat teases my stomach, and I tentatively spy a steaming bowl of delectable gravy.
After a few words of gratitude from Ashland, the rhythmic scrape and clink of cutlery fill the hall as everyone eats.
While a servant pours wine into my goblet, Valora leans toward me, asking, “And how does Captain Finn Wellcrest fare?”
I blink. I didn’t expect a question about Wellcrest here.
Thankfully, this isn’t hard to answer. “He’s one of the few good men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. He excels at his line of duty without compromising honor.”
Something sparks in her inquisitive gaze, and then I see it. She has the same nose as Finn. The same violet-colored and catlike eye shape. The same attractive features—
“It’s good to hear that about my half-brother.”
“Brother?” My spine stiffens.
“I’ve never met him,” she says, cutting into her meat, “but we share the same blood, which makes me curious.”
For as long as I can remember, Finn Wellcrest has been a ward of the crown.
Nobody ever speaks about how he arrived at Alexandria Castle—at least not with me.
It’s old gossip, and besides that, it would be considered poor etiquette since he was King Xander’s favored.
I’d always assumed he was the orphan son of some noble family.
Ashland moves his hand to rest on my lower back, jolting me from my thoughts. I’ve been staring blankly at the spread of food, not eating.
But… there is only one plate situated between us. Does he expect us to share?
It takes everything I possess not to scoff as it dawns on me: that’s exactly what he wants.
He wants me to feed him like a doting lover.
A courtesan on display. Revulsion rises in me.
Isn’t it enough that I’m sitting on his lap?
That I have to feel every part of him bulging beneath me?
With slow strokes, I cut the meat into bite-sized portions, letting my knife scrape noisily against the porcelain.
Ashland whispers in my ear, “You forgot the sauce.”
My heart skips a beat. The heat of his body is too close, his breath disturbingly warm on my neck as I falter for only a moment.
Lifting the fork to my mouth, I savor the mutton, chewing thoroughly. A hum escapes my lips. “Oh?”
At exactly the same time, we both reach for the gravy bowl, our hands crashing in the middle, his finger dipping into the steaming sauce. I twist around to look him in the face, and we lock eyes, challenging each other. Shadows unfurl from his shoulders in great wisps.
“Oh dear, we’ve made a mess,” Ashland says darkly, rubbing his fingertip on my bottom lip. “Open.”
His command surprises me, and my lips part, allowing him in. My blood pulses as his long middle finger glides to the back of my throat, and I suck the gravy from it.
My face is surely beet red as I turn to find the sour-faced war leaders watching us, scandalized beyond measure.
“Is this what we’re to expect now?” asks the general with salt-and-pepper hair, eyeing me sideways down the long table.
With an eyepatch and scars running down his face, the short one barks, “Should we prepare and batten the castle for a siege? Will they try to win her back?”
I choke on a laugh but hurriedly attempt to cover my mouth with a napkin. It’s too late, though, and everyone hears. They’re waiting for an explanation, so I mutter, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
An outcry from around the table as fists beat down.
Someone shouts, “The girl wants us unprepared—”
“I meant no one will come after me. They don’t know I’m here, and even if they do, they still won’t come…
” I drain Ashland’s goblet of wine. It’s dark and dry, making me wish I had reached for the water instead, but the slight burn in my belly gives me something to focus on other than their disapproval.
“The courtesan speaks the truth.” Valora waves a forkful of meat, calmly explaining, “Our spies report she’s not popular with the people or her council.”
My whole body shuts down, shame taking over. All at once, my appetite is gone.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. The Alexandrians are war-hungry and love any excuse to slaughter,” says a voice at the far end as the other commanders devolve into insults and slurs.
I’m desperate for more wine, but Ashland moves the goblet far out of my reach after the footman refills it.
“Eat,” he whispers in my ear, again nudging me in the ribs.
I take a few bites while everything reels around me.
Somehow, I keep chewing, hoping they won’t ask any more questions if I stay busy.
After I empty my plate, the table is dismissed with promises of strategy meetings in the morning.
Valora joins the commanders by the fireside, discussing another female leader named Adele who wasn’t able to attend tonight.
I watch in awe as they show Valora deference.
Muffling their conversation, they grow still when they see me approaching, but I care very little as I hurry past them, determined to leave.