The Crown’s Temptation (The Ashen Crown #3)

The Night of the Baron’s Ball

The Night of the Baron’s Ball

TAMAL

About One Year Prior

Watching a king and a prince compete for a woman destined for a sailor was unexpectedly entertaining.

Perhaps destined wasn’t the right word. Regardless, the very thought that those insufferable Rathmor shits were playing a game they were entirely unaware of pleased him immensely.

Tamal had read the room the moment Asharin Rathmor stepped through the ballroom doors. Colsar was already obsessed, though he fought it with everything he had. Sevrin didn’t fight at all. He simply waited. Neither of them realized they had already lost.

Tamal understood the appeal. Maybe it was the dress, the laugh, those beautiful brea—

She might be your sister.

Right. Best not dwell on it.

Regardless, he had every intention of fucking those thoughts right out of his head.

If everyone would kindly leave him the fuck alone.

Kasrev fell into step without being invited. "Your Highness. Your father expects a full report by morning."

"He will have one."

"The princess." Kasrev lowered his voice. "Her eyes. The mark. The implications for the Alarnan bond—"

Tamal resisted the urge to throw him into the nearest fountain.

"I was there. I am aware of what her eyes mean."

"Your sister was not in attendance tonight. Her absence was noted."

Tamal stopped.

He turned and looked at Kasrev with the expression he reserved for conversations he had finished. "My sister's whereabouts are her own concern."

"Your father does not—"

"Tell him what he needs to hear." He straightened his cuffs. "You are good at that."

He left Kasrev on the steps.

The carriage wound through the gates of Rathmor Palace before turning toward the royal guest wing. Tamal would have preferred the capital. Rathmor had never held much appeal.

But tonight there was unfinished business waiting for him.

Even so, his thoughts turned to Asharin.

She had arrived late and the room had changed when she walked in, that recalibration of attention that happened when something unexpected came through a door.

He had watched Colsar's face first. Controlled fury.

Possessiveness dressed as composure. The man had the range of a locked room.

Then he had looked at her.

She had taken a pastry off a passing tray and eaten it with the ease of someone proving a point and he had laughed before he could stop himself.

Perfumed posturing was the term Eravic Vaelor used to describe royals like the ones in that room. Tamal had always found Vaelor insufferable and correct in equal measure.

They had said Yaforins at the same time. He still wasn’t sure why that had affected him more than the dance. He did not examine it. He looked out the window instead.

A shame Yvara was so unpleasant. She seemed like an entertaining bedmate.

She might be your sister too.

Fuck. He sighed. A pity his father was such a whore.

The carriage stopped.

The low lamp was still burning when he entered the room.

She was awake.

Her hair spilled over one shoulder in deep teal waves. Eyes the same impossible color followed him across the room. Every part of her looked as though it did not belong here, because it did not. She looked almost human until she smiled.

“You’re late.”

He shut the door behind him.

“There was a ball.”

“I know.”

He crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Is it time?”

She took her time before answering.

“I wish to feed first.”

He’d expected as much.

Her coloring had gone slightly wrong again, too pale at the throat, the teal of her eyes a fraction too bright.

Hungry.

He nodded once, then pulled off his jacket and draped it over the chair before loosening his collar.

“Your brother was mentioned tonight,” he said. “Junis answered with something about the eastern border needing provisions, I believe.”

A faint smile touched her mouth. "Eravic does as Eravic does.”

He suppressed a smirk. They both knew the eastern border hadn’t needed provisions in months. The undead had left nothing alive there.

Nothing, of course, except what Eravic was searching for.

The only people foolish enough to believe the eastern border needed supplies were the men in Veynar convinced they could still win this war.

And Junis Rathmor. He could not quite tell whether Junis knew the truth. He likely did not. Junis had the discernment of a well-dressed rock. He certainly seemed to grow stupider with each passing year.

Then again, Vaelors cannot lie. Not Eravic’s kind, anyway. So if he was not lying himself, someone else must have told Junis—

Background noise. Tamal filed it away under things that were not his problem.

He looked at her instead. "I met Asharin tonight," he said. "The golden-eyed princess."

Dali reached up and touched his face, fingertips tracing his jaw, his cheekbone, the line of his mouth. Unhurried. "And?"

"I want her tonight."

Her smile was not warm. It was the smile of someone watching everything unfold exactly as expected.

"Consider it done," she said.

She pressed her mouth to his ear and began to hum.

The sound moved through him before he could track it. He closed his eyes. When he opened them the room had changed. The air was warmer and it carried a scent he recognized from the ballroom. Asharin’s perfume, something floral and light, mixed with the wine on her breath. He looked at the bed.

Her hair was gold now, the same shade and loose curls as Asharin’s. Her eyes were gold. The scent matched exactly. It was not Asharin. He knew it was not Asharin.

He looked anyway.

She slowly pulled her gown over her head, then reached for him and pulled him down. Her legs wrapped around his hips. He pushed inside her, and she took him at once. He started moving, holding her wrists flat against the bed.

"Fuck me harder, Majesty," she said in Asharin's voice.

He did.

She lifted her hips to meet each thrust and made sounds he recognized from the ball, from a laugh that had carried across a crowded room and lodged somewhere it had no business being. He kept going, close enough that the edge was right there, close enough that one more—

She slid off him.

He ached with it, the loss immediate. She knew it. The knowing was in every line of her as she stood and looked down at him with those gold eyes, entirely unbothered. He was still breathing hard. She was not.

“Beg, Your Highness.”

He got to his knees on the floor. The want of it had only gotten worse and she knew that too.

She stood over him with Asharin's hair falling over her shoulder and tilted her head.

"You were such a disappointment tonight, Tamal.

I was hoping for a better dance partner.

" She circled him slowly, her bare feet silent on the wood.

"Someone funnier. More clever." She stopped behind him.

"I am a great beauty. I do not want a prince.

You could never compare to King Sevrin. Did you know he wants me too? "

She picked up the belt from the chair where he had draped his jacket and wrapped it slowly around his throat. Her hand closed around him at the same time and began to stroke, slow and certain, and he exhaled hard through his nose.

"Will he fuck you better than me?" he managed.

"Yes," she said. "Because you are worthless."

He moaned.

Her hand kept moving. He pressed into it, the pressure building fast. He hated himself for it but did not stop.

Then she leaned down close to his ear, Asharin's scent still on her skin, Asharin's hair brushing his cheek.

"There are rumors below the sea," she said softly, "that this golden-eyed Asharin shares sibling blood with you. Did you know that?"

He didn’t move. Her hand kept working.

She tightened the belt another fraction.

"I think you do know that," she whispered. "And I think it changes nothing. Does it, Highness?"

He was still hard. He hated that he was still hard.

She released the belt and stepped back.

"Down on all fours."

He went down.

She leaned close and hummed something different into his ear and the room opened, expanded.

He felt like he was flying, nothing above him but open dark, the song ringing in places he could not name.

Pleasure built through him in a wave he could not control, cresting until he moaned against his own arm, the sound muffled, his whole body shaking with it.

Then the room turned cold. Pressure pulling inward rather than down. Then everything went black.

When he opened his eyes the candles had burned to stubs, three of them long dead, the fourth barely alive. Hours had passed. Dali lay beside him, teal hair spread across the pillow, eyes closed. His release had dried on her bare stomach. She did not stir.

He sat up. Rolled his neck. Crossed to the window.

The gate was still lit below. Two figures stood at the entrance.

Sevrin, his hood pushed back, dark hair visible, cloak still on his shoulders.

And Asharin beside him, her hood still up but gold hair escaping at the edges where it had come loose.

They were speaking. Whatever passed between them was quiet enough that even the guards nearby did not turn.

Then she walked through the gates alone.

Sevrin stayed where he was and watched her go, and did not move until she had fully disappeared inside.

Tamal watched him.

Strange.

He turned back to the room.

"I am ready for what I came here for," he said.

He didn’t care if his voice interrupted her sleep. It was time.

Dali opened her eyes slowly and looked at the ceiling. "Mm."

"Dali."

"I fed. I am satisfied." She turned her head and looked at him. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

"You said that before.”

"Did I?" She closed her eyes. "Then perhaps the day after."

He reached over and picked up the glass from the nightstand.

Dali raised an eyebrow.

He threw it against the wall. The sound filled the room and went quiet. A piece skittered across the floor and stopped near the door.

"I fed you. I gave you what you wanted." His voice did not rise. "Now give me what I want. Now."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Then she sat up slowly, lazily.

"Fine," she said. "Until next time, Highness."

She looked down at her hands. Then she raised her head.

Her teal eyes softened, the color shifting until they were blue. The same color as the sea, as her brother Eravic. Her hair darkened, the teal receding until it lay dark brown in the candlelight.

His face changed before he could stop it. He pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest, his hand at the back of her head. Her breathing was slow. Her hands stayed in her lap.

"How was she?" she asked quietly.

"She fed. That is what matters." He pressed his mouth to her hair. "I cannot leave you here unattended when she has not fed."

She rolled her eyes against his chest. "You sound like my brother. Overbearing."

He smiled. "We were talking about him tonight actually. Perfumed posturing, is what he calls royal shits like the ones at tonight’s ball."

“Were there any snobby scuffles? That is one of his favorites whenever they fight,” she said with a laugh. The laugh that was warm and soft and was only ever hers. Her hands came up and rested against his arms, loose and easy.

He didn’t answer. The question had already slipped from his mind. He only cared that she was here.

He looked down at her. "When will this be over?"

She was quiet long enough that he thought she might not answer. Then, "I do not know. Whenever your sister comes. Or Teorin arrives."

He watched her face. "And then?"

Her eyes flickered. Just briefly. The teal surfacing and receding like something glimpsed underwater.

"Then it all begins," she said.

She pulled on her clothes without hurrying.

"I will walk you back," he said.

She looked at him. "You do not need to."

He was already reaching for his cloak.

They walked in silence, the corridor empty at this hour, his hood up, his face hidden. She did not take his arm. He did not offer it. Their footsteps were the only sound.

At the door to the main castle she stopped and turned to him.

She looked down briefly, then up. "Was she…did she please you tonight? Was her performance what you needed?"

He was quiet.

"What gave me pleasure," he said, "was knowing I would see you afterward."

She didn’t look away. Then she rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

"Goodnight," she said quietly.

She turned toward the corridor that led deeper into the royal wing.

"Your quarters are not that way," he said. "The hour is late."

"I know," she said, and kept walking.

He stepped back into the shadow and watched her go.

She stopped at a door near the end of the corridor and knocked twice, lightly. The knock of someone who belonged there, who had knocked on this door a hundred times before.

A pause. Then the door opened.

Asharin stood in the gap, blinking sleep from her eyes, golden hair loose around her shoulders.

"Maridale?" she said. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

She smiled. "I came to see if you needed fresh linens, my lady. I heard the evening ran late."

Asharin gave an exaggerated sigh. “You spoil me. I do not want linens from you, but I do wish to tell you about the ball.” Then she stepped back to let her in.

Tamal pulled his hood forward and walked back the way he had come.