Page 129 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I want to see him as a father.

A sharp knock on the door behind us makes us both jump.

Then Ash groans and pulls me into another kiss before breaking it off and growling, “Go away. I’m punishing my wife.”

Edvear coughs on the other side of the door. “The tailor is here, my lord. With Lady Stella’s Lulythinar gown.”

And just like that, the reality of life crashes back down on us. Ash lets out a great sigh, looking at me from beneath hooded eyes. As though he’s very tempted to tell the tailor to go find someone else to deliver dresses to.

“I’m not done with you,” he growls, pressing one last kiss just below my jaw. His shoulders drop slightly, and he stays there,his mouth hovering above my neck. “But you should probably order that white dress.”

“I won’t,”I almost whimper, almost pull him back to me. It’s nigh impossible to imagine leaving now. My heart would be too broken. But even if I have no intention of leaving, Ash is right. I shouldn’t close off my options. There’s still time before Lulythinar for something to happen. The High King could pull some trick that Ash can’t counter.

But maybe, if it was bad enough, Ash could come with me. We wouldn’t have to separate. We could go together. He could hide until his father died, until it was time for him to take the throne.

I’m not sure if the tailor lets princes come, but if there’s a chance that Ash and I can be together . . .

I don’t want to give up on that.

My cheeks are warm when I leave Ash’s study. His presence looms behind me, prickling my awareness as we enter the living area. This glamour thing is coming in handy; I have only to wish my hair was primly arranged and my dress wrinkle free, and it is so.

My husband, on the other hand, feels no need to make himself presentable, and when he flops on the settee in the living room, he looks even more disheveled than he did when I first entered his study.

The tailor and three human aides carry an enormous garment bag into the living room. I resist the urge to join Ash on the settee for fear the color in my cheeks will never leave. Or . . . can I glamour that, too?

I wish my cheeks to be creamy rather than tomato red. The heat doesn’t dissipate, but when the tailor looks at me, standing beside where Ash leans on the settee’s armrest, his glance is cursory and returns only a second later to the gown he brings.

“Would Princess Stella care to try the dress on?”

“That won’t be necessary. I assume you have made no mistakes,” Ash says.

“No mistakes were made, Highness.”

“I think,”—my voice cracks slightly, but I force myself to keep speaking—“I should also like a white dress. I believe that was an oversight when we first ordered my wardrobe.”

Ash makes no move, just continues staring with infinite boredom at the care the tailor and his aides take to lay the dress on the opposite couch.

The tailor nods once, makes a note on a pad he pulls from his pocket, and says only, “You are quite right, my lady. Please forgive the oversight. I will have the dress sketch to you on Lulythinar’s Eve and if you approve it, the dress will be delivered on Lulythinar.”

I translate this as:I will tell you the plans for escape, then you will leave Faerieland on Lulythinar.

“I hope you had no intention of wearing the dress before then,” Ash says with an irritable scoff that I could have sworn was real.

“I have plenty of dresses, my prince. I’m sure I can wait until then.”

“Thank you for your patience, Princess Stella,” says the tailor. “We will not deliver it late.”

“See to it that you don’t. You are dismissed.”

The tailor bows once to each of us. He doesn’t even glance at me this time, but quietly motions for his aides to follow him as Edvear opens the door for them.

Once it’s shut, Ash’s sharp gaze shoots to mine from beneath the long strands of his tousled hair. He catches my hand, and while I watch, brings my knuckles to his lips. He holds my eyes as he flips my hand and places a second kiss to my palm. It’s warm and tingling and intimate—and I’m suddenly very aware of Edvear bustling around behind us.

“I wouldn’t have guessed his ploy,” Ash says, “but I’m afraid you couldn’t have requested a dress without me knowing something was off.”

“Was I that obvious?” I ask, horrified. Does the tailor think I exposed him to Ash?

“Certainly. Because you never ask for things for yourself. You’re a princess, you know. You have every right to be just a little capricious.” His kiss moves to my inner wrist.

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