Legacy of Fire and Sand

Chapter 67: The King's Gift

The wedding feast was a grand spectacle, with the hall draped in rich silks and the tables laden with the finest foods the kingdom could offer. Musicians played jubilant tunes, and laughter echoed from every corner as lords and ladies reveled in the union of Prince Quentyn and Princess Nymeria. But for Ashara, the night was a waking nightmare.

She stood at the edge of the hall, feeling like an outsider in a place where she once felt a certain sense of belonging. The bruise on her cheek had darkened further, a stark reminder of the King's wrath. The mark was hidden beneath a layer of makeup, but she could still feel the dull ache with every movement. The tension between her and the King had reached a boiling point, and she knew something terrible was about to happen.

As the night wore on, the King rose from his seat at the high table, his cold eyes scanning the hall until they landed on Ashara. A sinister smile curled his lips, and he raised a goblet, silencing the room with a single gesture.

"My lords and ladies," the King's voice boomed, dripping with false warmth, "tonight, we celebrate the union of my son, Prince Quentyn, and his beautiful bride, Princess Nymeria. But such a joyous occasion requires a fitting gift, does it not?"

Ashara felt a chill run down her spine as the King's gaze locked onto her. Every eye in the hall turned in her direction, and she wanted nothing more than to disappear, to vanish into the shadows where she wouldn't have to endure what she knew was coming.

"I have decided," the King continued, "that the best gift I could offer my son and his new wife is something... personal. Something that will ensure they start their marriage on a high note."

The silence was deafening as the King motioned for Ashara to step forward. She hesitated, her feet rooted to the ground, but the sharp look he gave her left no room for defiance. With every step, she felt the weight of the court's eyes upon her, judging, sneering, as if she were nothing more than a pawn in the King's cruel game.

The King reached out, gripping Ashara's arm tightly as he pulled her closer, his voice low but loud enough for those nearby to hear. "My dear son," he said, turning to Quentyn, "and his lovely bride. I give you Ashara, as a late wedding gift. She is well-trained, skilled in ways that will please you both. Perhaps she can even help make me a grandsire sooner than expected."

The hall erupted in a murmur of shocked gasps and muted laughter, the King's words a sharp blow to Ashara's pride. She could see the shock on Quentyn and Nymeria's faces, though it was quickly masked by the practiced neutrality they had perfected over the years. Quentyn's eyes flickered with a mix of anger and something else—something that reminded Ashara of their shared history, of the times when they had been more than just pawns in the King's schemes.

Nymeria, too, looked stricken, her hand tightening around Quentyn's. But there was a spark in her eyes, a gleam that suggested a mixture of possessiveness and curiosity. Nymeria had always been a complex figure in Ashara's life, their relationship fraught with tension and unspoken desires.

Valen and Elara, seated nearby, exchanged dark glances. The tension between them and the royal couple was palpable, a simmering undercurrent of jealousy and resentment. Elara's hand clenched around her goblet, the knuckles white, while Valen's jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing with barely controlled rage.

"I trust you will find her pleasing," the King added, his tone dripping with malicious glee. "She's proven to be... versatile."

Ashara's stomach churned with a mix of humiliation and anger, her mind racing as she tried to process the King's words. This was his way of punishing her, of breaking her spirit even further. He had no intention of letting her escape his grasp; he merely wanted to remind her—and everyone else—of her place.