Page 155 of Crown of the Courtesan

My nails dig into my palms. “You promised me that you would bring me to Alexandria.”

“And I intend to uphold it.”

My words come out in a rush, embarrassingly high-pitched. “I’m sorry, but I need more reassurances.”

“I’ve already promised,” he says slowly and quietly. “Do you not believe me?”

I don’t answer.

Ashland looks at me wearily, his mouth drawing into a set line.

“It’s what Rett offered me in exchange for agreeing to his marriage proposal. Are you truly willing to do the same?”

“I don’t care if I have to remind you of my promises every day. You have my word today and tomorrow,” he says, tilting my chin upward with his fingertip. “You’ll become the Witch-Queen of Ashland because if I don’t marry you, someone else will, and I simply won’t allow that.”

“A marriage in name only,” I repeat his earlier offer of abstinence.

“In name only,” he agrees, his touch lingering.

“And you’ll be truthful from now on?”

“From here on, I promise not to lie to you, Tabitha.”

“I have one last stipulation.”

His eyebrow quirks. “Oh, good. I thought you might’ve run out,” he says, giving me a sardonic smile.

I bite my lip. “When it’s time for me to leave, you won’t stop me?” It shouldn’t be hard for him. He’s let me go before.

Snowflakes cling to Ashland’s eyelashes as his lips part, but he quickly nods all the same.

* * *

Lir and Ashland argue outside the cottage, but I purposefully try not to listen, attempting to tamp down my keen hearing. It doesn’t work. In fact, I don’t think anyone in a fifty-foot radius could prevent themselves from hearing. Muffled voices drift through the thin window panes, their tones growing more and more heated.

“Don’t you care that I love her?”

“No, I don’t. Political arrangements supersede personal desires.” A long beat of silence. “It’s a marriage of convenience. No more, no less. But perhaps some good will come from it if it unites us to find a way to end the war.”

“A marriage won’t break the curse. Your people will still suffer whether there’s a war or not. You aren’t to be trusted with her.”

“She has no choice but to trust me for the time being, and so do you. Why would I harm her when she’s not the last remaining Metalla? There’s still her uncle, her cousin, and now an unborn baby, making Tabitha’s death premature at best, with no different outcome.”

I bite the inside of my lip, drawing blood. My breathing grows heavy.

“You speak callously as if she isn’t a living, breathing woman who deserves more compassion than a delayed execution.”

“I speak the truth⁠—”

“When you break her, don’t be fooled; I’ll be there, waiting to pick up the broken pieces like I always do. You’ll never⁠—”

I avert my attention by watching Valora. Somehow, she’s scraped together some dresses volunteered by the local womenfolk. At least I won’t be married in my wool nightgown.

She holds up two simple linen gowns, one dyed forest green and the other faded black. “I know they aren’t much, but the women were eager to help.”

I touch the soft, flowing fabrics, forcing myself to focus on the clothing rather than the jealousy and resentment still rising outside. “They’re perfect,” I assure her. “I must remember to thank them for their generosity.” My words feel hollow and distant.

“They would love that. Everyone is… umm… clamoring to meet the new Witch-Queen.” Valora seems sincere, but I don’t believe her. Her worry is plain behind her tight, plastered-on smile.