Hesitantly, I put it in my mouth. It melts almost instantly on my tongue, a shock of sweetness and then a deep, earthen bitterness. I close my eyes and let it dissolve, trying to memorize the sensation in case I never have it again. I must make some kind of noise, because when I open my eyes, Ashton is watching me with actual delight.
“It’s—” I fumble for words, “—it’s perfect.”
He laughs. “Isn’t it? First time I tasted it, I thought I’d never eat anything else.”
We pass the chocolate back and forth until it’s gone, licking the last flecks from our fingers. I am absurdly happy for the first time since we entered the maze, and it’s so unfamiliar that I almost forget to be careful around him.
Afterward, we sit in silence once more. Not the tense, waiting-to-be-murdered kind, but something softer, like the hush after a good song. I stretch my legs and lay back on the dirt, staring up at the blank sky. Ashton lies beside me, hands folded on his stomach.
He turns to face me, propping himself on one elbow. “So,” he says, “tell me about your cabin. The one you want to get back to so badly.”
My instinct is to not tell him a thing, but then I decide it won’t really hurt anything to tell him a little. “It’s nothing. A small cabin in the mountains. My parents carved out enough space from the wild to have a couple fields, a barn, and some animals. It’s cold in the winter, and moldy in summer. I used to think I’d live there until the walls caved in.”
He nods, listening.
“I have a garden,” I add, because it feels important. “Potatoes, beans, turnips. Not much, but enough. My father used to say I was born with dirt in my blood. My grandfather said I was meant to be a dirt human being.” The last sentence comes out a little sad.
Ashton cocks his head, studying me. “Your grandfather? The same one who whipped you?”
I decide not to address the last part. “My grandparents moved in after my parents died,” I say again. My voice betrays something I don’t even want to acknowledge when I talk about them.
“What is your grandfather like?” Ashton asks, and there’s no judgment in his voice.
I nibble my bottom lip. “I think… I think he hates me to his core, but it’s my understanding that moving into my cabin was the only thing that saved my grandparents from complete poverty. They didn’t properly plan for their golden years. My father wanted nothing to do with either of his parents, so I became their retirement plan. And… I suppose I needed them too, since my father sent for them before he died.”
“That doesn’t sound very fun to deal with.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I can understand why you didn’t want to talk about him or your back before.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.” Then, I change the topic. “So, what was it like growing up as a rich and powerful fae prince? Pure bliss?”
Ashton traces a line in the dirt with his finger. “It was fine. I always had a roof over my head. I always had food in my stomach and anything else I could ask for. Well, anything but what I really wanted.”
Curiosity makes me ask, “What did you really want?”
“To be raised by my family. Not by tutors. But that wasn’t really possible after they were killed.” He says it as if it’s nothing, but I remember Cassius’s words from before… all of them are orphans and all of them struggle with it.
“It’s weird how you can have everything and nothing at the same time, huh?”
He glances up sharply. “Exactly.”
I offer a smile. “But having everything you wanted otherwise must have been nice.”
“It was definitely nice, but I would’ve taken a garden if I’d thought about it.”
Really? Him?“You ever try planting something?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I have the patience. Or the knack. Sylvian’s the one with the green thumb. I’m better at… designing epic clothes, swordsplay, sex, you know, the things I always thought were important things. Now though, I kind of like the idea of sitting in a garden watching while you plant things and pick weeds.”
I laugh. “It sounds like you just want to hang out with me while I garden, not garden yourself.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but is that so bad?”
“No,” I answer without thinking.
He seems happy with my answer. “And, unlike Sylvian, I wouldn’t be telling you what you were doing wrong the whole time or taking over.”
