Page 2 of Taken By the Fae King

“Why?” I blink up at him.

“He’s Fae,” Raiden practically snarls. “There are tales of their kind enchanting human women and luring them into the woods to steal them away as their brides. I want to be sure he hasn’t ensorcelled you into accepting him as your husband.”

A startled laugh escapes me. Of all the things I thought he’d say, this was not one of them.

Edmynd rolls his eyes. “Those are stories, Raiden. Nothing more.”

Raiden purses his lips. “Most tales contain a kernel of truth, do they not? And it’s not just the Fae, it’s the Dark Elves too,” he insists. “I’m not entirely sure that Varys didn’t cast a spell on Inara to make her agree to marry him,” he says, referring to our youngest sister’s recent marriage to the Dark Elf King.

“Here we go,” Edmynd says, exasperated.

“Varys did nothing of the sort, and you know it.” I playfully slap at his shoulder. “Inara is blissfully happy with her marriage. You’ve seen it yourself. Besides, I thought you said you liked Varys now.”

Raiden crosses his arms over his chest. “I liked him better before I found out he was friends with the Fae King. Thick as thieves, those two,” he murmurs under his breath.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Edmynd blows out a frustrated sigh. He turns to me and offers his arm. “Are you ready?”

I nod and loop my arm through his. As we walk through the corridors to meet with the Fae, Raiden follows reluctantly behind us, obviously still stewing. Glancing over my shoulder, I shoot him a warning look, and whisper. “Be nice.”

Sighing heavily, he nods. “Fine.”

I’m nervous, but that is to be expected, and I’m sure it’s probably true of most women with an arranged marriage. I know almost nothing of Kyven beyond his ice-cold exterior. But I do know that he asked me directly for my hand, instead of asking my brother, and I appreciated that. It shows a level of respect that many suitors before him were severely lacking.

Most of them sought only to negotiate with Edmynd, and that guaranteed them an automatic refusal.

The Fae are known to be cold, and I doubt there will be any love between Kyven and me. I seek little more from our marriage than mutual respect, and perhaps even friendship. I do not want to risk getting hurt again.

My heart was hurt once before by a man I thought I cared for, and who I believed cared for me in return. Nothing ever happened between us, and I did not know Joren well enough to say if it was love, but I do know that when he left without a word, the pain of his rejection is not one I ever wish to repeat.

As I walk with my brother, the stones beneath our feet echo our every step, their dull thuds a haunting reminder of the path I am about to embark upon. The walls of the castle are adorned with portraits of our ancestors, their eyes seeming to follow us as we move through the dimly lit hallway. The glow from the torches, flickering like the flame of my resolve, casts a warm light on the tapestries depicting scenes of valor and victory. The scent of beeswax mingles with the ancient mustiness, a combination as familiar as it is comforting.

Nervousness coils within me, tightening like a serpent with each step we take. The air in the hallway seems to grow heavier, pressing down upon my chest.

We approach the double doors to the small council chamber, the intricate carvings a testament to our family's history and legacy. Stags locked in battle, dragons soaring overhead - a world of magic and power, now intertwined with my fate.

Edmynd pauses, his hand resting on the worn brass handle. "Grayce," he murmurs, his voice steady and reassuring. "Remember, whatever you decide, we will support you."

I nod, grateful for his words, and he pushes open the doors. The council chamber is an intimate space, circular and draped with richly colored fabrics. A round table, hewn from a single piece of oak, dominates the room, the intricate carving of our family crest at its center. The chairs surrounding it are heavy and ornately carved. Built several generations ago by our ancestor, Ryckard the Great. He was the first to push back the Fae and regain the lands of his ancestors.

At the far end of the room, stands King Kyven, the Fae ruler who is to become my husband. His eyes, a piercing shade of violet, find mine immediately, a shiver running down my spine as they lock onto me. Power radiates from his form, a force as ancient and wild as the lands he governs. He inclines his head, a silent greeting, and I return the gesture.

Sunlight spills in through the large windows, casting his moonlight-pale skin in an ethereal glow, gilding the tips of his wings. Their lavender panes are edged with black, and they flutter behind him before settling as we approach.

Dressed in the dark armor of his people, he cuts a handsome figure with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular form.

As we stand before him, his violet eyes meet mine, their vertically slit pupils expanding slightly as he studies me with a gaze that seems to pierce my very soul.

Already, I have broken my promise to Raiden as I stand transfixed before the Fae King, completely mesmerized. He is more attractive than anyone I have ever seen.

My gaze travels over the pointed tips of his ears and his wind-blown, short silver-white hair. His face has sharp angles and masculine features, perfectly handsome in a way that only Otherworldly beings can be.

“King Edmynd,” he says, dipping his chin in a subtle but respectable nod to my brother.

“Princess Grayce.” The rich, deep timbre of his voice makes my heart flutter as he takes my hand. His palm is warm but callused, suggesting he is no stranger to work or weapons. Heat rises in my cheeks as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of my knuckles.

“King Kyven,” I somehow manage to breathe out the words.

Releasing my hand, he straightens. The air shifts with his movement and the smell of fresh rain and forest fills the space around us. The top of my head is not quite level with his chin. As he stares down at me, I am caught in his sharp gaze, unable to move.

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