Chapter 9
Alette
They take us in a parade, marching us through the remains of the wedding. Zomas stands at the head of the procession, holding a staff carved with faces that look like they’re screaming, though in the shifting light I can’t tell if it’s carved or real.
He sees me and grins, spreading his arms. “The beautiful bride! The clever king!” His voice hits like a thrown stone, shaking the dew off every branch. “The night was perfect, yes? You have won the maze’s blessing, and now you get your reward!”
There are cheers and wolf whistles. The satyrs howl and slap their thighs, hooves drumming the dirt. Every nymph in sight is half-dressed and double-drunk, and all of them have a look like they know the punchline to a joke that hasn’t landed yet. Which is unnerving.
What’s the joke? And why don’t I know it?
I try to make sense of what he’s saying.
Why a reward, what kind of reward, how do you reward a fake wedding and a Chosen girl who can barely stand upright?
But before I can even try to sort out my thoughts, Zomas claps his hands and the crowd pivots, marching us down a narrow corridor of hedge I swear wasn’t there before.
We walk. Ashton’s feet drag, but he never loses his smile. He winks at me when he catches my eye, but there’s a tiredness at the corners of his mouth that wasn’t there before.
The corridor narrows, then opens into a tiny green hollow, and in the center is a cottage.
It’s not big. It’s not even cute, not unless your idea of cute is a place built entirely out of bones and moss, with a roof of woven flowers that look like they will rot in the sun.
There are no windows. The door is crooked, made from mismatched planks and covered in greasy thumbprints.
I see the marks where someone’s clawed at it. The sight makes my skin crawl.
“Home sweet home!” Zomas shouts, and the crowd erupts into laughter.
He points to the cottage, then bows so low his horns nearly dig furrows in the dirt.
“For the bride and groom, we present to you, your bridal suite! The honeymoon nest! The bed of champions!” His eyes roll when he says it, and I can’t tell if he’s mocking or deadly serious.
A nymph grabs my hand and pulls me to the door. “Go on, darling.” Her eyes are bright as a beetle’s shell, but her grip is cold and merciless.
I glance back. Ashton is right behind me, held by the shoulders, but he shrugs the satyrs off and stumbles to my side. He gives me a look that says, “Trust them, or at least pretend you do.”
So, the door is thrown open, and we’re led into the darkness within. The scent of dust and something coppery comes to my nose as my eyes adjust to the lack of light. And I know before I even see it that this place is going to be bad.
Inside the cottage it’s even worse than I imagined. The bed is just a pile of skins on a slab of wood. There are no sheets, no pillows, just fur and what looks like fresh straw. There’s a jug of something on a stump next to it that looks like blood, but I can’t be sure.
The crowd presses in behind us, shoving in the door. Every satyr and nymph is grinning, sharp and hungry. Something dark and unfriendly is in their eyes every so often before they’re back to carefree and happy.
Zomas stands in the doorway, one hand on the lintel. “A fine match,” he says, looking us up and down. “May your union be fruitful. And loud.”
The nymphs titter. One calls out, “Careful, Queen! The wind prince will blow you away!” And the rest shriek and giggle. I hear a satyr in the back say, “Bet she cracks him open like a walnut,” and the laughter doubles.
I want to disappear. I want to set the cottage on fire and run screaming into the maze, but I just stand there, sweating and silent.
Zomas tilts his head at Ashton. “Is it true what they say about wind princes?” His eyes glitter, and the nymphs hush, waiting for Ashton’s answer.
He doesn’t flinch. “Depends what you’ve heard, Lord Zomas.”
Zomas leans in, voice low and sly. “They say you are all talk and no… tornado.” He makes a rude gesture with his fist.
The crowd cackles, and I go red, but Ashton doesn’t miss a beat. He cups his hands and blows, sending a puff of air so sharp it knocks the nearest nymph back on her ass. “Try me,” he says, and bows.
It works. The crowd howls, the tension breaks, and for a second I almost smile.
But the eyes never leave us. Not once.
A pair of nymphs usher us toward the bed, and I realize they want to watch, or maybe just make sure the deed gets done. I dig my heels in, but Ashton pulls me close, whispering in my ear, “Let’s give them a show. Then we wait them out.”
His breath is warm, his arm is tight around my waist, and I lean in, grateful for the anchor. He drops our packs on the ground and tosses the sheet cape beside it, then drags the furs over us, and we flop onto the bed, laughing a little too loud.
The crowd shouts encouragement. “Don’t be shy!” someone hollers. “We want to see you blush!” “Get on with it!” “We’re all waiting!”
I want to die.
Ashton’s hand is on my shoulder. He’s playing it up, his smile wide, but his eyes meet mine and I see the caution, the calculation. I try to match his mood, to play along, to pretend this isn’t the most humiliating moment of my life.
For a minute, the crowd grows bored. Someone starts singing a dirty song. A nymph slaps a satyr, and they chase each other around the cabin, hooting. Zomas stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching us with that same wolfish patience. Waiting.
Ashton whispers, “You okay?”
I nod, but I’m not. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, my hands won’t stop shaking. “They’re never going to leave, are they?”
He grins. “Give it a minute. Satyrs are famous for their short attention span.”
Ashton rolls so he’s on top of me, although I can tell he’s being careful not to put all his weight on me. He slips perfectly between my legs, and my thighs spread for him without me even realizing it. A shudder rolls through him, and he leans forward and begins to slowly suck my neck.
I’m breathing hard. My hand moves to the back of his hair, and I pull him closer. I know this is all a show, that we’re playing our parts in this weird game, but the things Ashton is making me feel… they’re real.
My eyes roll back into my head as he continues sucking and licking, like he’s spent his lifetime studying how to please a woman and knows exactly how to touch me to make me feel undone. He makes his way to my ear and nibbles it, and I feel my nipples harden.
“This okay?” he whispers in my ear.
“Yes,” I practically moan back.
I feel his smile against my skin. “Can I kiss you?”
There’s only a moment of hesitation when I think about Sylvian. When I wonder what he’d think about me lying here kissing Ashton. But then I realize it’s probably silly to think he’d mind. I imagine he kisses women all the time. So, I just nod.
He moves to my lips and kisses me softly.
His hand moves to the back of my hair, and he uses that hand to tilt my head.
Our kiss deepens. The heat between us builds.
There’s a buzzing in the back of my head as my thoughts turn to nothing.
It reminds me of what it felt like with Sylvian, only different, like planting flowers and seeing that each one somehow looks different.
His mouth grows warmer against mine, the softness giving way to something deeper, more certain.
His fingers tighten slightly in my hair, guiding me closer as if he never intends to let me slip away again.
I feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the heat of him seeping into me until the rest of the world begins to blur.
The satyrs’ laughter and the nymphs’ murmured encouragement drift somewhere far away, muffled and unimportant.
I barely hear them anymore. My hand slides up his chest, feeling the strength beneath my palm, and Ashton answers by pulling me closer against him.
The fur beneath us rustles softly as we shift together, but I hardly notice.
All I can feel is him. The warmth of his lips, the steady hand at the back of my head, and the strange, powerful pull between us that makes everything else fade until there is nothing left but this kiss.
And then, something touches my leg, and I jerk back, breaking our kiss. A satyr has gotten too close, leaning over us with a greedy expression, and everything warm inside of me vanishes in an instant. The others pull him back, but it doesn’t matter. The moment is broken.
Not that it was ever going somewhere. Not with an audience. Still, I don’t know what to do with myself any longer, and Ashton is just staring down at me with wide eyes, not even looking at the crowd behind us.
I glance at the crowd, then back at him. “Are we safe?”
He seems to come back to the present. “Safe? Yes. More or less.”
A nymph with a mane of red berries leans closer, eyes on me. “You know,” she says, “you’re the prettiest thing we’ve ever seen. It’s a shame you’re wasted on a wind prince. They finish so quickly.”
Another nymph snickers, “Not this one. I can tell. He’s got stamina. Maybe you’ll even last until sunrise.”
The satyrs roar.
Ashton raises an eyebrow, not quite hiding a smile. “What’s your record, then?” he calls back.
The nymph shrugs. “We once had a fae in here who went seven times in a night. He died, but he put on quite the show first.”
More laughter. I dig my nails into my palm.
Zomas finally wades in, voice like a bell. “Enough! Let the bride and groom enjoy their night.” He winks at us, all teeth, then shoves the crowd back with a sweep of his staff. “Go on! Give them privacy. It’s nearly time.”
The crowd peels away, grumbling and laughing. The door closes with a heavy thud, and I hear the shuffling of feet as the last of the guests staggers away.
Ashton lets out a long breath, rolling to my side. “That was… something.”
I sit up, eyeing the door, then letting my gaze drift to the little fire in the hearth near our bed. “They’re not really gone.”