The Crown’s Obsession (The Ashen Crown #1)

Chapter 1

The Contingency

“I’ve seen corpses move faster than that, whore’s daughter.” Steel slams against mine, jarring my shoulder hard enough to numb my fingers. The next strike comes low and vicious. I barely deflect it before the flat of his blade clips my ribs.

The impact burns.

“Charming,” I say through my teeth. “I do so enjoy your encouragement.”

Master Forsamin advances without answering, boots grinding into the dirt of the ring. I catch nothing of his expression, only the blur of steel as it descends again.

“You’re distracted.”

“I’m bored.”

His blade hooks mine and twists. I wrench free just before he can disarm me.

“For what it’s worth,” he says mildly, “your brother lasted three whole minutes today.”

I laugh despite myself and press forward.

He lunges. I pivot and the tip of his sword grazes the edge of my sleeve instead of my throat. “They will call you that at court,” he says.

“Call me what?”

He does not hesitate. “Whore’s daughter.”

“If I go to court.”

The strike that follows is almost punishment. I absorb it, step inside his guard, and force him to disengage. “My sources say it is when,” he replies. “Males gossip far more than you would think while sword fighting.”

I duck as he feints high and drives low. “Don’t we all?”

He almost smiles. “The word is the King requires your father’s coffers.”

“That hardly makes me unique.”

He circles, measuring distance.

“Why not marry my sister?” I ask. “She already practices signing her name with a crown.”

A faint exhale that might be amusement. “It is said His Majesty prefers proof before vows,” he says. “He confirms a womb’s fruitfulness before binding it to the throne. Your sister, I hear, has already offered herself for inspection.”

I do not allow my blade to falter. “Then he need not trouble himself with me.”

“Perhaps he fears you would not prove fertile enough.”

That earns him a humorless laugh. “Oh, what a mistake that would be.”

“If only he knew,” he murmurs.

I almost smile.

He shifts stance. “Perhaps he will pass you to the younger brother instead.”

“The beast?”

“Both brothers are creatures,” he says evenly. “The King is rumored to be a feeder. The Prince is a siakar.”

He strikes fast and without warning. I drop low, roll through the dirt, and rise behind him before he can finish the arc. “Have you been listening?” he asks.

“I always listen.”

“Then tell me. What is a siakar?”

“A lion.”

“No.”

“A dog.”

His sword snaps toward my wrist.

“A wolf.”

“Closer. Still wrong.”

He advances again. “The siakars are not animals,” he says.

“Four legs, claws, the shape of wolves,” I reply. “They certainly sound like animals.”

“They are warriors shaped for discipline and speed,” he continues. “They were the shields in the Dark War. Many died protecting a throne that scarcely remembers them.”

“Tragic,” I mutter. “Shame the Prince survived.”

His blade whistles past my ear. “Treason is not ladylike.”

“I’m not a lady,” I reply evenly. “I’m a contingency.”

“Besides, I hear he requires the women who kneel before him to wash their mouths first.”

“Given the caliber of women at court these days, it is not entirely unreasonable, if you ask me,” Forsamin says dryly.

I adjust my footing, shifting weight to the balls of my feet. “Feeders,” I say, circling him. “The King is one. He drinks blood but eats normally as well.”

“Well done.”

“Where does the Queen Dowager reside?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

His hand moves before I see it. A pulse of force strikes my chest, sudden and unseen. I stumble back, the air driven from my lungs as magic prickles across my skin.

“Pay attention,” he says.

A pause.

“I was paid to train your brother,” he says at last. “Yet here you are.”

I grin. “Yet here I am.”

Steel crashes against steel again. And then, without warning, force slams into my ribs. Air tears from my lungs. Heat bursts from my palms and collides with his power midair. The impact fractures between us in a flare that dies before touching ground.

“Ah,” he says softly. “There she is.”

Warmth slides beneath my nose. I wipe it away with my glove and find blood.

“You cannot afford spectacle,” he says. “Control before speed.”

“I thought you preferred corpses with better reflexes.”

The corner of his mouth shifts, barely.

He comes at me harder now. No restraint. I drop low and roll, dust filling my mouth. When I rise, I pivot into a quick somersault to avoid the next strike, landing light on my feet.

“I leave for Yorali tomorrow,” he says. “Little lords with fragile pride require instruction.”

“And?”

“And I expect to see you in better circumstances.”

“What does that mean?”

His attention shifts to my veil. “No longer the veiled whore’s daughter.”

A chill runs through me.

For years the veil has been protection as much as punishment. Unseen, I am easy to ignore. Once unveiled, I will have use. And women who have use rarely keep their freedom.

“I’m supposed to make tea for the Baron’s guests,” I say suddenly, glancing toward the house.

A faint smile touches Forsamin’s mouth. “You mean the King and his brother?”

The words sink into my stomach like iron. “They are coming today?”

“I tried to help you prepare.”

“You should have led with that.”

I am already running.

I take the back path, the one that winds past the paddock and the kitchen gardens. My mare waits where I left her. I swing into the saddle and ride hard, cutting across the lower fields before circling toward the servants’ entrance.

The manor rises above me, gray and severe, banners hanging still in the heat. I slip inside through the scullery and descend to my quarters beneath the kitchens. The air smells of damp stone and onions. A rat skitters along the far wall as I strip off my training tunic.

Black silk. Black gloves. The veil, black as well. If they want a shadow, I will give them one. I am tying the ribbon beneath my hair when Emva bursts through the door. “The King and Prince are with your father,” she says, breathless. “Do not worry, I prepared the tea.”

Relief loosens my shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You may thank me properly,” she says, eyes bright, “by listening at the gallery door. You know I live for court gossip.”

Despite everything, I smile. “Very well.”

I adjust my veil and climb the narrow servant’s staircase toward the upper hall.

If I am to be sold, I intend to hear the price.