Page 61 of Crown of the Courtesan

Ashland knocks on the adjoining door, but I ignore it. By the time he decides to walk in anyway, I’m panting and furious. He stops and surveys my struggle, his body stiffening.

“Where are the dressing maids?” I groan.

“They aren’t here at night. I send them home because they’ve got enough to do around the castle. Besides, their wages are poor, and I won’t have them overworked.”

“Then pay them more.” My hair plasters to my forehead as I strain, bending to get a better grip.

“I have soldiers to house and feed.”

“Right—”

“Stand still.” He rips the dress down the front with a violent pull. I gasp, hands flying to clutch the torn edges. The pearl buttons fall to the floor with soft pinging sounds as they bounce and roll away. Cold air hits my overly hot body. I want to slap him like the night we met, but the relief is too overwhelming.

“I suppose I have reason to pay extra this week,” he remarks, holding a bit of the torn fabric between his fingers, examining it closely.

“Why did you do that?” I exclaim, still attempting to keep the sides of my dress together.

“Your face was turning purple,” he says, tossing the silk at me before grabbing a pitcher from the table and pouring a cup of water. “Don’t pick such a ridiculous gown next time.”

He hands me the cup.

My teeth grind. It’s one thing for me to revile him—it’s another for him to do it to me. I take this as a challenge, peel the remaining sides of the torn dress from my arms, and let them fall to the floor.

Propriety be damned, I won’t be standing around in rags to feel the sting of humiliation any further. I carefully observe the subtle muscle twitching in his jaw, and it brings me immense satisfaction to see his discomfort. He averts his eyes from me and looks at the wardrobe. “Are you done with your games? Shall I fetch you a dressing robe now?”

“I don’t own one.” I twiddle the blue ribbon lacing on my new stays, wondering how men can be such simpletons when it comes to a woman’s body.

“I’ll leave you until morning then.” Ashland gives the door between our suites an exhausted glance before warning, “It would be wise to remember there are guards at every entry. If you try something as stupid as running away, prepare for a chase because not even the fae could help you if I caught you, and believe me, I would catch you. I would hunt you down and finish this charade of an arrangement.”

“Noted,” I deadpan, tired of his threats. “Lucky for you, I’m not the running type. I had quite enough of that with your hounds…” He nods with a weary sigh, his boots heavy on the floor as he leaves. Before he can fully return to his chambers, I quickly say, “There is something I would like some clarification on, though.” He turns around just as I wrap my pink shawl over my shoulders. “I was surprised to learn that General Valora is the sister of Captain Wellcrest. I’ll admit, I’m embarrassed by how little I know of my own Queensguard—or how he came to be a ward of the Alexandrian Crown. Do you know?”

He sighs and returns into my bedchamber before motioning to the two threadbare chairs next to the fireplace. “Sit. I’m tired.”

Remembering that Cliodna’s diary is still hidden there, I hurry to lower myself onto the seat. Despite the lump, the cushions are soft and slightly springy. He also sits, the chair creaking under his weight.

“I’ll make this brief because our strategy meeting is early.” Dark circles are recessed beneath his eyes as he scratches his sharp, stubbled jawline. “Their shared father is King Andarta of the Solarian Isles⁠—”

My eyes grow wide. How could I have missed that name at dinner? Perhaps if I hadn’t been so terrified, I would’ve recognized the ancient royal surname.

“—which, as you’re probably already aware, is the wealthiest kingdom in the Human Realm. Riches and decadence flow with no end from his island throne thanks to the wine from his vineyards.”

A startling creak draws our attention to our shared door. A wispy black nose pokes out, and two shadow hounds scamper in before stretching and rolling at the king’s feet in front of the crackling hearth.

Scratching a hound behind the ear, Ashland continues, “I’ve been told the Solarian King used to take part in the Bidding Ceremony of Alexandria when he grew bored with his nation’s concubines and when one particular debutante caught his eye, she became his newest obsession.”

A queasy sensation overtakes my stomach. Debutantes are only eighteen—a law I desperately want to change when I return home.

“Because she hadn’t taken the Rite yet, she fell pregnant while on a carriage ride. King Andarta tried to force her to join him in his kingdom as a concubine, but King Xander forbade it. I’m unsure whether it was a political decision or an act of compassion. The Spirit-Fae Cathedral also intervened, claiming Alexandria’s laws require courtesan offspring to be committed to its service.”

“Of course, they—” I say bitterly.

“Xander wanted the money and assurances Andarta would provide as an ally, so he proposed that Wellcrest become a ward of the crown until a royal marriage could occur between their houses.” He pauses the story to throw another log on the fire, the embers burning hot and bright.

“Wait a minute. What if a princess had never been born?”

“He would have chosen the kingdom he wished to serve when he came of age, but he’s well past that now.”

Ashland said he would keep this short, but the twists and turns are anything but. I try not to think about how Wellcrest is also the child of a Lady Courtesan.