Chapter 11

Andrew

I don’t think I’ve ever been as furious with myself as I am now. I can’t believe I let Ash run off, heartbroken and crying.

Or maybe I’m furious with the hand I’ve been given—in other circumstances, I’d be with Ash in a second with no negative consequences whatsoever.

Okay, I’m probably furious at both.

But mostly myself.

There must be a way I can be with Ash without interfering with the peace treaty, after all. And I’m not a stupid man; I should be able to work it out.

But there’s simply…nothing. Nothing I can think of that I can do.

The alliance talks have been going well, and Fergus hasn’t done anything wrong, per se.

Except for being a snob towards Ash and her country. But the last time I checked, being an arrogant, narcissistic prick wasn’t a crime.

Unfortunately.

Still, I can’t help but think that Fergus is the weak link I can work on to get my own way; he must be up to something unsavory.

For me and for Ash, I need to find a valid reason for why she shouldn’t marry him.

Knowing that I definitely smell like horses and stables, I head up to my chambers and run a bath. I’m usually a shower man, but considering everything I have to think over, a long, hot soak in a bath is definitely called for.

I strip off all my clothes and throw them unceremoniously to the floor. The action reminds me of Ash’s striptease, which feels like it happened in another life instead of merely an hour ago.

When I slip into the steaming water, I let out a long, low sigh that I feel as if I’ve been holding in all day.

How I’d love nothing more than to have Ash join me in the bath tub—it’s too spacious for just one person. It was made for two.

If I had things my way, I’d have carried Ash back from the stables and up, up, up the stairs to my chambers, removed the straw from her hair and then thrown her in the bath. I’d wash her hair, her back, her thighs, her breasts, her…

God fucking damn it; I’m rock hard just thinking about it.

I slide my hand angrily up and down my cock as I continue to think of all the things I could do to Ash in my bath, knowing that I will never get the opportunity to do so.

It’s only after soiling the water with my cum that I can finally somewhat relax, sinking down below the water’s edge to mull over the situation I’ve found myself in.

Fergus. I was thinking about Fergus before Ash sauntered into my thoughts.

There must be something I can do about him.

His behavior towards Ash goes beyond snobbishness and disinterest; at times, it has genuinely seemed as if Fergus actively does not want to marry Ash.

Surely, no prejudice towards the presupposed lack of wealth of a country could account for that? If that were truly the case, all Fergus had to do was suggest that I marry Ash for the sake of a peace alliance which, even before I had met her, I would have happily agreed to.

Which means that, despite not wanting to marry Ash, Fergus feels as if there is a personal reason for why I must.

He’s definitely up to something.

But Fergus has an almost impeccable façade of politeness at all times—I have only seen him break it once or twice, and even then it was only momentarily. The man is clearly a pro at hiding his intentions.

I have to be sneaky.

With an altogether different sigh that the one I emitted upon entering the bath, I haul myself out of the water and dry off, putting on a clean, white shirt and plain, dark trousers.

Looking at myself in the mirror, it really is no surprise that Ash believed me to be a blacksmith when we first met. I can’t help but think that maybe I should consider dressing more ‘kingly,’ though I lack the motivation to do so.

And besides, more formal attire is so restricting. Of course, I’m thinking of Fergus’ clothes in particular, the ones he takes such pride in. And it’s true—the clothes look good on him.

Because they hide the fact that he’d lose in a second with a direct fight with a man like me. But I need a reason to instigate a fight, and Fergus needs to provide it himself. Otherwise he’ll simply deny anything I throw at him.

After toweling my hair dry, I leave my chambers to wander down to the kitchen to find out what I’m having for dinner—I remember, belatedly, that Ash is having a private dinner with Fergus tonight, so I’ll be dining alone.

I don’t want her to have to entertain Fergus on her own, especially not after the way we ended things in the stables.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of footsteps and not quite knowing why, I retreat back down the corridor and behind a staircase.

It’s Fergus and one of his military advisers, though from their interactions so far, I can tell that the two of them are also good friends.

“…have dinner with her tonight,” I hear Fergus say.

“Look, Fergus, she’s fucking hot. I don’t really see what your problem with her is. And you get what you want by marrying her. So what’s the issue?”

“The issue is she’s too bloody smart and cautious. And she’s trying to get out of the marriage—otherwise, why’d she postpone it? She has no interest in getting to know me. All she does is pine after that bear of a man.”

I smile grimly at Fergus’ description of me. Listening hard, I focus on what the pair of them say next.

“So fucking charm her, Fergus. Stop making it so obvious that you think her dirt poor country is beneath you.”

I don’t have to see the pair to know that Fergus has rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe I have to prostate myself at the feet of the ash princess for all of this to work.” He sighs dramatically. “But I suppose it could be worse; she could be fucking ugly. At least she’s passably attractive.”

His friend seems to share my bafflement at that last statement.

“Are you kidding, Fergus? She’s gorgeous. What I wouldn’t give to—”

“Hey, that’s my future ‘wife’ you’re talking about,” Fergus laughs. “Just give it some time, help me get what I want, and you’ll have your turn, I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, you know…”

The rest of the conversation becomes incomprehensible as the pair of them walk out of earshot.

Leaving me confused and angry. The way Fergus was talking about Ash goes beyond mere disdain. He seemed to heavily imply that when he’s done with her…

I can’t even think on it without needing to punch a wall.

He’s planning something terrible. Something that will likely leave Ash broken.

But overhearing such a conversation isn’t enough; I need to know what the plan actually is.

Which means that, at least for now, I have to stay quiet on the matter, no matter how hard that may be.

I think about Ash, crying and upset in her room, and her impending dinner with this man who seems to view her as nothing more than an object.

Keeping quiet is going to be very, very hard indeed.