Chapter 38 #2
“The men around here seldom hurry once they’ve returned from the battlefield. Time slows down when you’re in your homeland again, surrounded by normalcy. It’s hard to rush life when you’ve bargained with the quickness of death.”
I take a breath. “I’m not well-versed in such matters, but what you say seems reasonable enough.” There’s a moment’s pause before I ask, “Have you been in many battles?”
“More than I care to count.” Ashland almost seems to scoff but thinks better of it. “Once I learned to ride a horse, my father kept me close in the battle encampments. By the time I was sixteen, I was leading a charge into battle.”
“Sixteen is but a child!”
“My father thought otherwise. He had some very old-fashioned views.” I’m surprised when he continues, “I was at the battle before last, but I had to take some time for an unexpected injury.”
“What happened?”
“I was wounded, but that doesn’t matter. As you can see, I’m healed enough.”
“Will you fight in the next battle?”
“Yes, once we finalize the plans.”
I don’t know how I feel about that, so I don’t say anything, letting the silence linger between us.
Perhaps he wants to change the subject because he says, “While you’ve not been on the field of war, I’m sure you’ve been to battle in your own ways. The Alexandrian Court has always been full of betrayal, murder, and intrigue. And according to our spies, not much has changed.”
Now it’s my turn to suppress a scoff. “You gave my uncle an easy win by getting rid of me.”
“Maybe, but he is predictable. I’ve been trained to fight him. You, on the other hand, were the wild card.”
“Then I must apologize. I know I’m not the winning hand you believed me to be.” He scrutinizes me, and I elaborate, “You might lose your bannermen because of me. I doubt that was what you thought would happen when you first placed me in your tower.”
A thought strikes me, and I wonder if I’m being foolish for going along with this production so willingly.
Shouldn’t I want him to fail? Wouldn’t it be better to be cold and unconvincing so the bannermen flee home to the east?
After all, it would make my escape easier once the army is no longer stationed outside the castle.
Perhaps it could help end the war.
But how far would General Metalla go if he won against Ashland? Could I live with myself knowing I helped him?
Ignoring my growing dread, I move my head to rest on Ashland’s chest so that I don’t have to look at or speak to him. The minutes tick by as I listen to his faint heartbeat.
Approaching voices and the slapping of oars hitting the water faintly sound in my ears. I move my gaze toward Ashland once more, but he already has his silver eyes on me, watching me.
It’s time.
I thread my free hand through the back of his soft hair, bringing his face closer. His lips part in surprise, and that small action makes my breath get stuck in my throat.
I hesitate.
My head is dizzy, making it hard to think.
I try to sit up, but Ashland nudges me back down, rolling on top of me.
He leans forward. As the boat rocks, his body moves with the motion until his face is an inch away from mine.
His hands spread next to my face as he extends his bare arms to support his body over me.
“I thought I told you to never kiss me again without first asking,” I breathe, shocked that he takes charge so willingly.
He gives me a rare smile, his teeth white and perfect. In fact, his entire face looks perfect when he smiles, when he’s happy. It’s disconcerting to say the least. “May I please place my lips upon yours, my lady?”
But there’s no time for me to answer because another choppy wave sends him into my lips, and he kisses me.
Just like that.
Not the quick type of kiss, not the angry kind like in the forest, but the lingering sort.
A kiss that makes my thoughts race until my mind tears apart and I’m left wanting more.
His lips are smooth and strangely pleasant.
There’s no doubt in my mind why he has a reputation for having a popular bed.
His hand slides my petticoats up, sending gooseflesh across my thighs, and his bare chest against my heaving breasts feels more pleasurable than I care to admit.
He cups my breast through the layers, his fingertips grazing the top of my peaked nipple, making me want more, making me wish these abominable stays weren’t in the way.
As if reading my mind, Ashland makes quick work of using his fingers to comb through the laces of my stays, loosening them, but not enough to where they would fall off—just enough to slip a hand underneath their rigid frame to cup the swell of my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
I arch my back, overcome with the sensation as pleasure courses through me.
His vocal cords rumble against my skin as he skims his teeth across my cleavage.
I gasp a shuddering exhale as the hardened need under his chausses presses into my side.
I think of how I’ve made him want me as much as I want him in return, and my face heats.
It heats even hotter when I realize these feelings are there in the first place.
How could I succumb to him? Did my pride mean anything to me anymore?
My head bobs up, desperate to see how much more time we have before the commanders arrive, but I’m yanked back down by his strong arms.
He growls, bringing my focus to this moment with him. “Look at me,” he says.
We look at each other, bruised lips and disheveled hair.
“I’m—” My voice trembles.
“Don’t worry about it, Tabitha. You’re doing so good.
So fucking good.” His throat bobs like he’s thinking of saying more before his kiss trails down my neck, sucking the flesh between his teeth, biting sharply.
I can’t help but moan as his hand squeezes me at the same time, his other hand going as far north as where my thigh meets my—
That annoying pulse returns.
If he went a bit further, his fingers would be nestled in the core of me. He could give me release, something I’ve rarely ever experienced. Instead, his thumb moves in lazy but firm circles, pushing into my skin, never moving from that spot.
I’m ashamed of how much I want it from him.
So ashamed that I clench my jaw and prevent myself from grinding on his hand.
That same hand brushes against the edge of my soft curls, and I think I might become undone from the insanity of it all.
Undone from the simple fact that his hand never moves to where I want it to.
It never takes what I’m silently begging him to take.
“Ash, they’re almost here,” I murmur into his neck as the sounds of the oars grow closer.
“Aye, people are in there!”
“Not people, you dolt! It’s the Witch-King and his harlot,” Priapus shouts, his face more purple than usual. “Forgive us, Your Grace. We weren’t aware…”
Despite knowing this is a contrived scene, I feel my face heat as if I’m exposed to a thousand suns, especially when I notice half of my petticoats are resting at my hip bone.
The only thing covering my nakedness is the fact that Ashland’s leg hides my flesh nestled beside my twisted petticoats.
From their viewpoint, we are a spectacle of half-dressed limbs and disheveled clothing.
Valora catches my eye from the group of onlookers. She nods, grinning.
Not knowing what to do next, I let out a playful half-laugh, burying my face into his chest. Ashland tucks me in closer to him and strokes my hair back from my face, making my attention turn solely to him.
When our eyes meet, a mist of shadows and whispers takes over our small boat.
We become shrouded in darkness, the commanders’ voices muffled and distant in the bay.
Ashland sits up. “That’s better.”
It’s over?
Without any fanfare, the ruse is indeed over.
He tosses me my dress, and I clutch it to my chest—my head feeling fuzzy—my breathing out of sync.
All the while, I’m trying to figure out how much of that was a false ploy and how much of that was real.
I swallow, not wanting to untangle these thoughts.
Working quickly, he rectifies the seats in the boat to their original state.
We sit across from each other in silence, slowly clothing ourselves, not daring to look at each other.
He’s refastening his armor and stretching out his left arm when I ask, “Do you think they’ll still take their bannermen home? ”
“Only time will tell, but they seemed genuinely surprised. You have my gratitude for… putting on quite the show,” he says. “Now the hard part will be convincing them that I’m not just chasing skirts, as Valora put it—that I’m as committed to our cause as I’ve always been.”