Page 150 of Bride of the Fae Prince

He reaches back, grabs hold of the armrest of his throne, stabilizing himself. One shaking hand lifts, points at Stella.

My heart goes to my throat.

The Neverseen King, and everyone else, has gone silent as death.

“Whatisthat?” Faradir growls. His tone rises in panic. “Whatisthat?”

At first, it takes me a moment to understand his reaction. Then it hits me.

He can see that she’s glamoured. But he cannot see through that glamour.

That is the information I needed tonight.

And . . . it’s not what I hoped for.

I cup the back of Stella’s lolling head, tuck it against my heart, and my voice echoes through the silent crowds, through the shadows the Neverseen King wears, through the lumiral globes strung through tree branches: “Whoever did this, I will make them pay.”

Then I scoop my wife up in my arms, and get halfway back to the palace before the High King’s furious voice cuts through the confused din behind me.

“Guards! Bring back to me what he carries! The human isnotdead!”

I curse under my breath. “Sorry, darling,” I mumble to Stella as I sling her over my shoulder and break into the fastest run of my life. Rushing air dries my wet cheeks, and my grief from a few minutes ago is entirely forgotten, transformed into pure determination that I will get my wife back to my chambers whole.

Chapter 56

The Princess

I barely maintain myglamours while slung over Ash’s shoulder like a sack of rice. It’s harder than I thought it would be to maintain my death glamour while fighting the poison’s influence spreading through my body. Harder still to listen and try to understand what is happening around me.

The sluggish weakness in my limbs makes me feel like a trapped ragdoll. Completely helpless and vulnerable. Ash’s shoulder digging into my hips only makes it worse.

Still, I cannot hide from the glow of Ash’s sword when he draws it, the sudden spatter of bright blood on the marble steps, or the guards’ cries of pain that cut off abruptly.

Then Ash is running again, and I wish my hands were strong enough to catch hold of his tunic and hold on. The fog in my mind and ache in my body clears enough for me to be worried Ash will trip on my gown while he’s running, and then the thought is gone like all my strength.

“Prince Trenian!” someone bellows. More guards?

Ash doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge them. He only races through the empty palace hallways as though his life depends on it.

I release my glamours, unable to hold on to them any longer. It probably makes no difference anyway in my appearance. My flopping arms are gray as death.

Then, at last, a door opens, and the smell of our quarters washes over me. I sag in limp relief when the door shuts once more.

“Edvear!” Ash shouts, carrying me toward the couches before laying me down. The knuckles he brushes over my cheek are flecked in blood, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I barely have the strength to roll my eyes toward Edvear’s stubby horns as he comes running from the kitchen.

“My lord!” he cries, his mirror clutched in one hand. “I sent one of the servants to monitor everything tonight, and . . . and . . .”

“Did the High King get him?” Ash demands, his touch turning cold. He is kneeling beside me, and from my vantage point, all I can see of him is his tense brow, the lock of long hair falling over his circlet crown, and his beautiful eyes, now darkened with something akin to panic. “Did he get another of my servants?”

“No, no, my lord. It’s . . . Right after you ran . . .”

Ash snatches the mirror from Edvear. His hand slides from my face to grip my shoulder, and his gold-flecked eyes harden as he clenches his jaw.

“Wh-what—” I start to ask, barely able to make my lips and tongue move.

Ash’s hand on my shoulder tightens. He hands the mirror back to Edvear, briefly turns his face away from me.

My heart quickens with dread. I try to rise, can only find barely enough strength to lift my head. “Ash, what—”

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