Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
I leave the nearly empty dining hall to Valora to continue her bickering about blade lengths and arrow tips with the weapons master. I barely pay attention to where I’m going as the corridors are slowly becoming second nature to me.
Ashland wasn’t at dinner, but that’s probably for the best. We’ve already done our part together. There’s no need to drag it out, and the aftermath of two kisses in two days has left me feeling—
I don’t actually know how I feel.
Overwhelmed?
Deflated?
Something about the whole ordeal is vaguely discomforting.
Then I catch sight of him stepping out of the commander’s meeting room. He halts when he sees me.
“Don’t they need my information anymore?” I ask, wondering why they haven’t questioned me since before my escape attempt into the forest.
“We’ve agreed they’ll tolerate your presence at the castle, but they want future information to come from more reliable sources. With the Citadel brimming with Alexandrian nobles, we’ve been very successful with our incoming intelligence.”
“Well, that’s a relief at least.”
But it still stings that I’m seen as untrustworthy.
He nods to me.
I swallow, gathering courage. “If I were given the current information you have about Alexandria, I could still be of some use. You needn’t tell the commanders any of it came from me. I could—”
“No. I can’t go back on my word to them.” Voices call his name through the closed door. He gives me a firm push at my lower back. “You should return to your chambers.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to go back to my lonely chambers. All I do is read novels in there, and I never thought I’d say this, but I yearn for more responsibility. More trust and freedom like when he sent me from the Sea-Witch’s hut to find the ingredients.
The commanders call his name louder.
He steps toward the meeting room, annoyance lacing his words. “I don’t have time for this. Go.”
* * *
“Please—please don’t, Balor,” my voice begs, the sound of it waking me as lightning and thunder crash nearby.
A pair of strong hands grips my shoulders, shaking me slightly.
“Shhh,” the voice whispers. “Tabitha, it’s only a dream. You’re safe here,” he urges, sliding my sticky hair away from my face.
My eyes fly open when I recognize Ashland’s rumbling northern accent. He’s leaning over me, so close that it’s hard to see anything but his silver eyes in the dim light.
I’m surprised to see him, especially when it’s been a week of silence and avoidance since our last conversation.
He doesn’t even bother to eat in the dining hall anymore.
Not when he’s been taking each of his top commanders to dine alone with him in his chambers so he might influence their fickle natures.
It’s been a long seven days in which I’ve done nothing but train with Stormwatch and better plot my next escape.
I’ve decided I can’t stay here, my uncle be damned.
No amount of guilt can make me stay somewhere where I’m caged like a pet.
So I’ve started timing the guards from my window, storing away little bits of food, eyeing the rusted weapons littered in the halls, deciding which one could be restored more easily than the others—
“The storm,” I gasp, trembling. “I was back in…” A strike of lightning illuminates the rain beating against the windows as the wind howls and begs to be let in, rattling the hinges and latch.
“You’re safe now.”
But am I?
Coming to my senses, I murmur suspiciously, “What are you doing in here? What time is it?” A draft of frigid air sends a shiver down my already tense body as I lie tangled in my sweaty sheets.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he says. “I thought someone was hurting you, but then you kept repeating that name.”
With those words, the sadistic memories of my nightmare weigh me down as the details become sharper—an ache through old wounds. The fact that Balor’s ghost haunts me makes my stomach curl with the thought that I may never be truly free of him.
Ashland, shirtless and only wearing cotton pants, is already striding across my chamber, heading back to his suite.
I surprise myself when my timid voice asks, “Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep again?” A flustered embarrassment threads through my every word as I lie, “I’ve never seen a storm like this. ”
Ashland turns around. The slow deliberation he gives to my request doesn’t help the shivering that racks my ribcage. “Ah, my lady beckons me, does she?” A grim smile slowly gains traction across his face.
“Yes, she does,” I play along.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if a commander witnessed me leaving your chambers come morning.
” Before I can attempt to think of a witty retort, he says, “And as far as the weather is concerned, the farther north you go, the worse the elements fight back. The people who live here must be resilient enough to endure their love for their home. I suggest you make your peace with the unpredictability.”
I carefully study him as he returns, relief melting from my body. If only I could convince him to grow closer to me like on the boat—to want me—to need my body, I might be able to carve out some semblance of trust and freedom; otherwise, he’ll never let his guard down.
Without some serious and drastic changes, I would accomplish nothing but more wasted time and another piss-poor escape.
A week of obsessing over this ugly truth has made me realize I need to wedge myself into some sort of power by proxy—that I shouldn’t let my growing distaste for manipulation cloud my judgment, not when I’m a Lady Courtesan capable of anything.
Ashland heads toward the chair next to the bed, but I scoot over and offer him space on the mattress.
His step falters.
Highly aware that the only thing I’m wearing is my thin shift, and that I’m still downright freezing, I pull the bedding up to my chin. He seems relieved at that, and the bedframe groans under his weight as he eases down on it next to me. Our arms graze.
An awkward silence grows before he asks, “Do you wish to talk about this former Keeper of yours, this Balor Black?”
“N-n-no.” My teeth begin to chatter.
“No, I wouldn’t either,” he says, giving me a sideways glance.
“I already know he’s the rat who implemented those war-free zones in the border villages, yet turned around and called for attacks on the commonfolk.
You were his Lady Courtesan during this time.
Were you not aware of what he was doing? ”
“Yes, I kn-knew. But what was I-I going to do? B-barge into the High Council? They would’ve s-sent me to the cathedral.”
Ashland seems both disappointed and surprised by my honesty and admits, “You should know that if I ever get a hold of this wretch, I wouldn’t use my powers on him; I’d snap his neck with my bare hands for the simple satisfaction of never having to hear of his cruelty again.
” With a tilt of his head, he peeks over at the fireplace.
“There should be more wood in here. Did you burn it all?”
“There’s n-never e-extra wood for my f-fire,” I say, glad for the subject change.
I decide to use this opportunity and allow the blankets to fall to my waist when I’m hit with a particularly violent shiver.
The sheer fabric of my shift outlines my peaked nipples as I make sure the material pulls tight with the help of my arms pinning it in place. “I thought it w-wasn’t allowed.”
“Unacceptable.” He clears his bobbing throat. “I’ll speak to the housekeeper first thing.” With a deepening of his crooked frown, he studies me. By this point, my shivering is causing my whole body to jiggle in all the places that should catch his attention.
Before he can say anything, I blurt, “I’m s-sorry. I c-can’t help it.”
Sighing, Ashland says, “Come here.” He grabs me by the waist—a motion that is now growing familiar to me—and folds me into his arms.
The action is so sudden that I have little time to think, let alone react. But his warmth is generous, and I’m more tired than I thought, so I take the moment to relax against his chest and just breathe for a second. My heart rate slows.
“Why are you crying?” Ashland asks.
That’s when I realize I am crying, fresh, hot, wet tears all down the front of his bare chest, soaking into the dark hair that grows there.
“I don’t know.” I nuzzle deeper into his arms, and he places his chin on top of my head, holding me tighter.
His breath shoots down at a steady pace.
“Because of everything…” I whisper, clutching his forearm, sliding my palm up his wide muscles.
Ashland tenses. “Don’t.”
But I’m tired of not being in control. Tired of everything always being a struggle—and so this is the only way I know. I reach for the fastening of his pants, but he pulls my hand away, interlocking our fingers.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, peering up, our faces dangerously kiss-close as I remember the way he tastes. Teardrops still cling to my lashes, making my vision blur slightly as if I’m looking at him through distorted glass.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he says hoarsely.
“But I’ve seen the way you stare at me in the training yard, in the corridors, in the drawing room playing the piano for you.
You watch me everywhere I go. I’ve even felt the need behind hands and your lips, yet you harbor such hate for me that you’ll deny yourself something you clearly want?
Now that I’m freely offering it?” My breath catches in my throat. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Refusing you has nothing to do with denying myself.” He inhales deeply, an irritation boiling over in his restrained tone.
“But you’re right about some things. Including the fact that I would fuck you every damn day of this pitiful excuse of a mortal existence—if I didn’t distrust everything about you.
If you knew the depraved things I wanted to do to you, if you knew how desperate I am to simply taste you and claim you as mine, you wouldn’t ask such stupid questions of me.
No, you’d be too needy and embarrassed because no one in Alexandria could ever say the filthy things I’d whisper in your ear, and they certainly wouldn’t elicit the same response, quivering between your thighs, dripping for me, wanting me.
I’d rub your clit until my fingers came back covered in everything that makes you…
you. Then I’d make sure you weren’t looking anywhere but my eyes as I made you beg for my cock to fill you.
I would bury myself so deep into you that you’d scream my name so loud that the Fae Realm would split open once more.
Every realm across the land would hear my name on your tongue. ”
I pause, taking in every filthy word and then stammer, “Why don’t you just come out and say it already?”
“Say what?”
“You disdain my past. The things I had to do to survive.”
He blinks hard. “That’s not what this is about. We made an agreement that you would be my courtesan, not my whore. And I don’t go back on my bargains, Tabitha. No matter how badly I want to.”
“And what’s so wrong about being with a whore?
Or is it that I’m not Adele? Or Valora’s sister?
Or any of the other Stormwatch members you’ve so casually bedded on a whim?
You think I haven’t heard them whisper about your rakish ways on the shore?
Yet you’d rather throw me in a dungeon than let me touch you.
You’d rather fake a tryst than take me for real.
” Each accusation sends my heart racing, spreading an uncomfortable burn beneath my skin.
“We shouldn’t pretend either of us is a blushing virgin.
” He holds up a hand before I can offer a rebuttal.
“But let me be very clear, so that you finally understand this, I’m never going to allow you to cloud my judgment with what’s between your legs.
I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want you.
” The vein in his neck pulses. “It’s too easy to fall into your trap.
You’re like the dewdrop in a spiderweb, waiting for me, and war is not the time to fuck the enemy, no matter how you beg, so I suggest you stop asking fucking questions you don’t really want the answers to. ”
I jump down from the bed, my voice high-pitched and oddly strained. “I think it’s time for you to leave—thank you for checking on me. It’s no longer needed.”
Ashland flips his long legs over the edge of the mattress, shaking his head and muttering to himself. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you when I came to you tonight.”
“You didn’t,” I lie, pointing at the door. “Please, go.”
“Fine,” he concedes, standing up and striding across the chamber. “Be sure to get some rest. We have breakfast with the commanders first thing. I wouldn’t want them to assume there’s trouble when you show up with puffy eyes.”
In the next moment, Ashland ducks because a very large novel hurtles at his face in a wave of pages and fury.
My arm reaches for another from my bedside table.
The assailing books have hit him three out of four times by the time he reaches the adjoining door.
I let out a half-sobbing laugh as the lock latches between us.