Chapter 42
Forty-Two
“I always knew there was a chance, but I didn’t think it possible.” My breath catches. A familiar sickness swirls in my stomach again, but I push it down. “Why did you keep this from me? Did my mother say anything to you?”
“I didn’t know you well enough to discuss something so intimate,” Ashland says. “But it’s different now, between us.”
My heart beats a little faster. “That’s no excuse—”
“I’m not even sure my suspicions are true.
She could have run off from the springs and died somewhere else for all we know.
As for what she said, it was nothing but incomprehensible nonsense, but it was obvious who she was.
Copies of her portrait had been circulated through every town and village in the Human Realm after her marriage.
The Courtesan Queen was incredibly popular with the commonfolk. A beacon of change, some called her.”
Could it be possible Theodora has been alive this whole time, hiding? Confusion and hurt twist around my heart. How could she abandon Alexandria—abandon me—if she still lives?
Stifling my emotions, I turn away from him and softly confess, “I seldom know how to react or feel when I learn something new about her, even something as important as this. Since I never knew her, she almost doesn’t seem real.”
“Take refuge in the fact that even when a person knows their parents, they still don’t seem real sometimes.” The pity in his voice makes me want to fall beneath the water and never come back up.
But like most things, I tuck away my feelings to sort through when I’m not nude and on the brink of tears in front of the Witch-King.
An awkward silence grows.
We stare at each other for an uncomfortable second more.
“I’ll leave you to—” He moves to exit, the top of his highly defined ass cheeks visible above the steaming ripples of the pool.
I choke and end up snorting water through my nose.
He turns around. “Are you all right?”
Coughing, I nod yes. But the truth is no.
Thankfully, focusing on the moisture glistening on the lowest part of his abdomen—the deep V meeting a dark patch of hair—is a preferable distraction rather than thinking about missing mothers.
He dips back into the hot springs, and shadows slip from his body in coiled tendrils.
His eyes flick to mine, catching my line of sight before he glides deeper until the water meets his waist.
Mortification heats my face.
Ashland seems to enjoy my awkwardness and chuckles with a dark smirk. “It’s disrespectful to stare like that, my lady.”
Luckily for me, even more distraction comes in the form of two shadow hounds galloping into the hot springs, playing tug-of-war with an oversized tree branch.
The sight of the beasts brings me relief as Ashland jokingly reprimands them, but their crashing wave jostles us until our shoulders rub together, our elbows clanking.
Ashland tilts his head toward me. “You smell exhausted.”
“Um, excuse me?”
“One of the benefits of being a witch is select heightened senses, and I can smell the fatigue on you. There’s no use hiding it.”
The shadow hounds are impervious to these casual declarations as they lounge on the steaming rocks, occasionally snapping at the silverflies that try to land on their wagging tails.
“Do you mind not smelling me then?” I refrain from calling him a freak.
“Can’t be helped.”
“Good thing we’re smarter than our urges,” I breathe.
We are silent for a long beat. “I probably shouldn’t have told you about your mother.
You are already on edge from all of the untrained magic newly awakened in your veins.
It’s making you depleted and irritable. You’ll have to calm not only your spirit but also your body for the power to fall back asleep; that way, you can rest too. ”
I begin to roll my eyes but realize he’s right. My muscles are painfully tightened, and the exhaustion I’m trying to mask is, in fact, still very much present. “Easier said than done,” I admit.
“You aren’t even trying,” he scolds.
I close my eyes and breathe, but my head jerks forward involuntarily.
My breath catches in my throat as I flinch, overwhelmed with painful memories resurfacing.
Clenching my jaw, I mutter, “I don’t think now is the time to try new things.
I don’t feel so well after all.” My lips tremble despite my best efforts to still them.
He sinks deeper into the water, swimming behind me until the slick muscles of his chest press flush against my bare back. The pressure sends my nerves into heightened awareness as his arms circle around, creating ripples across the hot spring.
He whispers in my ear, “Close your eyes and anchor yourself to me. Use me as a tether and breathe. Stop thinking and just let the air flow in and out.”
A strange contentment settles in me at the closeness of our bodies. There’s a forbidden air to our embrace and a general understanding that we shouldn’t be doing this, but we stay quiet in our denial as I breathe in and out.
I dare not move for fear of what might happen next—nor am I willing to break the comfort he gives after everything I witnessed in that fire and after learning about my mother.
My face turns downcast. Every bad memory that I’ve ever had keeps flooding me like dreams of a nightmare, my sense of time tripping on itself.
Gently, he says, “Otherworld visions aren’t easy.
They’re complicated and can leave you feeling drained for hours or even days.
It takes the Seers of Devana years to stomach it.
That’s why they’re so selective about who can join their coven.
I want you to know that I wouldn’t have insisted on you performing the ceremony if there had been any other way, and for that I’m sorry, really I am. ”
“How did you know I would be able to withstand it?”
“I have my reasons. Now, hold still.” He grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto a flat, low-set boulder, my tailbone stinging with the impact. The entirety of my body is bare before him, magnolia-white against the moonlight, while I try to cover my breasts with the length of my arm.
“What are you doing!?” I gasp, trying to push him away with my other hand.
Except he doesn’t budge. “Will you please calm down?” he asks, nudging the back of my shoulder so that I turn around and face forward.
“I’m not going to change my mind and take you over a rock.
What I’m going to do is rub that knot out of your back.
You’re still tense, and I don’t want you injuring yourself while on Pearl later. It’ll only slow us down.”
“We should be preparing to leave,” I insist. The commotion of the camp’s preparations is still muffled and chaotic in the background.
“We have a moment—”
“But—”
“But nothing. You crave a human’s touch after putting your body through the Otherworld. I don’t think it’s wrong to seek a connection in order to ground yourself after enduring spirit pain.”
“With you?” I laugh, slightly regretting my cruel undertone.
“Yes, with me. I feel bad that I hurt you. I shouldn’t have brought up your mother when you were already vulnerable. So why don’t you quit pouting just because I won’t touch you the way you want me to?”
“That’s not—”
“Then do away with your false modesty. It’s too late and there’s no point. Do you really think I haven’t already taken a long, hard look at the spiteful woman people believe to be warming my bed?”
I gasp and consider adding another injury to his already split lip.
“But that’s not what I’m focused on right now, believe it or not. What I’m focused on is how you’re holding your shoulder cockeyed and every time you sit up straight, you wince.”
“Was all of that really necessary?”
No answer. Ashland flatly orders, “Turn around.”
Too tired to fight him any longer, I face the wall of trees and watch the silverflies swoop.
His hands roam over my back, kneading the aching muscles as he works the knot loose; soon, sweet relief spreads.
A little moan escapes me, but I quickly press my lips shut, hoping he didn’t hear.
He massages my ribs and side but stops abruptly.
“Tabitha… I can tell one of your ribs has been broken before. Tell me what happened.”
My heart stops as I remember the late-night fights with Balor.
“What did he do to you?”
Everything.
Nothing.
Hesitating, I try to laugh away his question. “Why would I tell you? I wouldn’t want you getting any ideas.” But my voice sounds hollow—and I know he notices.
“Don’t. This is serious.”
His fingertips deftly probe my ribs and torso, making me pull away, the comfort he provided quickly evaporating. Ashland curses under his breath. “How long did this go on for? Why didn’t anybody do anything to stop it?”
My mind wanders, unwilling to focus. “Broken things are a reminder.”
“Fuck that and answer me.”
I want to tell him that my broken bones were nothing compared to my broken heart—the broken promises long ago shattered.
But instead, I turn around, facing him, and assert, “No.” Our eyes lock.
“No one but the cathedral can intervene in the private disputes between a Keeper and his Lady Courtesan. While there are laws that are supposed to protect us, they are little more than ink on paper.” His concern begins to agitate my pumping blood. “Why does it even matter to you?”
“You may foster the opinion that I’m a heartless beast all you want, but have you stopped to notice that you’re very much alive and cared for in my custody? Now tell me.”
“I no longer wish to speak of it.” I take a deep breath. “Please, let it go… for me.” If he thinks I’ll open up and relive some of the worst moments of my life, he’s sadly mistaken.
Ashland’s hand rests on my back, not moving.
A breeze slides over my skin, making me shiver slightly before I descend into the hot springs with a little plop. I swim away from him and float for a few long minutes, regaining my composure.
I let the word Devana roll off my tongue, wishing I could learn more about the magic inside me—perhaps my only protection against the men of this world. “Ashland, do you think you could teach me about the differences between fae and witch magic?”
My head jerks up at the sound of sloshing water.
Ashland stands on the bank in all of his naked glory, his cock long, thick, and swinging as he leans over the boulders and asks, “What’s this?” He pulls Cliodna’s diary from my pile of clothing.
Shit.
“Stop—that’s mine!” I swim to the shore as fast as I can, but he’s already flipping through the pages, stopping at one in particular.
Disbelief carves into his hardened face, and his voice is full of venom as he accuses, “You thought you could hide this from me?”
Water streams down my body as I run from the hot spring. I push him in the chest as hard as I can. “Give it back! It belongs to me—”
Fury ripples over his face, transforming him from Ashland back into the Witch-King.
He holds the diary above my head, far out of reach, and growls, “Do you forget who you are, my lady? My captive. Mine. You own nothing.” He restrains me with his other hand, pulling me against his naked body and trapping me beneath his muscled arm.
“Let go of me, you’re disgusting—”
“I should’ve had them strip-search you the first night in the tower.” My breasts are pressed flush against his chest, drawing his gaze downward. His cock swells against my hip.
I give him a cruel, knowing grin.
“You claim you want respect from me, and when I give it to you, this is how you repay me?” he asks, the quiet in his voice worse than any threat.
My smug smile is short-lived when he lowers his head and forces me to kiss him.
His tongue pushes into my mouth, claiming what he can and nothing more.
Somehow that hurts more than if he fully took my body against my will, but I’ll never be enough for him to break that restraint.
Never good enough to tempt his basest desires.
I know these thoughts are wrong.
I know they are.
Yet they won’t stop. I’m helpless as he devours me.
All I can do is taste him and remember the tenderness he so rarely shows me.
I despise him for making me feel this way—for making me crave the man beneath the cruelty while also making me hate the man standing before me.
He pulls away breathless, angrier than ever, when he whispers, “Every time I’m with you, you remind me how kindness is my truest weakness. This is why I’ll never trust you.”
My fists hammer into his chest. I don’t care that each strike is the same as pounding iron—or that my knuckles beg for me to relent as I let out a guttural scream. “I hate you!”
“The feeling is mutual. Now what else have you been hiding? What else aren’t you telling me?” He grips me by the back of my neck and pulls me firmly against him until I stop fighting.
“Nothing.” I tilt my head to look up at him. My voice cracks. “It’s just a diary…”
“Get dressed. We’re leaving.” He releases me and steps back.
“What if I refuse?”
“You cannot refuse your king.”
“You’ll never be my king.” A bitter scowl twists my lips.
“Tabitha, you may have a few drops of fae blood, but your new eyes mark you as a witch, a Devana Witch…”
My scowl falters, and I shake my head. “I thought it was an after-effect from the magic—from the power of those trees.” My water-wrinkled fingers touch the corners of my eyelids, wishing I could change them back.
“It is. The magic brought your heritage to the surface.”
“Even if that’s true...” I take a shuddering breath, emotion blocking my throat.
“I’ll not honor a king who’s no different than the men keeping those women locked on that wagon.
Don’t lie to yourself. You aren’t some great leader—you have an inflated sense of worth, the same as every man with a little power.
When in reality you’re the one who owns nothing.
You don’t own me, you don’t own wealth, you don’t own food, you don’t own anything but a crumbling castle—”
The night grows darker, the stars disappearing.
His voice echoes inside my head: “I am the Witch-King of the Devana. I am your king, whether you like it or not.” His jaw clenches, his mouth not moving as he sets his lips downward into a tight grimace.
He rubs the spot above his left chest muscle before stalking off with Cliodna’s diary still clutched in his clenched fist.
I call after him, “Only a weak king would insist on reverence.”