Page 142 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I don’t doubt that Stella can do it.

I doubt my own ability to let her do it.

She is not an expendable piece on a board. She is my wife, my entire soul, and to lose her would be to lose everything that ever mattered.

That aside, it might not even practically work. I have one test to run tomorrow on the extent of Stella’s magic. It’s a test I’m loath to do, but if it works, I might be able to bring this to an end even before Lulythinar even begins.

My hope feels like such a tentative, fragile thing in my chest, like a flickering candle ready to be blown out by a breath.

But I will hold the tiny flame of my hope like it is a torch ready to set a forest ablaze.

I stand, march over to the stack of books, and find a note on the topmost cover. My frown turns up in a smile as I read.

I couldn’t find where these belonged on your shelves. I made what I think are highly educated guesses for the rest. If you find your books out of place, blame it on yourself for treating them so horribly in the first place. I cannot believe I call you husband. -S

I’m grinning by the end of it. I stare at her pretty hand, the careful elegance of each letter, hear her voice in my head saying the words. Then I roll up the note until it’s smaller than my pinky finger and hide it in my drawer of poisons for safe keeping.

My blood pounds as I leave my study. It’s late, and by the darkness under the door of the bedroom, I can tell that Stella already went to sleep—likely exhausted after the toll these last several days have taken on her.

I open the door silently, then shut it behind me. My feet make no noise as I approach the bed.

There, just as I’d hoped, lies my wife on what has becomeherside of the bed. I’ve wanted to believe the days of her sleeping in her own room were long gone, and now I can only smile as I slip under the covers beside her.

“Finally,” she mumbles.

My eyebrows lift. I scoot closer until I can wrap one arm around her and pull her so she rests against my chest. Her eyes open, and they’re not at all fogged with sleep. She was awake, waiting for me.

That thought does a lot of things to my already pounding heartbeat.

“You’d better be Ash, because it’s so dark I couldn’t tell otherwise,” she says.

It’s a reminder that while she may have glamour magic, her eyes are still limited by human nature. She cannot make out the features of my face like I can hers. Part of me likes it, likes that I can read every twist of her sweet mouth, every emotion that shines in her beautiful eyes, likes that I can admire the color in her cheeks, the line of her jaw, the sweep of her nose, her delicate brow. Still, with a twist of my fingers, I use my magic to open the skylight so moonlight bathes us.

“You’re getting sassier by the day,” I reply, breathing in her scent deeply. “At this rate, I only have a few months before all the sweet turns to sass.”

“Oh, certainly not so long.”

I chuckle, cup the side of her face, and claim her lips in a long, lingering kiss. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

“Me, too.”

This time, I laugh out loud. Then I tighten my grip on her, tangle our legs together, and wonder how I’m supposed to spend the night with her and not cross boundaries that aren’t safe for us to cross while Faradir is on the throne.

“What do your tattoos mean?” Stella asks against my chest, tracing one finger along my biceps where there is a Small City acorn cap wheel.

I welcome the distraction as I caress her waist through the sothsril silk nightgown she wears. “They’re bargains. Or, rather, they represent the bargains I’ve made.”

She surveys my arm, all the many markings I’ve gained over the years. She has me roll up my sleeve to my shoulder to get a clearer glimpse of each tattoo in the moonlight.

“You’ve made a lot of bargains,” she says after a thorough study.

“Living in Faerie usually does that.”

“If I make bargains, will I get tattoos too?”

“You will.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think they would look good on me.”

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