Chapter 20 Shades Of Grey with a Dash of Disappointment.
Morning creeps in through the cracks in the roof, soft and golden. It’s the kind of light that makes everything look gentler than it is, if that's even possible for dust, decay, and bad choices. Even the ghosts of last night’s chaos can’t quite reach me here. For once, it’s still. No roaring sea, no angry mob, no firelight licking at the horizon. Just the sound of birds in the distance. Ashlyn is sprawled across a broken sofa, her blue gown now a wrinkled mess of soot and starlight, snoring softly with her arm thrown over her eyes like the world owes her peace. Gilfred is perched on the cold hearth, warming his belly in a sunbeam like he’s found enlightenment. I stretch, wincing at the stiffness in my limbs. My hair smells like smoke and seawater, and my entire body feels like it’s been used as a moral lesson. For the first time in what feels like days, I let myself sit in the silence. Who knew I would appreciate a little silence this much?
And then Ashlyn stirs, groaning as she pushes herself upright. “Morning,” she mumbles with her voice hoarse.
“Morning,” I echo, running a hand through my hair.
She blinks blearily at the cobwebs. “Still not dead, that's always a plus.”
“Give it time,” I mutter.
Ashlyn grins faintly, stretching her arms. “So. How’s the existential guilt this morning?”
I sigh. “Heavy. Frosty. Same as usual.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Mine’s more of a smouldering regret with a hint of impending consequence.”
“Lovely.”
For a few minutes, neither of us says anything. The quiet feels comfortable between us. Then my stomach growls loudly.
Ashlyn snorts. “Guess the moral turmoil burns calories.”
We find what passes for food in the cabin, a half-empty jar of something resembling jam, a tin of old biscuits, and a pile of herbs that might once have been tea. I stare at the collection. “Breakfast of champions.”
“Breakfast of survivors,” she corrects, tearing a biscuit in half and tossing me a piece. “Small victories.”
We eat in silence for a while. The biscuits taste like regret and cardboard, but it’s food.
When we’re done, Ashlyn leans back and looks at me with that same disarming curiosity she had last night. “You know,” she says, “you never told me what you’re going to do now.”
I blink. “Do?”
“Yeah. You’re clearly on some grand moral journey of redemption and emotional implosion. What’s the next stop?”
I huff a laugh. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
She grins. “Lucky for you, I have a plan you can tag along on.”
Of course she does.
“There’s a kingdom a few days east of here,” she says, brushing crumbs off her lap. “They’re having a royal wedding, it's supposed to be the event of the century, apparently. I’ve got… friends there.”
“Friends or accomplices?”
“Why not both?”
I give her a look. “Ashlyn, after everything, maybe crashing a royal wedding isn’t the best way to lay low.”
She smirks. “Oh, I’m not crashing it. I’m attending. Probably. Maybe. Uninvited, but it’s the thought that counts.” Then she sighs, "I've been organising this getaway for some time now. My friends and I have been writing letters back and forth, and they're willing to help me out of this bad situation I've found myself in. Seeing a royal wedding, where I'm not the forced bride? Well that's just a plus."
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible,” she says with a wink, “is just a polite word for interesting...So, do you want to come, or do you have better plans? Because if I'm being honest, having a friend along the way would be nice."
I stare at her for a long moment, still chewing on the word friend. It feels foreign to me.
“I don’t know if I’m the best candidate for friendship right now,” I admit, resting my elbows on my knees. “I’ve had a rough week.”
Ashlyn raises a brow. “Define rough.”
“Well…” I tick the list off on my fingers. “Escaped lifelong imprisonment, accidentally froze part of a fishing village, killed a sea goddess accidentally—”
“Accidentally,” she interjects.
“—and might’ve committed about three felonies without meaning to.”
Ashlyn nods thoughtfully. “Okay, yeah, that does sound rough.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the floorboards, tracing a line in the dust with my toe. “It’s just… hard to know who to trust. One minute, people are kind, and the next, they’re turning you into bait for their own freedom. I keep thinking maybe it’s not people that are bad, maybe it’s just that good people can do awful things and still sleep at night.”
Ashlyn doesn’t answer right away. She fiddles with the end of her braid, eyes unfocused. “That’s probably true,” she says finally. “But I think the opposite’s true too.”
I glance up. “Meaning?”
“Bad people can surprise you. Sometimes they do one decent thing that changes everything. Sometimes they don’t.” She shrugs. “The point is, you’ll never know which kind they are if you never give anyone a chance to prove you wrong.”
I snort softly. “That sounds like the start of a terrible moral.”
She smiles, small and sincere. “Most of the best ones are.”
The sunlight through the broken window shifts, catching dust in the air and turning it to gold. I watch it for a while.
“I used to think the world was simple,” I say quietly. “Good people. Bad people. Happy endings. Then I got out of that tower and realised everything’s just shades of grey with a dash of disappointment.”
Ashlyn leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Sounds like someone’s overdue for a little colour.”
I give her a look. “You mean chaos.”
“Chaos is colour,” she says with a grin. “Besides, you’re talking to someone who burned down a castle in the name of bodily autonomy. I think a bit of chaos suits you.”
Gilfred makes a tiny chirping noise, as if to agree, the traitor.
Ashlyn watches me quietly for a moment, then says, softer, “Look, Bella… I don’t know what you’ve been through. Not really. But if you keep waiting for the world to prove you right about how awful it is, it will. Every time. Sometimes you’ve got to risk being wrong.”
Her words hang there between us.
I pick at the hem of my sleeve, staring at the floor. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” she says. “But running alone isn’t either.”
Finally, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll come. But if this turns into another moral disaster, I’m blaming you.”
Ashlyn grins, bright and unapologetic. “Perfect. I’m used to it.”
She stands and offers me her hand. “Come on, ice girl. Let’s go find a wedding.”
And despite everything, the guilt, the cold, the weight still sitting in my chest, I take her hand. Because maybe, just maybe, being wrong about people doesn’t sound so terrible after all.