by Vivien Vale
I smile grimly at Fergus’ description of me. Listening hard, I focus on what the pair of them say next.
“So fucking charm her, Fergus. Stop making it so obvious that you think her dirt poor country is beneath you.”
I don’t have to see the pair to know that Fergus has rolled his eyes.
“I can’t believe I have to prostate myself at the feet of the ash princess for all of this to work.” He sighs dramatically. “But I suppose it could be worse; she could be fucking ugly. At least she’s passably attractive.”
His friend seems to share my bafflement at that last statement.
“Are you kidding, Fergus? She’s gorgeous. What I wouldn’t give to—”
“Hey, that’s my future ‘wife’ you’re talking about,” Fergus laughs. “Just give it some time, help me get what I want, and you’ll have your turn, I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, you know…”
The rest of the conversation becomes incomprehensible as the pair of them walk out of earshot.
Leaving me confused and angry. The way Fergus was talking about Ash goes beyond mere disdain. He seemed to heavily imply that when he’s done with her…
I can’t even think on it without needing to punch a wall.
He’s planning something terrible. Something that will likely leave Ash broken.
But overhearing such a conversation isn’t enough; I need to know what the plan actually is.
Which means that, at least for now, I have to stay quiet on the matter, no matter how hard that may be.
I think about Ash, crying and upset in her room, and her impending dinner with this man who seems to view her as nothing more than an object.
Keeping quiet is going to be very, very hard indeed.
Chapter 12
Ash
I can’t believe I have to have dinner with Fergus when all I can think about is Andrew. I hate every moment I have to spend cleaning away the evidence of our time in the stables from my body, wishing instead that the soap was Drew’s hand upon my skin.
But it isn’t. And never will be.
King Andrew will never be mine.
And I’ll never be his.
I feel a keening regret as I smooth my hair up and twist it back; something tells me Fergus dislikes the way I keep my hair down, flowing and carefree.
If I have to marry the bastard, then I may as well put in one final effort to get him to like me. I have to spend my life with him, after all.
And so, I take extra care with my make-up, lining my eyes and covering my lashes with mascara until I look dark and sultry.
I put on a beautiful, dark purple dress with a sweetheart neckline and lace, dipped hem skirt, and the heels to match. I’d prefer to wear black, to match my mood, but Fergus is bound to take that the wrong way.
And purple looks good against my skin and my gray eyes. Looking at the mirror, I conclude that even Fergus can’t dismiss me now.
But with my hair elegantly pinned back, my make-up done all bold and dramatic and my feet dressed in heels much higher than I’d prefer, I feel entirely unlike myself.
And if that’s who Fergus likes, well...
Then, he’s never going to like who I really am.
But I have to do this, for my country and my people. All of this fighting is taking its toll, and I’ve had my head in the clouds fantasizing about a king who doesn’t even have the guts to take my damn virginity.
So, it’s time I grew up and moved on. Fergus may be snobbishly disinterested in me and dismissive of my people, but he understands the point of the peace treaty. Otherwise, he’d never have asked to marry me in the first place.
At least, he has a reasonable head on his shoulders beneath all that hair product he wears.
Steeling myself to at least try and have a reasonably good time at dinner, I leave my room for the private dining hall that’s been prepared for the two of us.
It’s at the top of a circular tower, decorated with silver candelabras and lush tapestries. A window with a seat built into its base takes up much of the western wall, taking in the last of the sun’s rays as it sets. In the middle of the room lies a long, solid oak table covered in a white tablecloth and laden with irresistible-looking food and wine.
And there’s Fergus, well-groomed and impeccably dressed, as usual. In the setting sun, as at our failed wedding, his hair has turned gold.
He really does cut a striking figure. I can totally marry this man. We can make it work.
“Princess Aisling,” Fergus murmurs as he takes me in, a look of approval upon his face as he inspects my hair, clothes, and make-up.
I feel like whooping.
About fucking time, he was pleased with something I said or did.
“King Fergus,” I reply, inclining my head politely as he pulls a chair out for me and pours me a glass of wine.
We while away an hour or so easily, eating and drinking and making small talk. I can’t help thinking I shouldn’t still be making small talk with my future husband at this point.
The wine seems to be hitting Fergus though and with it, his impeccable, polite façade is worn away. I don’t miss the hungry looks he keeps throwing my way.
Clearly to catch his attention, all I had to do was put on some make-up and get him drunk.
Great.
It’s not only the looks he gives me that the alcohol has changed; it’s loosened his tongue, too.
“Do you even live that much better than your people, Ash? You don’t seem to put much stock in appearances,” Fergus asks, taking a sip of wine as he gives me a side-long glance.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“I guess I don’t have time for such things, what with all the fighting going on.”
“And yet you spent much of the last two or three years abroad, away from the fighting, did you not?”
Oh, the implication of his words is not lost on me.
I take a long draft of wine before answering.
“I wasn’t wasting my time when I was abroad, Fergus. I was learning. Something that’s imperative for me to do, if I’m to rule over my country correctly.”
“Hmm” is all Fergus says before vacating his seat at the table to instead sit by the window.
He motions for me to join him. When I hesitate, he frowns.
“Do you think I’m going to bite you, Ash, or is a certain someone still on your mind? Oh, don’t give me that look. Do you think I haven’t noticed the pair of you glancing at each other, or the times you’ve stolen away to see him? I am not a stupid man, Princess Aisling.”
My eyes widen slightly in shock before I school my expression.
Fergus didn’t need to get anywhere near the stables to know what I was up to. He was watching the whole time, here from the castle.
Either that or he’s calling my bluff, but either way, I can do nothing about it now. Denying his claims will only make things worse.
And so, I reluctantly join Fergus on the window seat. I attempt to sit as far away from him as is possible.
Fergus notices.
“Don’t sit so far away when you’ve finally presented yourself in a way befitting your station,” Fergus chides, reaching a hand around my waist to bring my closer to him. “You know, you’re not bad for a peasant princess when you scrub up.” He runs a finger along my jawline as he speaks, inspecting my face.
I stand up and turn from him, outraged. But what am I supposed to say? I’m marrying this man in three days.
And I can’t deal with his touch on my skin any more than I can stand his incessant jibes about my supposed poverty.
I suddenly become aware of Fergus standing up behind me; he places his hands on my exposed shoulders as he runs his lips along the edge of my neck.
I freeze, suppressing a shiver.
Please don’t let this go any further, I silently beg.
It’s not just that I wanted Andrew to take my virginity; it’s that, in this moment, I’d rather literally anyone el
se on the planet take my virginity over Fergus.
“You’re to stop gallivanting off with King Andrew, Ash,” Fergus murmurs into my skin.
I can feel his tongue gently flicking against my skin, and it feels altogether like he’s tasting the fear that has utterly filled me.
“You’re making me look like a fool. What kind of king am I if I can’t keep my future wife in line, after all?”
I try to move away, but Fergus grabs my wrist and spins me around.
“Who said you could go anywhere, peasant princess? Go on, say something; it’s not like you to be so silent. Though, I have to admit that it’s a marked improvement.”
And that’s it. I snap. Torn between hitting Fergus and crying, I bring my hand up as if to slap him, but Fergus grins wickedly as he catches my hand before it hits his face and crushes his lips against mine, forcing me into a violent kiss.
He bites my lip until it bleeds before pulling away.
“There, now Drew will know you’re mine,” Fergus says, a satisfied smile on his face as blood slowly drips down my chin.
I stare at him in horror as Fergus’ hands snake around to my back and begins to unzip my dress.
This is not happening. This is not happening.
And I can’t move; screw what I had thought before of Fergus not being able to hold his own in a fight—he’s still plenty strong to keep me in place.
When my dress falls to the floor around my feet, I cast my gaze down in shame, but Fergus grips my chin with iron fingers and forces me to look at him.
“Did I say you could look away, Ash? I think not. It’s high time I found out what Drew has been going mad over,” Fergus says as his other hand runs over my chest before sliding back around to undo the clasp of my bra.
“I don’t—I don’t want this, Fergus!” I finally bite out in protest, but he merely laughs.
A vicious, harsh sound reverberates in my ears as I realize that the man in front of me has no morals whatsoever.
He’s not a man; he’s an over-groomed monster.
Fergus’ laugh is so loud that he doesn’t hear the door to the dining hall crash open until it’s too late. The last thing he sees before he’s knocked to the ground is Andrew’s fist connecting with his face.
“Ash? Aisling!”
Drew is calling my name, but I can barely hear him. Slowly, I bring my hands up to my face and realize I’ve been crying.
Noting my shock, Drew hauls my dress back on and picks me up, easily carrying me in his arms, away from the nightmare I was just in.
I can’t believe it.
King Andrew saved me.
Chapter 13
Drew
I want to murder him.
I am not a violent man by nature but still I want to fucking murder him.
Fergus is going to pay for what he’s done to Ash.
When I went marching up to the private dining hall, I honestly had no idea what I was planning to do. I told myself I was merely fulfilling my duties as a host by checking in on them, but I knew that was a lie.
And then, when I heard Ash’s trembling voice begging that fucker Fergus to stop and him laughing…
I wasn’t thinking anymore, merely acting. I saw Ash standing there, shaking, with her dress pooled on the floor by her feet, and Fergus’ hand about to undo her bra.
And all I saw was red.
My fist connected with his face, and I had Ash re-clothed and swept into my arms before I knew what I was really doing.
And now, I’m carrying her outside, away from the castle, away from him. Down to the beach, though not without grabbing a couple of spare blankets and a flask of water from the stables. With the sun down, it’s gotten chilly, and no doubt Ash could use the water to clear her head.
I gently place Ash down on the sand then unroll the blankets and flatten one out before me. I wrap the other one around Ash. Then, I sit on the blanket and place Ash in my lap, hugging her fiercely.
She’s still shaking; I can feel it in my arms.
I take a deep breath to steady myself before asking a question I might not want the answer to.
“Did he do anything to you, Ash?” I ask through gritted teeth, in a small, controlled voice.
I have to control my urge to slaughter the bastard like a pig.
Ash lets out a cough, as if she’s trying to clear her throat, so I hand her the flask of water, which she takes and immediately guzzles down.
When she’s finished, she shakes her head.
“He didn’t—he didn’t get the chance to do much.”
“Much?”
She turns around in my lap to face me, and the glow of the moon illuminates her pale face, tear tracks blackened with mascara running down her face, and—
Blood.
That awful excuse for a king, for a man, bit my princess.
I make to stand up, to march back to the castle and see how Fergus likes getting bitten himself, when I feel Ash’s hands on my arms pulling me back down.
“Please, don’t! Drew, sit down! The—the alliance—”
“Fuck the alliance!”
Ash’s eyes widen in alarm, and I immediately regret both my words and my tone of voice.
“Y-you don’t mean that,” Ash lets out in a small, small voice.
I can’t believe I could say something so insensitive, even in the heat of the moment. For what was Ash doing having dinner with Fergus, putting herself at risk, if not for the alliance and my insistence on keeping it in the first place?
I try to give her a smile to soften the look of absolute outrage on my face.
“I’m sorry, Ash. I’m sorry. I just…looking at you and thinking about what he was going to do, I—”
“It’s okay, Drew. I’m okay. You saved me.”
Ash’s tear-stained face is full of gratitude as she looks at me.
I kiss her, very gently, then wrap my arms around her once more.
“I’ll never let him touch you again. We can work something out for the peace treaty, but he’ll never lay hands on you again.”
I hear Ash begin to cry in earnest, sobs wracking her body as she lets it all out. I smooth her hair with my hand, removing the pins keeping it up as I do so to let it tumble down her back.
We sit like that for a while, Ash crying as I silently console her with gentle touches and small shushing sounds. In some ways, it reminds me of calming Ness, my stallion, and the other horses.
Maybe I need to find a more human way of dealing with upset. But the tactic seems to work; eventually, Ash’s crying subsides. When she finally looks up at me, her face is a god’s honest mess.
Reading the look on my face, Ash lets out an almost manic laugh.
“I must look awful.”
“It’s no matter to me,” I reply quietly, holding a hand up to her soaking wet face. “You’ll always be the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on, even with make-up all over your face.”
Ash laughs again, this time sounding much more like herself. She turns around in my lap to kick off her heels, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders as she stands up on somewhat trembling legs.
“Ash…?” I inquire, but she smiles at me.
She points to the sea.
“Just going to wash my face.”
She makes her way over to the waves, softly lapping at the sandy shore, and I watch her bend down to scoop some of the salt water up to her face and scrub it into her skin.
On impulse, I take off my shoes and roll up my trousers, then stand and walk over to join Ash just as she uses the skirt of her dress to dry her face. I hold my hands out, and she takes them, standing back up to look out across the sea with me as waves quietly crash around our ankles.
She takes a step forward, and I grab her wrist in alarm.
“What are you doing, Ash?”
“Walk in further with me, Drew. It’s such a beautiful night. I just…want to feel part of it. Wash away what just happened.”
She looks up at me with pl
eading eyes, and though I know the sea can be dangerous in the dark even when it’s calm, I oblige.
We wade deeper and deeper into the water until it leeches into the bottom of my rolled-up trousers and the hem of Ash’s dress.
Then she throws her arms out, tilts her head up to the sky, and breathes deeply. With the moonlight illuminating her pale skin and reflecting off her raven hair, Princess Aisling looks truly ethereal.
I am completely in love with her, I realize suddenly. Completely and irrevocably in love with her.
And then Ash leans backwards, as if to fall into the sea.
I catch her before she lands in the water and spin her around and around in my arms, kissing her passionately even as she laughs.
“Why’d you stop me?” she asks breathlessly as our lips break away from each other.
I grin; my revelation has brought with it a certainty that this girl is not going back to my castle a virgin tonight.
“Why, you’ll want to keep that dry if you’re going to be putting it back on later.”
Ash frowns in confusion.
“Later…?”
And then it dawns on her, and she smiles mischievously.
“I like the sound of that.”
Chapter 14
Andrew
I’m holding her—my beautiful goddess Ash—and I feel as if I never want to let her go again.
And it happens, all at once.
She gets that gleam in her eyes—a gleam I recognize all too well, like a cat stalking its prey, but with a lascivious streak.
She stands up slightly on her toes to kiss me once I place her back on her feet, and her lips lock on mine the second the waves crash around our feet.
It’s timeless and feels very romantic—like a storybook romance that has just come true, much to the shock of all involved, and no less the king, of course.
Well, this king. The other king can rot in hell.
I return the kiss, hungrily devouring her with each breath, syncing my heartbeat with hers with each lick and suck. Our tongues move in conjunction with the waves, teasing each other like a contradanse of courtiers during a ball, flowing to and fro as the waves swell and recede.
