Page 77 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Let’s go,” Ashland barks at the group before descending ahead of everyone on the path to the shore. He calls back over his shoulder toward me, “And clean that fucking sword—it stinks of raven’s blood. Once you’re done, I want it back in the armory where it belongs.”

Despite the roaring wind, I hear the sailors sniggering at their king’s waddling form as he cautiously takes each step down the cliff. One mutters, “I know I was out of it, but I definitely heard him trade a testicle for that antidote.”

Laughter echoes down the cliffside. Another snorts, “Psssh, if it had been me, I would’ve left y’all to rot.”

Thirty-Six

Early sunshine spills through the windows, but it does nothing to ease the tension lingering over breakfast. Ashland sits rigidly, avoiding eye contact while Valora and I exchange glances, neither of us quite sure what to say after last night.

A footman approaches and politely asks, “Would you care for some crushed nuts atop your porridge this morning, sire?” Clapping a hand over my mouth, I can’t help but remember Ashland’s stiff waddle toward the boat.

Valora makes a strangled sound, and a giggle bursts past my lips before I can prevent it. We erupt into poorly contained laughter, tears forming in our eyes.

Ashland’s jaw tightens. “I fail to see the humor,” he remarks flatly.

This only causes us to laugh harder.

With a sharpened glare from Ashland, an awkward silence descends, punctuated only by the clink of cutlery, before he finally says, “There’s another strategy meeting with the commanders tonight. They want both of you there, so I suggest you get it out of your system now.”

We snort into our porridge, prompting him to glower in defeat.

Valora stands up, wiping her face with a napkin. “I have some unfinished matters to discuss with the weapons master. I’ll see you two later,” she says with a wink before hurrying out of the dining hall.

I shoot an uneasy look at Ashland. He sighs and puts his spoon down. “Before you leave, I’d like to have a word.”

My stomach drops at his serious tone.

I nod, trying to appear unruffled. “Of course.”

The servants buzz around us as they clean breakfast away. “Join me for a walk?” He motions toward the door.

My muscles ache after such a long night, so I accept his awaiting arm when he offers to help me from my chair.

As we stroll into the gardens, I draw a deep breath, enjoying a warmer-than-usual morning. Though Valora predicts that soon each day will dawn frosted and covered in glittering snow.

Not surprisingly, the two shadow hounds appear, wagging tails and nipping at each other, ready to follow us.

Ashland grabs a stick from the ground, twisting it as he considers his words. “The Sea-Witch has been a thorn in our side for many generations. Every so often, she craves a bit of attention.” He throws the twig to the other side of the expansive lawn, where the hounds leap and bound, competing to retrieve it first. “I would like to thank you for securing the ingredients to free my men.”

I blink, taken aback. I expected a reprimand of some kind for laughing at him, not gratitude. “There’s no need,” I respond, my steps faltering. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Perhaps.” Ashland pauses, an internal struggle evident in his demeanor. He rubs the back of his neck, his black armor shining in the sun.

This is likely the closest we’ll ever get to a truce. Taking the opportunity, I grin and blurt, “So… Gilderic, huh?”

Something that looks remarkably like a blush dusts his high cheekbones. “You may have learned my true name,” he warns me, “but do not use it. There’s power in a name; I am the Witch-King of Ashland, one with this kingdom. The kingdom’s fate is my fate.”

Alarmed, I halt and grab his arm. “Ash. Stop. You’re more than just this land. It’s where you live, not who you are.”

“You know not what you speak of,” he growls, “and my name is Ashland⁠—”

“But I do,” I push back, ignoring his rebuke. “I know what it feels like to be an object bound to duty.” I try to prevent it, but tears well in my eyes as I voice what I keep buried. “As a courtesan, I was traded like gold and then passed around to be hoarded. I just let it happen because I was bound to the oaths of the cathedral and had to follow the orders of my Keeper⁠—”

“Tab—”

But I’m too upset to allow him to speak.

Perhaps the lack of sleep or the exhilaration of last night is to blame, but I cannot stop. “So I do know what it’s like,” I choke out through tears, “to have no choice or control—and now it happens, over and over again to me no matter where this life takes me. You have the power to change your future and give yourself any name you want, yet you sit and wallow in a so-called fate that’s probably not even real.”