Chapter 12

Ash

I can’t believe I have to have dinner with Fergus when all I can think about is Andrew. I hate every moment I have to spend cleaning away the evidence of our time in the stables from my body, wishing instead that the soap was Drew’s hand upon my skin.

But it isn’t. And never will be.

King Andrew will never be mine.

And I’ll never be his.

I feel a keening regret as I smooth my hair up and twist it back; something tells me Fergus dislikes the way I keep my hair down, flowing and carefree.

If I have to marry the bastard, then I may as well put in one final effort to get him to like me. I have to spend my life with him, after all.

And so, I take extra care with my make-up, lining my eyes and covering my lashes with mascara until I look dark and sultry.

I put on a beautiful, dark purple dress with a sweetheart neckline and lace, dipped hem skirt, and the heels to match. I’d prefer to wear black, to match my mood, but Fergus is bound to take that the wrong way.

And purple looks good against my skin and my gray eyes. Looking at the mirror, I conclude that even Fergus can’t dismiss me now.

But with my hair elegantly pinned back, my make-up done all bold and dramatic and my feet dressed in heels much higher than I’d prefer, I feel entirely unlike myself.

And if that’s who Fergus likes, well...

Then, he’s never going to like who I really am.

But I have to do this, for my country and my people. All of this fighting is taking its toll, and I’ve had my head in the clouds fantasizing about a king who doesn’t even have the guts to take my damn virginity.

So, it’s time I grew up and moved on. Fergus may be snobbishly disinterested in me and dismissive of my people, but he understands the point of the peace treaty. Otherwise, he’d never have asked to marry me in the first place.

At least, he has a reasonable head on his shoulders beneath all that hair product he wears.

Steeling myself to at least try and have a reasonably good time at dinner, I leave my room for the private dining hall that’s been prepared for the two of us.

It’s at the top of a circular tower, decorated with silver candelabras and lush tapestries. A window with a seat built into its base takes up much of the western wall, taking in the last of the sun’s rays as it sets. In the middle of the room lies a long, solid oak table covered in a white tablecloth and laden with irresistible-looking food and wine.

And there’s Fergus, well-groomed and impeccably dressed, as usual. In the setting sun, as at our failed wedding, his hair has turned gold.

He really does cut a striking figure. I can totally marry this man. We can make it work.

“Princess Aisling,” Fergus murmurs as he takes me in, a look of approval upon his face as he inspects my hair, clothes, and make-up.

I feel like whooping.

About fucking time, he was pleased with something I said or did.

“King Fergus,” I reply, inclining my head politely as he pulls a chair out for me and pours me a glass of wine.

We while away an hour or so easily, eating and drinking and making small talk. I can’t help thinking I shouldn’t still be making small talk with my future husband at this point.

The wine seems to be hitting Fergus though and with it, his impeccable, polite façade is worn away. I don’t miss the hungry looks he keeps throwing my way.

Clearly to catch his attention, all I had to do was put on some make-up and get him drunk.

Great.

It’s not only the looks he gives me that the alcohol has changed; it’s loosened his tongue, too.

“Do you even live that much better than your people, Ash? You don’t seem to put much stock in appearances,” Fergus asks, taking a sip of wine as he gives me a side-long glance.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“I guess I don’t have time for such things, what with all the fighting going on.”

“And yet you spent much of the last two or three years abroad, away from the fighting, did you not?”

Oh, the implication of his words is not lost on me.

I take a long draft of wine before answering.

“I wasn’t wasting my time when I was abroad, Fergus. I was learning. Something that’s imperative for me to do, if I’m to rule over my country correctly.”

“Hmm” is all Fergus says before vacating his seat at the table to instead sit by the window.

He motions for me to join him. When I hesitate, he frowns.

“Do you think I’m going to bite you, Ash, or is a certain someone still on your mind? Oh, don’t give me that look. Do you think I haven’t noticed the pair of you glancing at each other, or the times you’ve stolen away to see him? I am not a stupid man, Princess Aisling.”

My eyes widen slightly in shock before I school my expression.

Fergus didn’t need to get anywhere near the stables to know what I was up to. He was watching the whole time, here from the castle.

Either that or he’s calling my bluff, but either way, I can do nothing about it now. Denying his claims will only make things worse.

And so, I reluctantly join Fergus on the window seat. I attempt to sit as far away from him as is possible.

Fergus notices.

“Don’t sit so far away when you’ve finally presented yourself in a way befitting your station,” Fergus chides, reaching a hand around my waist to bring my closer to him. “You know, you’re not bad for a peasant princess when you scrub up.” He runs a finger along my jawline as he speaks, inspecting my face.

I stand up and turn from him, outraged. But what am I supposed to say? I’m marrying this man in three days.

And I can’t deal with his touch on my skin any more than I can stand his incessant jibes about my supposed poverty.

I suddenly become aware of Fergus standing up behind me; he places his hands on my exposed shoulders as he runs his lips along the edge of my neck.

I freeze, suppressing a shiver.

Please don’t let this go any further, I silently beg.

It’s not just that I wanted Andrew to take my virginity; it’s that, in this moment, I’d rather literally anyone else on the planet take my virginity over Fergus.

“You’re to stop gallivanting off with King Andrew, Ash,” Fergus murmurs into my skin.

I can feel his tongue gently flicking against my skin, and it feels altogether like he’s tasting the fear that has utterly filled me.

“You’re making me look like a fool. What kind of king am I if I can’t keep my future wife in line, after all?”

I try to move away, but Fergus grabs my wrist and spins me around.

“Who said you could go anywhere, peasant princess? Go on, say something; it’s not like you to be so silent. Though, I have to admit that it’s a marked improvement.”

And that’s it. I snap. Torn between hitting Fergus and crying, I bring my hand up as if to slap him, but Fergus grins wickedly as he catches my hand before it hits his face and crushes his lips against mine, forcing me into a violent kiss.

He bites my lip until it bleeds before pulling away.

“There, now Drew will know you’re mine,” Fergus says, a satisfied smile on his face as blood slowly drips down my chin.

I stare at him in horror as Fergus’ hands snake around to my back and begins to unzip my dress.

This is not happening. This is not happening.

And I can’t move; screw what I had thought before of Fergus not being able to hold his own in a fight—he’s still plenty strong to keep me in place.

When my dress falls to the floor around my feet, I cast my gaze down in shame, but Fergus grips my chin with iron fingers and forces me to look at him.

“Did I say you could look away, Ash? I think not. It’s high time I found out what Drew has been going mad over,” Fergus says as his other hand runs over my chest before sliding back around to undo the clasp of my bra.

“I don’t—I don’t want this, Fergus!” I finally bite out in protest, but he merely laughs.

A vicious, harsh sound reverberates in my ears as I realize that the man in front of me has no morals whatsoever.

He’s not a man; he’s an over-groomed monster.

Fergus’ laugh is so loud that he doesn’t hear the door to the dining hall crash open until it’s too late. The last thing he sees before he’s knocked to the ground is Andrew’s fist connecting with his face.

“Ash? Aisling!”

Drew is calling my name, but I can barely hear him. Slowly, I bring my hands up to my face and realize I’ve been crying.

Noting my shock, Drew hauls my dress back on and picks me up, easily carrying me in his arms, away from the nightmare I was just in.

I can’t believe it.

King Andrew saved me.