Page 85 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Will you fight in the next battle?”

“Yes, once we finalize the plans.”

I don’t know how I feel about that, so I don’t say anything, letting the silence linger between us.

Perhaps he wants to change the subject because he says, “While you’ve not been on the field of war, I’m sure you’ve been to battle in your own ways. The Alexandrian Court has always been full of betrayal, murder, and intrigue. And according to our spies, not much has changed.”

Now it’s my turn to suppress a scoff. “You gave my uncle an easy win by getting rid of me.”

“Maybe, but he is predictable. I’ve been trained to fight him. You, on the other hand, were the wild card.”

“Then I must apologize. I know I’m not the winning hand you believed me to be.” He scrutinizes me, and I elaborate, “You might lose your bannermen because of me. I doubt that was what you thought would happen when you first placed me in your tower.”

A thought strikes me, and I wonder if I’m being foolish for going along with this production so willingly. Shouldn’t I want him to fail? Wouldn’t it be better to be cold and unconvincing so the bannermen flee home to the east? After all, it would make my escape easier once the army is no longer stationed outside the castle.

Perhaps it could help end the war.

But how far would General Metalla go if he won against Ashland? Could I live with myself knowing I helped him?

Ignoring my growing dread, I move my head to rest on Ashland’s chest so that I don’t have to look at or speak to him. The minutes tick by as I listen to his faint heartbeat.

Approaching voices and the slapping of oars hitting the water faintly sound in my ears. I move my gaze toward Ashland once more, but he already has his silver eyes on me, watching me.

It’s time.

I thread my free hand through the back of his soft hair, bringing his face closer. His lips part in surprise, and that small action makes my breath get stuck in my throat.

I hesitate.

My head is dizzy, making it hard to think. I try to sit up, but Ashland nudges me back down, rolling on top of me. He leans forward. As the boat rocks, his body moves with the motion until his face is an inch away from mine. His hands spread next to my face as he extends his bare arms to support his body over me.

“I thought I told you to never kiss me again without first asking,” I breathe, shocked that he takes charge so willingly.

He gives me a rare smile, his teeth white and perfect. In fact, his entire face looks perfect when he smiles, when he’s happy. It’s disconcerting to say the least. “May I please place my lips upon yours, my lady?”

But there’s no time for me to answer because another choppy wave sends him into my lips, and he kisses me.

Just like that.

Not the quick type of kiss, not the angry kind like in the forest, but the lingering sort. A kiss that makes my thoughts race until my mind tears apart and I’m left wanting more. His lips are smooth and strangely pleasant. There’s no doubt in my mind why he has a reputation for having a popular bed.

His hand slides my petticoats up, sending gooseflesh across my thighs, and his bare chest against my heaving breasts feels more pleasurable than I care to admit. He cups my breast through the layers, his fingertips grazing the top of my peaked nipple, making me want more, making me wish these abominable stays weren’t in the way.

As if reading my mind, Ashland makes quick work of using his fingers to comb through the laces of my stays, loosening them, but not enough to where they would fall off—just enough to slip a hand underneath their rigid frame to cup the swell of my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. I arch my back, overcome with the sensation as pleasure courses through me. His vocal cords rumble against my skin as he skims his teeth across my cleavage.

I gasp a shuddering exhale as the hardened need under his chausses presses into my side. I think of how I’ve made him want me as much as I want him in return, and my face heats. It heats even hotter when I realize these feelings are there in the first place. How could I succumb to him? Did my pride mean anything to me anymore?

My head bobs up, desperate to see how much more time we have before the commanders arrive, but I’m yanked back down by his strong arms.

He growls, bringing my focus to this moment with him. “Look at me,” he says.

We look at each other, bruised lips and disheveled hair.

“I’m—” My voice trembles.

“Don’t worry about it, Tabitha. You’re doing so good. So fucking good.” His throat bobs like he’s thinking of saying more before his kiss trails down my neck, sucking the flesh between his teeth, biting sharply. I can’t help but moan as his hand squeezes me at the same time, his other hand going as far north as where my thigh meets my⁠—

That annoying pulse returns.