Page 132 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Chapter 46

The Princess

Edvear gives me glamourprompts to practice while he sorts mail. He made sure the servants were busy elsewhere so they wouldn’t intrude. When I told him about my magic—and urged him to not tell the other servants until Ash said he could—both his eyebrows shot up toward his horns. He seems to work so hard at keeping his composure that he tries not to let much show on his face, but this news apparently came as a shock. He recovered himself quickly, rearranged his features in solemnity and said, “That is wonderful news, my lady. We are all happy that you recovered so quickly.”

My chest warmed a little at the kind words, and he brought his work into the washroom to help me practice.

After his sixth command—to glamour myself as a potted plant, after which he shook his head in disbelief—I ask: “How is Hylath?”

A crease forms across his brow. His attention focuses harder on the letters he sorts in different piles. For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. His Adam’s apple bobs once.

“She is healing fairly well,” he says eventually, his voice a little thicker than usual. “The blindness . . . is an adjustment, though.”

My vision clouds, my stomach turning heavy. Both for Hylath, for what she has lost, but also for Edvear. There’s a weariness in his voice, a sadness born of losing much. How many servants and friends has he lost because of the High King’s feud with Ash?

Edvear’s throat bobs once more, his face losing every line, every care. His bearded jaw tightens, and his voice returns to normal. “Try glamouring yourself like Ash again, but this time, practice his mannerisms. Glamour is only half of a disguise. If you’re going to do what I think His Highness will have you do, you’ll need to learn to mimic the body language and the mannerisms of the people you’re disguising yourself as.”

With that, we go back to work.

Ash doesn’t emerge fromhis study for the rest of the day. I practice glamours, and Edvear coaches me on how to observe different people’s distinct mannerisms, how to incorporate them into my glamours. He has me glamour myself into inanimate objects and watch as he calls and interacts with different servants. Then he has me imitate them and offers me critique until I’ve mastered each one.

We spend most of the day working on it, moving around to different locations in the quarters to avoid becoming too suspicious, taking breaks for meals and once for me to lie down after being hit by a wave of fatigue. A maid brings me tea when I wake up, and Edvear insists that we take things a little slower, since I’m still recovering from my illness.

Twice, I sneak up to Ash’s door, listen to the scratching of his quill on paper, and then return to my room. The second time, it is long after dark and I am ready for bed in a light blue nightgown. My hand rises to knock, but then the sound of his quill reaches my ears. He’s still working so hard; I don’t want to disturb his focus. I shove away the disappointment, the voice that whispers,“We might only have a few more days together,”and leave.

Yes, I want his goodnight kisses and embraces. But I don’t want to distract him from what he needs to do to save himself, to save me—to save all of Faerieland.

It sweetens my heart, however, to realize that I do not carry my old fear of being turned away, of him either not wanting to see me or not caring. I know that if I knock on that door, if I poke my head in, I will be warmly welcomed.

That is why I’m smiling when I shut our bedroom door, climb into the giant bed, and fall soundly asleep.

I wake much warmerthan I fell asleep, but the world is still dark. Hot lips trail kisses from my temple to my ear. A hand strokes down the side of my ribcage to my hip, then back up again. Ash’s familiar scent envelops me as he wraps his body around mine and whispers, “Go back to sleep, love. I just missed you.”

I roll over, burrow into his chest, and obey.

Chapter 47

The Prince

Morning comes far tooearly. My eyelids are heavy and my head foggy when I find Edvear’s unwelcome face leaning over me, his fingers tapping lightly on my shoulder.

Stella is fast asleep in my arms, one strap of her nightgown falling down her shoulder. Edvear is the only reason I quickly slide it into its proper place and drag my eyes away from the fan of her lashes, and cascade of her light hair.

“The Neverseen King is in your living room,”Edvear mouths to me.

“What?”I reply, more out of surprise.

“The Neverseen King. Living room.”

This is one way to start the day. I assumed he’d come after dawn, at least. Edvear slips back out of our room. Slowly, as gently as I can, I extricate myself from my sleeping wife. As much as I’d rather stay here, curled up with her soft form, not even the High King would ignore the Neverseen King.

And I invited him anyway.

Stella stirs when I stand, but I quickly lean over, smooth her hair away from her face and press a kiss to her cheek.

“Keep sleeping,” I tell her in a whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t even open her eyes, and her breathing evens and slows. I barely look away from her as I dress and rake a comb through my hair.

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