Page 35 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

They drink to that.

Even me.

Katherine finally speaks. “What if none of this matters?”

Three faces turn toward her.

She continues, quietly: “What if we burn forests and cut giants down and still they keep coming? What if the thing in the barn was only the first?”

It’s Wexmoore who answers.

“Then we drink now,” he says with a wide grin, “and make sure the next ones die with our swords plunged into their hearts.” Wexmoore grins wider. “When word came I was to claim the dukedom, I laughed. The sea’s been my home far longer than any castle. But here I am, draped in velvet and lies.”

“But you are here, now,” Katherine replies. “That is certain. Certainty is the stuff of life, Your Grace.”

Wexmoore’s gaze flicks to Katherine. “Does a bastard pirate ever choose? No. We survive. We fight. And sometimes, we rule lands instead of waves. There is no certainty in anything my dear. Not even this dukedom.”

Katherine is still beneath the softness. “You are a different man now, Wexmoore. From the man who once cursed the university halls to the duke who wears chains of his own. Even you must admit that.”

He snorts. “Chains? The only chains I wear are the ones I forge myself. And the sea’s taught me how to break them.”

Dorian interjects. “You were reckless then. And you’re reckless now.“

Wexmoore laughs, shaking his head. “Dorian, you were always the pious fool. I do not care, that is what you forget.”

Gabriel raises his glass. “To pirates, princes, and the impossible alliances they forge.”

Wexmoore clinks his flask against Gabriel’s cup. “May the devil take us all if we don’t see the dawn.”

KATHERINE

I shouldn’t be here.

Not in the corridor. Not beneath the arch of the stone alcove outside the war room. But I can’t help it. I stand in the shadows, just out of sight, listening. But, I must ask myself a most pertinent question.

How does Wexmoore know so much?

Why does he know so much?

He must be hiding secrets.

One that Dorian keeps.

The voices carry.

“They’re not heading for the castle,” Gabriel says. “If the map is right, they’re turning south. The footprint was not found a few meters off the path clearing. The way we travelled through initially.”

Dorian’s answers. “Ashwood Town?”

“I am not certain. But we don’t have time to debate it. If we’re going to cut them off, it has to be now.”

There’s a pause. Then, Wexmoore speaks. “And what if you’re wrong?”

“Either way, we must depart. Gather your runners, Lord Gabriel. We depart within the hour.”

Then the boots shift. Coats are lifted. The scrape of a chair.

Gabriel mutters, “I can’t even piss without someone watching.”

I step back before the door opens, slipping into the shadows beside the pillar. The men file out — grim-faced and sharp-edged, like knights heading to execution. Dorian is last.

He sees me.

Stops.

Doesn’t speak right away.

I force a smile. “Going to war without saying goodbye?”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says.

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“I know.”

His coat is already fastened, high at the collar. He looks… tired .

“Do you think you’ll make it back?” I ask.

“I must. The forest is yet untamed. I must finish what was started. It is my cross to bear.”

“That is not an answer.”

He hesitates. Then closes the space between us in four strides.

“You stay here. You survive. You do not follow me.”

I tilt my chin up. “You know I won’t promise that.”

A long moment passes. Then he reaches out and brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is maddeningly soft.

I hate him for it.

I wish to scream and pound my fists.

Seething, I look away.

“Katherine,” he warns.

“Yes?”

“I’m leaving,”

“I heard.”

“You’re staying.”

That makes me turn. “Like hell I am.”

He moves closer. “You’re not safe on a ship. You’re not safe in Ashwood. The only place I can protect you now is here.”

“You don’t get to choose that for me.”

“I do when the alternative is you being torn apart by giants.”

I flinch at his word, but my jaw sets. “You need me.”

“I need to know you’re alive.”

We’re inches apart now. My breath is sharp against his neck. I clench both hands at my sides. I want to touch him, hold him, but I don’t.

How dare he leave me behind!

“Stay here,” he whispers. “Please.”

I say nothing.

“If I don’t make it back… know that I—”

He catches himself.

“I must go. Be well, Princess Katherine.”

With a kiss on my forehead, he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him with a finality that makes me seethe with anger.

An hour later, I watch from the window as the carriage departs with Dorian and Gabriel seated inside, heading for the docks. Their silhouettes vanish between the trees. They didn’t see me standing here. That’s by design.

I didn’t want to say another endless goodbye. It is too easy for his wretched soul. Let him cry when he lies there dying! Let him think of me and be filled with regret — the bastard!

Tears stream down my cheeks at the thought. Guilty, I take back my thoughts, hating myself for the anger. They think I’ll remain here, safe in Wexmoore. But I know better. This isn’t over.

The room is colder now. I pace. The servants give me a wide berth.

I don’t recognise these halls yet. I’m still a guest here it seems. A duchess kept out of strategy and shielded from blood.

No more than an ornamental trinket for a Duke.

At the thought, I seethe again and I curse him.

May his shoes turn to stone and sink him in the River Thames!

Spreading the parchment across the desk, something peculiar arises. I found the map where Dorian left it, rolled and pinned beside the decanter tray in the study he borrowed for war planning.

I borrowed it as well.

Dorian pointed to the forest and Gabriel charted the safe roads. But none questioned the route of the monsters. Not a soul paused long enough to wonder why they’d come from the northeast — not directly toward Ashwood Town, but southwest, veering slightly.

The forest stretches down and toward the south. Toward Ashwood, yes. But not directly. Then I see it. Not a military target. Not a stronghold, nor even a town. ‘RAVEN’S BUTCHERY’ is scrawled in block letters.

Capacity: 1,000 Head.

The site marked is east of the woods. The elevation lines dip. The forest line curves almost perfectly toward it. Beneath it are clustered dots of homes, smoke houses...a mill. A chapel. The label upon the map is nearly faded, but I just make out the words.

Windermere.

I freeze.

It’s not a proper town, but a village consisting of fewer than five hundred inhabitants. They’re there right now. Sleeping in little cottages with their doors unlocked because monsters are for stories, not slaughterhouses. Dread settles in my belly until I am ill.

I know what comes.

Dorian’s monsters are headed for the butchery, not Ashwood Town. They’re going to feed on the cattle…the workers.

And then—

Oh god.

I grab the map and shove it under my cloak.

My pulse is hammering now.

The others don’t know. Dorian, Gabriel — they’ve already left, thinking the city will fall first. No one’s warned them. No one’s even looking.

Windemere will be obliterated by nightfall.

I spin toward the door.

I need a horse.

A ship.

A runner.

Blast! I need someone to listen to me!

But I already know what they’ll say. That I’m overreacting. That the “real threat” is elsewhere. They’ll waste time. They’ll debate. They will not listen.

And Windermere will die screaming.

I can’t let that happen.

DORIAN

“You’re certain the creatures are heading toward the city?” Wexmoore asks as we ascend the inner stairs.

“They’re not after the castle,” Gabriel says. “They’re after Ashwood Centre. That’s where they’ll feed on twenty thousand souls.”

We spend an hour arranging plans. Routes. Signal flares. Guard posts. Reinforcement contingents from the Wexmoore garrison. If we can intercept them before they cross the plains, we may contain the breach.

If we don’t, Ashwood Town will fall.

At the end of it, the Duke folds his arms. “You’ll take the Blackbird,” he says. “She’s the fastest ship in port. You’ll leave within the hour.”

Gabriel nods. “It’s our best chance.”

“And Her Grace?” Wexmoore questions.

“She stays,” I fold my arms underneath my chest. “Under protection.”

“She fought you.”

“It does not matter. She stays and she will listen. She knows I am serious.”

The Duke of Wexmoore, smirks. “Perhaps you are truly mad.”

He hopes for a rise. I ignore his jabs.

The docks are black with rain and seafoam. The Black Thorn is already loaded — trimmed sails, armoured hull, a lean crew of Ashwood men, Wexmoore fighters and ten Bow Street Runners. The wind howls through the rigging. Gabriel is already aboard, speaking with the quartermaster.

I board last. The ropes are loose. The ship pulls from the dock like a blade from its sheath and Wexmoore disappears behind sheets of rain.

It isn’t until we’re halfway into the channel and I am below deck, checking gunpowder supplies, that I hear a noise.

It comes from inside a crate that's been lashed shut in the hold, and nestled between barrels of salt pork and ropes. But it isn’t labelled.

It isn’t logged. And when I crack it open—

Katherine stares up at me.

“You,” I state flatly, unimpressed.

She’s curled awkwardly aginst herself, wet hair matted to her neck, dress ballooned around her and clinging to her skin. Her face is pale from lack of air and sheer stubbornness.

“Your Grace,” she replies. “How lovely to see to see you.”

“I told you to stay.”

I am furious. More than I can even fathom.

She climbs out like a damn cat. “And I told you I’m not a coward.”

“Katherine—”

“No.” She straightens, dripping water onto the floorboards. “If you send me back, I’ll just come again. We both know I’ve fought worse than sea-sickness and wet boots.”

I want to rage. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. But I can’t. Because I understand. Because if the positions were reversed, I’d have stowed away too.

Lord Gabriel appears at the stairwell, none too pleased.

“She stays,” I say flatly. “Make space.”

He nods once.

“There’s something else,” Katherine states loudly. “Let us convene upstairs.”

It seems, I have lost the battle.. “Very well.”

She follows me back above deck, and trails in front. We arrive in my cabin chambers and she wastes no time. She holds out a damp sheet of parchment and spreads it open on the study desk. “There is important news I must tell you. The pasture at Raven’s Butchery.”

I read the inked words.

Then I read them again.

Fuck.