Crown of Ashes

Ashes

The night before my journey to court, the Ashford household was unusually still. The servants moved with careful precision, laying out traveling cloaks and polishing boots until they shone. Eleanor was locked in her chamber, refusing to see anyone, her fury echoing through the corridors in slammed doors and muffled cries.

When the maid brought my dinner to the east chamber, I was too tired to notice the slight tremor in her hands. The plate steamed with roasted pheasant and carrots slicked in butter, richer than any meal I had tasted in months. My stomach, long starved, growled at the sight.

“Her ladyship insisted you eat heartily,” the steward said, bowing with unusual politeness. His eyes did not meet mine.

I nodded, dismissing him, and began to eat. The first bites filled me with warmth, almost comfort. For once, I thought, perhaps the household wished me well on the eve of my new station.

But by the time I laid down upon the silken bed, my limbs ached strangely. My stomach twisted, cramping tight. Sweat dampened my brow. The fire roared in the hearth, but my body shivered as though plunged into ice.

I tried to sit up, but the world spun. My throat tightened. Breath became a labor. A sick realization struck me like lightning.

Poison.

The door creaked open, and shadows slipped inside. Lady Beatrice first, her fan closed tight in her hand. Eleanor followed, her pale face alight with cruel satisfaction.

“Sweet dreams, Carolyn,” Beatrice purred, her voice as sharp as broken glass. “You did not truly think we would let you walk into court tomorrow, did you?”

Eleanor’s laugh was brittle. “The Queen will forget you soon enough. She always does with the unworthy.”

I tried to speak, but my lips fumbled the words. My limbs refused to obey.

Beatrice moved closer, her perfume thick and cloying. “Do you know how your mother died?” she whispered. “Not the story your father told you. Not the fever, not the weakness. No. She died like this. Quietly. Slowly. The same poison slides through your veins now. A mercy, really—it leaves little trace.”

Her smile widened as my breath caught in my throat. “It seems only fitting you follow her.”

The world blurred, but their faces stayed sharp—Eleanor’s triumphant smirk, Beatrice’s cold delight.

The door banged open suddenly. Father stormed in, his eyes blazing. “What is happening here?” His gaze fell on me, my body writhing against the sheets, and his face went white. “Why do you stand there? Help her!”

Eleanor rushed to his side, feigning panic. “Father, she’s ill! She’s dying!”

Beatrice did not flinch. She turned to him calmly. “Gregory, think. What use is she, truly? Alive, she threatens Eleanor’s place. Dead, she becomes Eleanor’s shield. The Queen may grieve a curiosity, but she will not waste her crown on a dead girl. And Carolyn’s inheritance—her fortune—will still flow to this family. She is as useful to us dead as alive.”

His hands trembled at his sides. He looked at me—his daughter, gasping, fighting for air, clawing at the sheets. For one awful moment, I thought I saw him waver toward me. But then Beatrice’s hand touched his arm, her voice low and steady.

“Think of our name. Think of Eleanor. Carolyn was never meant to be more than a tool. Better to cut away a tool than risk it turning against us.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes closed. And when they opened again, the fire of fury had gone cold. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

The last piece of my heart broke.

My breath faltered, the world fading. I tried to cling to the memory of roses in the palace gardens, to the warmth of sunlight on emerald silk. But the darkness swallowed me whole.

And I died.

⸻

I awoke to the rattle of carriage wheels. The jolt of motion pressed me back against worn cushions. My lungs heaved, drawing in the air of dust and leather.

For a moment, I thought I dreamed. The poison’s grip had dragged me into fevered visions before. But no—the air was sharp and real, the wood creaking beneath me, the faint scent of horse sweat and hay lingering.

I knew this sound. I knew this motion.

The Ashford carriage.

I sat up slowly, my hands trembling. Outside the small window slit, the familiar forests of Ashford’s lands passed by, the trees tall and dark against a gray sky. My heart pounded. I remembered this journey—the day Father had “rescued” me, bringing me from the poor lodgings I had known to the Ashfords’ grand estate. I had been sixteen then, eyes wide with awe, my heart bursting with hope that I was wanted, that I belonged.

But this time… this time I knew the truth.

The door swung open, and Father leaned inside, younger than he had looked only hours ago in the east chamber. His beard still thick, his eyes still sharp. “Carolyn,” he said with a stiff smile. “We are nearly home. You will see your new life soon.”

My breath caught. He was alive, unchanged, unknowing of what had happened to me. My hands trembled as I gripped my skirts.

Home. A lie. A cage.

Once, I had stepped onto the Ashford estate with gratitude so fierce it had nearly undone me. This time, I pressed my lips into a thin line and nodded, my eyes lowered, hiding the fire blazing within.

For I remembered it all. The garret. The taunts. The poison. The truth of my mother. The betrayal of a father who let me die.

I was no longer the sweet, eager girl who believed kindness waited at the end of the road. That girl was ashes.

I was something new.

And this time, I would not live meekly in the shadows.

This time, I would make them all pay.