Page 86 of Crown of the Courtesan

If he went a bit further, his fingers would be nestled in the core of me. He could give me release, something I’ve rarely ever experienced. Instead, his thumb moves in lazy but firm circles, pushing into my skin, never moving from that spot.

I’m ashamed of how much I want it from him. So ashamed that I clench my jaw and prevent myself from grinding on his hand. That same hand brushes against the edge of my soft curls, and I think I might become undone from the insanity of it all. Undone from the simple fact that his hand never moves to where I want it to. It never takes what I’m silently begging him to take.

“Ash, they’re almost here,” I murmur into his neck as the sounds of the oars grow closer.

“Aye, people are in there!”

“Not people, you dolt! It’s the Witch-King and his harlot,” Priapus shouts, his face more purple than usual. “Forgive us, Your Grace. We weren’t aware…”

Despite knowing this is a contrived scene, I feel my face heat as if I’m exposed to a thousand suns, especially when I notice half of my petticoats are resting at my hip bone. The only thing covering my nakedness is the fact that Ashland’s leg hides my flesh nestled beside my twisted petticoats. From their viewpoint, we are a spectacle of half-dressed limbs and disheveled clothing. Valora catches my eye from the group of onlookers. She nods, grinning.

Not knowing what to do next, I let out a playful half-laugh, burying my face into his chest. Ashland tucks me in closer to him and strokes my hair back from my face, making my attention turn solely to him. When our eyes meet, a mist of shadows and whispers takes over our small boat. We become shrouded in darkness, the commanders’ voices muffled and distant in the bay.

Ashland sits up. “That’s better.”

It’s over?

Without any fanfare, the ruse is indeed over. He tosses me my dress, and I clutch it to my chest—my head feeling fuzzy—my breathing out of sync. All the while, I’m trying to figure out how much of that was a false ploy and how much of that was real. I swallow, not wanting to untangle these thoughts.

Working quickly, he rectifies the seats in the boat to their original state. We sit across from each other in silence, slowly clothing ourselves, not daring to look at each other. He’s refastening his armor and stretching out his left arm when I ask, “Do you think they’ll still take their bannermen home?”

“Only time will tell, but they seemed genuinely surprised. You have my gratitude for… putting on quite the show,” he says. “Now the hard part will be convincing them that I’m not just chasing skirts, as Valora put it—that I’m as committed to our cause as I’ve always been.”

Thirty-Nine

I leave the nearly empty dining hall to Valora to continue her bickering about blade lengths and arrow tips with the weapons master. I barely pay attention to where I’m going as the corridors are slowly becoming second nature to me.

Ashland wasn’t at dinner, but that’s probably for the best. We’ve already done our part together. There’s no need to drag it out, and the aftermath of two kisses in two days has left me feeling⁠—

I don’t actually know how I feel.

Overwhelmed?

Deflated?

Something about the whole ordeal is vaguely discomforting.

Then I catch sight of him stepping out of the commander’s meeting room. He halts when he sees me.

“Don’t they need my information anymore?” I ask, wondering why they haven’t questioned me since before my escape attempt into the forest.

“We’ve agreed they’ll tolerate your presence at the castle, but they want future information to come from more reliable sources. With the Citadel brimming with Alexandrian nobles, we’ve been very successful with our incoming intelligence.”

“Well, that’s a relief at least.”

But it still stings that I’m seen as untrustworthy.

He nods to me.

I swallow, gathering courage. “If I were given the current information you have about Alexandria, I could still be of some use. You needn’t tell the commanders any of it came from me. I could⁠—”

“No. I can’t go back on my word to them.” Voices call his name through the closed door. He gives me a firm push at my lower back. “You should return to your chambers.”

I hesitate. I don’t want to go back to my lonely chambers. All I do is read novels in there, and I never thought I’d say this, but I yearn for more responsibility. More trust and freedom like when he sent me from the Sea-Witch’s hut to find the ingredients.

The commanders call his name louder.

He steps toward the meeting room, annoyance lacing his words. “I don’t have time for this. Go.”