Page 112 of Bride of the Fae Prince

The High King won’t accept that bargain if Ash pulls a stunt like this. He’ll punish him further. He’ll drag Hylath back in here, kill her off. Or maybe this time it’ll be Edvear. Or he’ll call Rahk in and make him do something terrible again.

My people will not be saved if I sit in that chair.

I can almost hear the echo of Ash’s voice that first evening we’d arrived here, and he had pinned me to the wall and told me that if I valued my life, I’d do exactly what he said. No questions, no hesitations.

I take a deep breath, relax my grip on my skirts, and level a hard look at Ash. My answer. A firmno.

Ash meets my gaze . . . and grins. A wicked grin that sends ice to my toes.

I refuse to bend.

He gives a dark chuckle, slams the chair back into its spot, and drags out his own. He drops into it heavily, flings one knee over an armrest, and grabs the full goblet before him. One swirl, two. Then he sniffs and takes a drink.

All while I stand beside his chair, heart pounding. Waiting.

I’m not about to throw myself into his lap. If he intends to leave me standing here this entire meal, then so be it. I won’t sit in the High King’s chair.

It’s still quiet around the table. Some two dozen eyes burn into me, scalding me like a brand. I don’t move. I may want to crawl into a hole and die, or pick up my skirts and run from the room for all I’m worth. But I intend to keep whatever scraps of dignity I still possess after defying Ash.

He lets out a long sigh, setting down his goblet on the table. His attention flicks to me. “Go stand with the other servants along the wall, will you, my dear?”

My own sigh escapes between my teeth.The other servants.

Anger burns in my gut. Anger and humiliation.

Our shared kisses this afternoon feel like a lifetime ago. Another world entirely. He was a different person, the one I deeply care about. This is the mask.

It is an ugly mask indeed.

It’s only now that I realize it’s not all for show. This is the ruthless side of Ash, the terrifying Prince of the Fae that Amelia begged me to run away from. This is the son of my kingdom’s enemy. This is a deadly, bitter, vengeful prince.

Rahk was wrong.

Ash never fully pulled out of that darkness after his mother was killed. He’s in it right now. It’s in the voice telling me to stand along the wall, as though I’m nothing but his pet. A dog. A slave for his pleasure.

Send for a white dress.

I incline my head toward Ash in a single nod, then turn, march toward the wall lined with humans every five paces, and situate myself as close as I dare to the door that opens in the direction of Rahk’s room.

This far away from Ash, he cannot protect me like before. I need an escape route.

Now is not the time to wallow in my embarrassment as the chatter resumes around the table, as I watch Ash turn and begin conversing with the woman on his left, taking sips from his goblet and kicking the leg he has flung over the side of his chair. He lazily addresses those seated at the table.

Now is the time to watch carefully for any threats.

The doors on the opposite side of the banquet hall open. My biggest threat saunters right in. Faradir wears robes of sapphire blue, making his eyes twice as spectacular. He moves with the confident ease of a panther through a jungle. His gaze shoots straight to Ash—and he pauses suddenly. He glances around the room until he finds me. Standing against the wall in my beautiful gown between human servants. Satisfaction twists his lips.

He takes a seat, leaning on the armrests as he smiles down the table at his gathered guests. “Welcome! Prince Trenian. Princess Oleria.” He continues down the line until he has addressed every guest, and they have addressed him. Then, with a sniff and not even a sideways glance: “Princess Stella.” He smiles at Ash. “I’m glad to see you’ve put your pet where it belongs.”

Ash merely inclines his goblet in reply, then returns to the conversation he’s having with Oleria. He says something to her and she laughs. Her retort earns her a smirk. There’s something different about her. Haughtiness doesn’t cloak her every movement, and the tilt of her head, the pretty smiles, strikes me as almost . . . genuine. Unpretentious. I don’t know why she helped me before, but I doubt staring at the back of her head will help me unravel the mystery of her motives.

I dare to release a sigh. I shift my weight between my legs, trying to ignore how exhausted I am, how much I long to sit down. If I lock my knees for too long, I’ll pass out, and that will only draw attention back to myself.

One of my biggest assets here is being beneath notice. Truly, I should be glad I’m here and not seated at that table. I’d be much too close to the High King for comfort, and it would be much more stressful than simply standing here.

Why am I lying to myself like this?

This stings. My pride, certainly, but an ache grows in my heart. I know Ash well enough to know this probably means nothing between us—he’s notactuallytrying to punish me. He’s notactuallyangry with me for refusing to obey him.

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