Page 122 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I almost wish I didn’t remember what happened. That I didn’t remember the fool I was with them, with Ash. The way Ibegged him to kiss me. The way he caved, kissing me with such tormented passion, I was left breathless.

I’m glad he pulled away when he did. I never would have kissed him if I hadn’t been so intoxicated. I would have been reeling still from the banquet, the throne room. The realization that Ash was only a few steps away from being no better than the High King.

I told him I planned to run away. I told him practically everything.

My feet ache from dozens of tiny cuts. When I try to stand, they hurt even more. I pull them back under the covers. Just for a moment. I lean back against the bedframe, staring out the windows at the fairy garden beyond. So beautiful, so magical. My little herbs on the sill are spilling out of their containers, growing faster than I ever believed possible. I’ll have to repot them soon.

I don’t want to give up on Faerieland, on Ash.

Iwantto do everything in my power to make this work.

But I just cannot shake the feeling that this is so much bigger than I can understand, that the prudent thing is to slip away before it’s too late. I have no place in this game of immortals—except as a pawn. A piece on the gameboard for him to maneuver. It’s time I recognized that.

I might be a favored piece. Even a beloved one. But I’m still apiece.

That’s when the memory hits me. Ash’s bargain. My people. The invasion.Amelia.

Oh, heavens have mercy.

I throw off the blankets, ignore the pain in my feet as I shove open the door, race through the bedroom, and into the hallway. I glance around, panting, then make a beeline for the closed door of Ash’s study.

Grabbing the handle, I twist and shove. The door swings wide.

Ash is draped half across his desk, his head barely propped up by his hand. He wears a snug pair of trousers and a white shirt that is rolled up to his elbows and gaping wide at the throat, revealing quite a bit of muscular chest. Stubble lines his jaw, his hair a disheveled disaster, and when he lifts his eyes to me, they’re sunken in shadows.

He’s a mix of disastrous fae beauty and sleep deprivation.

Was he telling the truth when he said fae don’t need as much sleep as humans, or does he just run himself ragged?

A mirthless smile tilts his lips. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweet darling. Come to berate me for my conduct last night?”

Heady memories of his mouth on mine, on my neck, his hands in my hair flood me. My stomach flips, my face going hot. I shove it all away. “My people!” I burst, wringing my hands. “Aursailles! We have to—”

“The High King accepted my bargain.”

I stop. “What?”

“He accepted my bargain to delay the conquest.”

His voice is dull, his shoulders slumped, his eyes empty of their usual fire.

“You don’t look happy.”

He lifts one sardonic brow. “Should I be?”

He’s slipping into that darkness again. If he falls too far, I won’t be able to reach him. I lower my voice. “What aren’t you telling me, Ash?”

A dark grin spreads across his face and he plants his hand flat on his desk, lifting the rest of his body with some effort, until he’s leaning back in his chair. Staring at me. I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I’d thought to grab a robe before barreling in here in nothing but a nightgown.

“Where should I begin?” he asks, trailing his ringed finger along the smooth edge of the knife resting on his desk. “I’m considering remarrying.”

My stomach bottoms out. Even so, I don’t move. I don’t speak. Later, I’ll let the hurt and betrayal wash over me. For now, I keep my spine straight.

“If I can’t get the High King off the throne by Lulythinar, I am bound by an oath stronger than death to destroy the human continent.”

That, at least, I knew. I knew that was the risk we took fighting for a delay.

He pushes up on his desk, unfolding to his full height. He regards me with that cold smile. The one that he wears before his father. The one that isn’t him at all.

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