Page 157 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Then I whisper to him: “I think sometimes life takes us through dark times to get to the good times—the better times. And the goodness is so much sweeter for the hardship we endure.”

Ash lets out a short, low groan. One that is almost frustrated. “It doesn’t make me any less afraid of the darkness.”

I close my eyes against the rising tears, but I force my lips to part, my tongue to loosen, and my throat to open. I force myself to speak, no matter how difficult it is to say the words. “No, and when we’re in the depths of it, it’s hard to believe we will come out of it. But I tell you this so that if the darkness comes, part of you can remember . . . andbelieve. Because I know, Ash, I believe with all my soul, that there is always, always happiness on the other side of heartbreak.”

“If darkness comes,” Ash growls, and moonlight catches on his silent tears, making them glitter like stars, “then I will remember, and I will curse this memory, this moment, even as I treasure it. But if I ever did find happiness again, then maybe I will find my faith once more, and I will know that you were right. As you always are.”

His reply hits me like a salty wave against my ankles, insistent but gentle, stubborn and soft at once. Perhaps only some fears are meant to be overcome, while others are meant to be borne with dignity.

I tilt my face up to his, breathe out his name like a secret and a promise. “Trenian Ashrift Solavirth, I love you.”

“Isabelle Louise Stella Ashrift Solavirth,” he replies, taking my jaw in one of his large hands and guiding my lips to his, “you will forever enchant me.”

And so we trade secrets, kisses, fears, and hopes until the rays of Lulythinar’s dawn stream through the windows.

Chapter 58

The Prince

I rise a littleearlier than Stella, and after throwing on a few glamours, I’m ready to receive my guest.

Princess Oleria sits in my living room with one knee crossed over the other, a steaming teacup in one hand. Her silver hair is swept forward over one shoulder, likely to not disturb her shimmering wings. She sips daintily as I approach.

“Princess Oleria,” I say, sitting across from her and pouring my own cup of steamed, spiced mothweed milk from the set Edvear left.

“Prince Trenian,” she replies. Her expression isn’t smiling, but it’s still pleasant . . . even underscored with the concern and perhaps dread she likely experienced when I summoned her.

“I hope you are well,” I say, and I mean it. Part of me wishes Stella and I could have gotten to know her better. Perhaps even become friends.

She cocks one shapely eyebrow. “Please, Trenian. We can skip the formalities. What can I do for you?”

Very well. I take a deep breath, almost hating myself for the words that must come out of my mouth. “I . . . need you to kill the High King.”

Oleria doesn’t react at first. She takes another sip from her teacup, nods once, and says only, “I’m flattered by your faith in me.”

“I was going to have Stella do it.” Back when I had hope that she could be the one person to use glamours and get right up close to the High King without him noticing them. Instead, it’s almost worse that he cannot see through her glamours, because he can immediately register her as a threat. “But I no longer have a way for her to get close to him.”

“I see.” She’s quiet, contemplating.

“I know I’m asking for everything. I know I’m asking for your life,” I say quietly. “It’s not fair, and it’s not even right, but I have no other—”

Now her lips twist, almost ruefully. “Killing the High King wouldn’t kill me.”

I stop. Frown. A branch from the side table reaches out and accepts my teacup. “I beg your pardon?”

Instead of answering, she lets her glamours go. Like rain washing away paint, the glamoured Oleria is gone, replaced by the real girl. I take her in anew, my mouth opening in shock.

Before me is not the fae princess I’ve known at a distance for some ages. Her long, pointed ears are gone, leaving mostly rounded ears with slightly pointed tips. Her fae beauty melts into something still beautiful, but less ethereal. Something more grounded. Only her wings and silver hair remain unchanged.

It’s her scent, however, that hits me hardest. Hertruescent.

“You’re human.” The words are out before I can restrain them.

“Half human,” she corrects. “My mother was human. She was, as my father liked to say, his secret vice. So, when I was born, I was named princess, despite my heritage. Despite beingillegitimate. My fae blood gives me enough power to hide my human blood with glamours, which I have done my whole life.”

I cannot find a single word to speak. All this time, she was half human? And I never suspected it? It must put her at risk, to have that much of her magic occupied with maintaining glamours.

She gives a huff of dry amusement at my shock, shakes her head. Then she pulls each glamour back in place, and the Oleria I know sits before me once more. “Seeing as I am only part fae, the same laws don’t apply fully to me, and I could kill the High King without the same consequence.”

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