A Crown in Ash (The Ostler's Boy Book 3)

Chapter Three

I sighed. I was not going to find someone to fill the void that Lord Beck had left inside of me, if I failed to lose Ser Willoughby first. Bonding over sabotage and self-loathing didn't help that goal. And if I did not lose Ser Willoughby? If I did not find the kind of company I was seeking? There was no promise I would not explode from pure devastation. But then, I considered the next step if I did.

I hadn't been with anyone since the Marquis.

'The best way to get over a man is to get under someone else,' I'd heard too many men say before. And not just men, but knights. Oreian knights, the smartest of the smart. And specifically, Ser Willoughby had been present a time or two for the conversations I overheard. And, when I sat down and thought about the words, they were decidedly good advice. To surmount the gravity and guilt and upset that was Lord Beck's and I's sudden separation, I would have to find another man to lay beneath. It was simple. Sex was what I had given him; sex was what would rob us of the uniqueness of our connection. It was the only solution that made sense. I was a woman of sense.

Even if I tore myself apart with insecurity every second, I had to bear myself that way again.

But what would I even say to the man I'd hope to bargain with? How would I convince him to spend the night with me? To never mind who I was? Maybe if I said I was nobody of consequence? But that felt ominous, and why would I be worth the social dividends of sex without marriage if I was nobody?

"Ugh, it's useless," I whined. I exhaled, wedging myself through a man and his friend. "Excuse me, my pardon, my pardon," I sang, but as I tripped, I had to grip the looser bits of his blouse. I lifted myself but came closer to his body, completely unaware of my error, until he smiled and looked down at me far too curious.

"I would beg your pardon," he started.

His statement cracked with half the intent to laugh, but before I could release the linen of his shirt, his hands laid over mine on his chest.

"But I ain't one to deny a pretty girl a dance."

"Gah, I—" I gasped; he was older than Mr. Henrik. I snatched my fingers from his and bolted them to my dress' bodice. "No!" I shook my head. A curl or two fell out of the weave of my side-braided hair. "No, I–"

As I had hoped, Ser Willoughby sailed past the would-be shield and me. Beyond the man's shoulder, I saw the moment my knight realized I had vanished and his excitement to find me. I was suddenly unsure of if I had achieved a victory or not.

"Well, let's have it then, m'lady," the man chimed.

He stepped closer, and I dipped back, my spine nearly the letter C. I twisted around, pretending to admire the peacoat on the nearest bloke.

"Oh, how quaint!" I hurried. "I should buy one!" But I wasn't sure anyone had heard me over the ascending violins.

Before I knew it, the man had caught my wrist and spun me around into his bubble. A hand at the small of my waist had me sucking in enough air to power the whip of mine to his cheek and with such a force that there was a dampened crack beneath the whole Apple Faire's melody. His friend gawked. He let go, touching the sting of where I'd struck him. His flushed skin grew pinker and pinker by the second. I stumbled backward into somebody else. There was a loud protest out of the collision, but I didn't dare take my eyes off the other to look, and nothing more came of it.