Page 139 of Bride of the Fae Prince

When the grand doors are opened for us and we enter the banquet hall, it’s different for me, too.

For the first time, no part of me is afraid of the tall, striking fae prince at my side. I know I am safe with him. There’s no fear he will turn on me or use me now.

He is fighting forme, not his throne. I am no longer the pawn, but the prize.

Maybe the rest of the courtiers seated at the High King’s table sense it too, because when the announcer calls our names, their eyes do not just fall on their own Prince Trenian. The weight of a dozen stares almost pins me in place. I’ve never been so visible before. Even when Ash first presented me to the High King’s court and all hell broke loose, the attention was on Ash and the fact that he had a human on his arm instead of a fae woman.

Now theylookat me. At my face. My dress. The beautiful crown I wear.

Ash is looking at me too.

His gaze is the most powerful of them all. It’s the one that overwhelms me and makes me look at my feet. It’s the one that makes a flush overtake my features, and because Ash strictly warned me against using my glamours tonight, I cannot hide it.

“Prince Trenian. Princess Stella,” everyone says.

Ash rattles off the names of everyone present, and for some reason I am surprised to hear Prince Rahk’s name and Princess Listhra’s. Princess Pelarusa is also present, and my nerves—which were so much more composed a second ago—decide to become fluttery and agitated. What if Rahk, Listhra, or Pelarusa look at me and somehow read the secret of what I did today?

As though my thoughts summoned him, Prince Rahk is staring at me. Is that a slight furrowing of his brow—perhaps in confusion? Curiosity?

Perhaps my scent glamours didn’t hold, and now that Ash is the one glamouring my human scent, perhaps his sensitive nose is picking up on something that would give me away.

To my shock, there are three chairs open. One for the currently absent High King, one for Ash . . . and one for me?

Ash flashes that magnanimous grin of his, and dramatic as always, takes my hand and leads me into a twirl before pulling out the empty chair next to Princess Pelarusa and gesturing for me to take my seat.

I do, and when he grabs the back of my chair, he leans down. His warm breath tickles a curl near my ear as he whispers softly: “I love you, Stella.”

He pulls his chair out and takes a seat, already engaging Rahk, who sits across from Pelarusa, in conversation.

Meanwhile, I sit like stone, shocked.

I have known for some time that he loves me. At first, I was hardly brave enough to admit he might like me. But as the days have gone by, I’ve not been able to lie to myself anymore. His love hasn’t been the point of contention in my mind anymore—it was whether his love was enough to overcome . . .everything else. Up until yesterday, I believed it wasn’t.

So, hearing it now, whispered in my ears, knowing the truth of it—knowing everyone else at this table heard it, too—I can hardly breathe.

Ash is still talking, though I can hear none of it, when he looks at me. His glance is brief, but it is heavy, weighted, warm and dark and soft and bright all at once. The look says,“You know I mean what I said.”

Beside me, Pelarusa has gone even more still than I, but she recovers herself much quicker. She says something to Listhra, who sits next to her, and they laugh.

I cannot help but wonder if Pelarusa did, indeed, go visit Listhra this afternoon and if she did, how that conversation went.

“High King Faradir!” the announcer cries.

Everyone echoes . . . everyone but me. I keep my lips sealed shut as the glorious king, with his long golden hair and luminescent skin and brilliant white robes, enters with a beaming smile and takes his seat at the head of the table.

He blinded Hylath. He killed Ash’s mother.

In a way, he’s been killing Ash since the day he was born.

I have never wanted anyone dead.

Not like I do now.

As though sensing the dark lance of my hatred, Faradir looks up—directly at me.

Blue eyes pierce mine. I don’t flinch. I hold his gaze.

And just for a fraction of a second, it’s like his glamours barely melt under my scrutiny. The veil covering the blackness of his heart with beauty lifts slightly, and his eyes darken.

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