We walk. Ashton’s feet drag, but he never loses his smile. He winks at me when he catches my eye, but there’s a tiredness at the corners of his mouth that wasn’t there before.
The corridor narrows, then opens into a tiny green hollow, and in the center is a cottage.
It’s not big. It’s not even cute, not unless your idea of cute is a place built entirely out of bones and moss, with a roof of woven flowers that look like they will rot in the sun. There are no windows. The door is crooked, made from mismatched planks and covered in greasy thumbprints. I see the marks where someone’s clawed at it. The sight makes my skin crawl.
“Home sweet home!” Zomas shouts, and the crowd erupts into laughter. He points to the cottage, then bows so low his horns nearly dig furrows in the dirt. “For the bride and groom, we present to you, your bridal suite! The honeymoon nest! The bed of champions!” His eyes roll when he says it, and I can’t tell if he’s mocking or deadly serious.
A nymph grabs my hand and pulls me to the door. “Go on, darling.” Her eyes are bright as a beetle’s shell, but her grip is cold and merciless.
I glance back. Ashton is right behind me, held by the shoulders, but he shrugs the satyrs off and stumbles to my side. He gives me a look that says, “Trust them, or at least pretend you do.”
So, the door is thrown open, and we’re led into the darkness within. The scent of dust and something coppery comes to my nose as my eyes adjust to the lack of light. And I know before I even see it that this place is going to be bad.
Inside the cottage it’s even worse than I imagined. The bed is just a pile of skins on a slab of wood. There are no sheets, no pillows, just fur and what looks like fresh straw. There’s a jug ofsomething on a stump next to it that looks like blood, but I can’t be sure.
The crowd presses in behind us, shoving in the door. Every satyr and nymph is grinning, sharp and hungry. Something dark and unfriendly is in their eyes every so often before they’re back to carefree and happy.
Zomas stands in the doorway, one hand on the lintel. “A fine match,” he says, looking us up and down. “May your union be fruitful. And loud.”
The nymphs titter. One calls out, “Careful, Queen! The wind prince will blow you away!” And the rest shriek and giggle. I hear a satyr in the back say, “Bet she cracks him open like a walnut,” and the laughter doubles.
I want to disappear. I want to set the cottage on fire and run screaming into the maze, but I just stand there, sweating and silent.
Zomas tilts his head at Ashton. “Is it true what they say about wind princes?” His eyes glitter, and the nymphs hush, waiting for Ashton’s answer.
He doesn’t flinch. “Depends what you’ve heard, Lord Zomas.”
Zomas leans in, voice low and sly. “They say you are all talk and no… tornado.” He makes a rude gesture with his fist.
The crowd cackles, and I go red, but Ashton doesn’t miss a beat. He cups his hands and blows, sending a puff of air so sharp it knocks the nearest nymph back on her ass. “Try me,” he says, and bows.
It works. The crowd howls, the tension breaks, and for a second I almost smile.
But the eyes never leave us. Not once.
A pair of nymphs usher us toward the bed, and I realize they want to watch, or maybe just make sure the deed gets done. I digmy heels in, but Ashton pulls me close, whispering in my ear, “Let’s give them a show. Then we wait them out.”
His breath is warm, his arm is tight around my waist, and I lean in, grateful for the anchor. He drops our packs on the ground and tosses the sheet cape beside it, then drags the furs over us, and we flop onto the bed, laughing a little too loud.
The crowd shouts encouragement. “Don’t be shy!” someone hollers. “We want to see you blush!” “Get on with it!” “We’re all waiting!”
I want to die.
Ashton’s hand is on my shoulder. He’s playing it up, his smile wide, but his eyes meet mine and I see the caution, the calculation. I try to match his mood, to play along, to pretend this isn’t the most humiliating moment of my life.
For a minute, the crowd grows bored. Someone starts singing a dirty song. A nymph slaps a satyr, and they chase each other around the cabin, hooting. Zomas stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching us with that same wolfish patience. Waiting.
Ashton whispers, “You okay?”
I nod, but I’m not. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, my hands won’t stop shaking. “They’re never going to leave, are they?”
He grins. “Give it a minute. Satyrs are famous for their short attention span.”
Ashton rolls so he’s on top of me, although I can tell he’s being careful not to put all his weight on me. He slips perfectly between my legs, and my thighs spread for him without me even realizing it. A shudder rolls through him, and he leans forward and begins to slowly suck my neck.
I’m breathing hard. My hand moves to the back of his hair, and I pull him closer. I know this is all a show, that we’re playing our parts in this weird game, but the things Ashton is making me feel… they’re real.
My eyes roll back into my head as he continues sucking and licking, like he’s spent his lifetime studying how to please a woman and knows exactly how to touch me to make me feel undone. He makes his way to my ear and nibbles it, and I feel my nipples harden.
