Page 120 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“They don’t have a choice. Whoever sits on that throne is their ruler, whether they like it or not.” That doesn’t mean they’d behappyabout it. I wipe down her foot, and when she flinches, I search for the piece I missed.Plink.I set her other foot in the bowl while I wrap the first in a towel. It’s a very good thing I have something to do with my hands while my mind spins and my heart breaks.

She strokes her fingers through my hair, and for one stolen moment after I finish picking the glass out of her other foot, Ipause what I’m doing, close my eyes, and revel in how good it feels.

“I was angry with you at dinner,” she says, her tone still light. “Sometimes you scare me, Ash. I care about you very much. But if I’m not safe with you, I’m not safe with anyone in Faerieland.”

I groan, leaning my head against her knee, my palm cupped around her ankle, my thumb grazing her calf. “Stella.”

“You sound very sad,” she says, combing my hair and tilting my head back so she can look down at me and offer me a smile in an attempt to cheer me up. She’s soveryintoxicated. “I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be so broken after your mother’s death.”

I go rigid.

She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she keeps threading my hair through her fingers. “I think that’s what I’m afraid of. That you’ll cherish your hatred of your father more than your love for me.”

I’ve stopped moving entirely. Stopped breathing. I stare at her free hand, the one resting on her leg.

“That’s why my heart is broken,” she whispers. “And that’s why I’m going to run away.”

My hands tremble. All of me is trembling. I want nothing but to pull her into my arms, to bare my heart to her, to tell her that she is everything—everything—to me. To beg her to stay with me.

Instead, I dry my hands, get to my feet, and stare down at her. Anger burns in my gut. Anger and fear—so,somuch fear. I plant my hands on either side of her, bringing my face to her upturned one until we breathe the same air. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Kiss me, Ash,” she says softly.

“Not tonight,” I whisper, despite how I long to. “Not while you’re intoxicated. I won’t leave you with regrets.”

She tilts her mouth up toward mine, nuzzling her nose against my cheek. “I could never regret kissing my husband.”

I let out a low, breathy chuckle. A strangely warm sound when my body is ice, and everything inside me is breaking. “Says the woman who claims she’s going to run away from me.”

“This might be our last chance. We shouldn’t waste it.”

I stare down into her face, her closed lids, the soft curve of her cheeks, the fan of her lashes, the elegant line of her brow. Am I even strong enough to give her up so I don’t lose her? Lifting one hand, I tangle it into her hair, pulling her toward me until our foreheads touch, our mouths only a fraction of an inch apart.

“It’s not hatred of the High King that is stronger than my love for you, Stella,” I whisper against her lips. “It’s my fear of losing you.”

“If you were afraid of losing me, you’d kiss me.”

“You’re intoxicated.”

She peels back just enough to glare at me with those doe-like eyes. “That’s notmyfault. It’s notmyfault that you’re handsome, and that I like you even though you were cruel to me tonight. It’s notmyfault that we’re married and married people are supposed to kiss. So why do you punish me as though it’s my fault?”

Perhaps I am more than a little intoxicated myself, because I cannot find the flaw in this logic. Not when she’s so close, her silky hair in my fingers, her willing mouth hovering just below mine.

“If I kiss you,” I say, breathless, hating myself for my own weakness, “then you cannot be angry with me tomorrow.”

She smiles, and my gaze snags on her curving lips as she twines her arms around my neck. My heart rages in my chest, thundering like a wild beast. I can’t keep balancing on this precarious edge—I need to fall. Either into a stolen kiss, or into the distance I need to create.

“Deal,” she whispers.

My control snaps.

I claim her mouth, dragging her against me as our lips move together. My fist tightens around her hair, our souls twining with each kiss. I can’t get close enough to her. Hooking my hand behind her knee and pulling her until she’s flush against me still isn’t enough. It’s just as well, isn’t it? She’ll never belong to me. Though she’s my wife, we cannot have a future together. Even these moments are stolen, bargained for with the entire human world and the life of my only love. She wouldn’t even be kissing me if not for the fruit.

I’m the one who starts weeping first, trails of salty tears landing on her cheeks. I can’t stop kissing her. The world can burn, burn, burn, and I’ll stay here, Stella’s lips the only song I want to sing. I want her—nothing but her.

Have I wanted too much by wanting her? Have I taken too much by kissing her now? It doesn’t matter; nothing can tear me away now that I’ve started. Now that she clings to me, now that her own tears mingle with mine. Neither of us letting go, both of us knowing we should. Why do we fight this ill-fated battle?

I break away, gasping. “We should stop.”

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