Page 13 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I’m a little insulted. But that’s beside the point.

If the king is lying about the veil custom, then he has something to hide. Nothing else seemed strange about her, aside from how short her human frame was and that she was covered in lace and brocade from head to toe. Humans have such ghastly taste in fashion. It makes sense that she is unbecoming. Or perhaps she cannot speak or has some disfigurement.

If it is merely cosmetic, I do not mind. If she’s particularly unbecoming, it might be more difficult to convince my father that I truly fell in love with her. His version of lovecannot comprehend anything but admiring outward beauty and disregarding the rest.

I can always keep her veiled. It might even work in my favor to create an aura of mystery about her. If I glamoured her and gave her a veil that revealed glimpses of her jaw or mouth, just enough to convince onlookers she is some great beauty beneath . . .

So long as I can glamour her, it doesn’t matter for my plan what she looks like.

“There’s the plotting face,” says Rahk.

I blink and look up. The movement makes me realize how creased my forehead has become. I’ve been staring off into space, my chin propped up on my fist.

“She is a woman, my lord, not a pawn on a board,” says Edvear.

I level a glare at him. “I amawarethat she is a woman.”

Rahk crosses his arms over his chest. Light from the candles on the nearby vanity flickers over his face, casting it in severe shadow. “She looked frightened.”

“How could you tell? You couldn’t see her face. She looked a little stiff, but that could just be her personality.”

Rahk doesn’t answer, only sighs and pushes off the wall, making his way toward the pitcher of water and shallow basin set on the vanity for washing. He pours the water into the basin, grabs the cloth, and sets to scrubbing his face.

“What? How could you tell?” I twist around to look at him. “What did I miss? I cannot have you being able to read my wife better than I.”

“It was her hands.”

“What about them?”

“They . . . were sweaty.”

Sometimes I forget he has a nose like a seelie hunter. “Ah,” I say, nodding and leaning back in my chair, returning my feet totheir footstool. “I ought to put her at ease then. What kind of things do humans tell their children about us fae? Does she think she marries a demon monster like those beyond the Veil?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

I shoot a look at Edvear. “Do you?”

He shrugs.

“Useless lot of you,” I grumble. “Shall I have you scrape out my chamber pots for a fortnight for this failure?”

A concerned look spreads across Rahk’s face. “Scrape?”

“Shall I have your cook reassess your diet?” asks Edvear.

“Should have known you’d turn my teasing back on me,” I grumble and try to stand, only to have the chair come with me. “Great Kings, I never thought of myself as having wide hips, but this chair is making me reevaluate my entire life. Help me get it off, Edvear!”

As Edvear comes to aid me, my mind wanders again. Back to the veiled princess awaiting my suit of marriage. She cannot have a single clue what is going on. And Rahk is right—she’s probably terrified out of her wits.

I won’t marry her unless she agrees. I’ll ask her tonight. If she doesn’t want to marry me, I’ll pack up my entourage and move on to the next kingdom.

Is this the right thing?

In theory, it seemed exactly the right thing, but now that I’ve seen the girl, part of me cannot help but wonder if it’s too dangerous to bring a mortal into the equation, into Faerieland, as my wife.

But then my gaze lands on the tattoo circling my wrist. The reminder of my bargain with the High King.

It’s too late to back out now. I’ve set fate spinning into motion. I’ve placed my bets and gambled my very life in the process. No one will stand up to the High King if I don’t.

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