Chapter 30
Thirty
I now fully regret the high-necked frock.
It’s too tight, and I can’t breathe.
My hands claw at the fabric around my neck before I start the long process of unbuttoning the damnable thing.
The lace edging scratches against my skin as I struggle with the pearl buttons running down the front of my bodice.
Each tiny clasp feels slick between my trembling fingers.
I grasp and pinch, but it slips away, evading my efforts.
The gown clings to me, suctioning itself to my every curve, my perspiration only making it worse.
Ashland knocks on the adjoining door, but I ignore it. By the time he decides to walk in anyway, I’m panting and furious. He stops and surveys my struggle, his body stiffening.
“Where are the dressing maids?” I groan.
“They aren’t here at night. I send them home because they’ve got enough to do around the castle. Besides, their wages are poor, and I won’t have them overworked.”
“Then pay them more.” My hair plasters to my forehead as I strain, bending to get a better grip.
“I have soldiers to house and feed.”
“Right—”
“Stand still.” He rips the dress down the front with a violent pull.
I gasp, hands flying to clutch the torn edges.
The pearl buttons fall to the floor with soft pinging sounds as they bounce and roll away.
Cold air hits my overly hot body. I want to slap him like the night we met, but the relief is too overwhelming.
“I suppose I have reason to pay extra this week,” he remarks, holding a bit of the torn fabric between his fingers, examining it closely.
“Why did you do that?” I exclaim, still attempting to keep the sides of my dress together.
“Your face was turning purple,” he says, tossing the silk at me before grabbing a pitcher from the table and pouring a cup of water. “Don’t pick such a ridiculous gown next time.”
He hands me the cup.
My teeth grind. It’s one thing for me to revile him—it’s another for him to do it to me. I take this as a challenge, peel the remaining sides of the torn dress from my arms, and let them fall to the floor.
Propriety be damned, I won’t be standing around in rags to feel the sting of humiliation any further.
I carefully observe the subtle muscle twitching in his jaw, and it brings me immense satisfaction to see his discomfort.
He averts his eyes from me and looks at the wardrobe.
“Are you done with your games? Shall I fetch you a dressing robe now?”
“I don’t own one.” I twiddle the blue ribbon lacing on my new stays, wondering how men can be such simpletons when it comes to a woman’s body.
“I’ll leave you until morning then.” Ashland gives the door between our suites an exhausted glance before warning, “It would be wise to remember there are guards at every entry. If you try something as stupid as running away, prepare for a chase because not even the fae could help you if I caught you, and believe me, I would catch you. I would hunt you down and finish this charade of an arrangement.”
“Noted,” I deadpan, tired of his threats.
“Lucky for you, I’m not the running type.
I had quite enough of that with your hounds…
” He nods with a weary sigh, his boots heavy on the floor as he leaves.
Before he can fully return to his chambers, I quickly say, “There is something I would like some clarification on, though.” He turns around just as I wrap my pink shawl over my shoulders.
“I was surprised to learn that General Valora is the sister of Captain Wellcrest. I’ll admit, I’m embarrassed by how little I know of my own Queensguard—or how he came to be a ward of the Alexandrian Crown. Do you know?”
He sighs and returns into my bedchamber before motioning to the two threadbare chairs next to the fireplace. “Sit. I’m tired.”
Remembering that Cliodna’s diary is still hidden there, I hurry to lower myself onto the seat. Despite the lump, the cushions are soft and slightly springy. He also sits, the chair creaking under his weight.
“I’ll make this brief because our strategy meeting is early.” Dark circles are recessed beneath his eyes as he scratches his sharp, stubbled jawline. “Their shared father is King Andarta of the Solarian Isles—”
My eyes grow wide. How could I have missed that name at dinner? Perhaps if I hadn’t been so terrified, I would’ve recognized the ancient royal surname.
“—which, as you’re probably already aware, is the wealthiest kingdom in the Human Realm. Riches and decadence flow with no end from his island throne thanks to the wine from his vineyards.”
A startling creak draws our attention to our shared door. A wispy black nose pokes out, and two shadow hounds scamper in before stretching and rolling at the king’s feet in front of the crackling hearth.
Scratching a hound behind the ear, Ashland continues, “I’ve been told the Solarian King used to take part in the Bidding Ceremony of Alexandria when he grew bored with his nation’s concubines and when one particular debutante caught his eye, she became his newest obsession.”
A queasy sensation overtakes my stomach. Debutantes are only eighteen—a law I desperately want to change when I return home.
“Because she hadn’t taken the Rite yet, she fell pregnant while on a carriage ride.
King Andarta tried to force her to join him in his kingdom as a concubine, but King Xander forbade it.
I’m unsure whether it was a political decision or an act of compassion.
The Spirit-Fae Cathedral also intervened, claiming Alexandria’s laws require courtesan offspring to be committed to its service. ”
“Of course, they—” I say bitterly.
“Xander wanted the money and assurances Andarta would provide as an ally, so he proposed that Wellcrest become a ward of the crown until a royal marriage could occur between their houses.” He pauses the story to throw another log on the fire, the embers burning hot and bright.
“Wait a minute. What if a princess had never been born?”
“He would have chosen the kingdom he wished to serve when he came of age, but he’s well past that now.”
Ashland said he would keep this short, but the twists and turns are anything but. I try not to think about how Wellcrest is also the child of a Lady Courtesan.
I take a deep, steadying breath.
With so much talk about Captain Wellcrest, I’m overcome with an urge to confess what I know about the missing womenfolk he’s supposed to be investigating. But Ashland’s eyes are full of distrust as he looks at me, so I decide to wait.
We listen to a log being devoured as the night grows late, and my eyelids droop despite these surprising revelations. Even the whispers are quiet. Ashland stretches his long legs before rising, and the hounds jump up to follow him.
As he passes me, I place my palm on his arm and look upward at him to ask another question. “Why does King Andarta’s daughter fight for your kingdom?”
“That is one story I don’t have the right to share. She is a close friend, and I respect her privacy.” His tone is final.
Their friendship seems genuine, but something about it makes me curious, perhaps even suspicious, about how it came to be. I know better than to ask him again, though.
“Then can you at least tell me why our kingdoms went to war with each other in the first place?”
“Tabitha, I won’t be your teacher.”
I stifle a scowl, and Ashland returns to his suite with the click of the adjoining door. I stare after him longer than I care to admit, waiting until I’m sure he’s gone before I dig the diary out from under the cushion.
Extra candles are nowhere to be found in my room because of either a scarcity of supplies or a lack of interest in keeping a captive comfortable.
Thankfully though, the last log still illuminates the space.
I move closer, but the light barely reaches the faded paper.
That doesn’t stop me from opening the pages and reading:
65 days until I return.
There’s a problem.
There’s absolutely no way the wedding with Prince Aros will happen now.
The two kingdoms can take their trade deal and put that burden on someone else’s back.
I’ll simply have to live with Grandfather’s disappointment.
To be fair, if Father manages it daily, it shouldn’t be that difficult.
And really, what is so crucial that I need to suffer endlessly like this?
If Tam believes a different economic plan is viable, surely there is another way.
Oh, dear journal, you ask why, do you? Because—because the ball was a disaster!
On the high balcony above the ballroom, Aros surprised me with a tiara encrusted with a shining gemstone in the center. All could see its glory as he placed it on my head.
“The Ashland Jewel,” he declared. The audience clapped and cheered until my ears rang. He drew me close with his hands wrapped around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “You should know I wasn’t speaking of the tiara, Cliodna.”
Twisting away from the sea of courtiers, I burst, “I am no trinket, nor am I to be flaunted as a piece of property.”
Aros’s ears burned red at the tips before he motioned for my hand and led me downstairs to the ballroom. We danced in silence, and when the orchestra finished, he left without looking back.
For the rest of the miserable night, the gossipy ladies hounded me with questions about Aros until my head throbbed. To make matters worse, my skin would erupt into a sweat whenever I remembered my sharp tongue. So naturally, I slipped into the garden to cool off.
I sat on a bench under a bloom-covered trellis, shredding flower petals while replaying the night over and over in my head.
Twigs crunched, and none other than Aros himself emerged from behind the rosebush, clipping a rosebud for his front pocket.
Most would assume it was for aesthetic reasons, but I knew he would pull it out for observation when he returned to his notepad and quill later that night.
“Come to tell me off?” I asked, clenching the rose so tightly that the thorn on the stem pierced my finger, drawing blood.
“I was here first.” He plopped down next to me on the bench and reached for my finger. With a turn of his palm, he made the blood disappear, and the skin reformed itself as if the wound had never happened.
But I didn’t want to see his healing magic. I wanted his emotion. I wanted words. “Say what you’ve been longing to say then.”
His eyes hardened as he met my gaze.
“Fine! I’ll go first, like always! You can’t possibly think I’d be excited to label myself a Jewel of Ashland when I’m an outsider year after year.
How can I love this land if I’ve never left the castle grounds?
How can I call this place my future home if I’ve never seen your kingdom except through a carriage window? ”
I finished it off by describing how I’ve despised him since childhood because he’s always ignored me—always avoided me. He listened until I was out of breath and on the verge of tears.
Then without a word, he offered his arm before walking me back to my chambers, where he kissed me on the cheek.
Nothing good is going to come of this.
Well, maybe one.
I’ll return home early for once.
—Cliodna
I flip the page to read the following passage, but the last struggling ember in the hearth winks out, plunging the room into darkness.