Page 163 of Bride of the Fae Prince

The realization hits me like a blow. When did it stop? The moment Ash’s tattoo disappeared?

Ash comes to an abrupt halt when we reach the palace greens. I almost go racing past him, but he pulls me back and tucks me behind him.

At once, I realize how loud my breathing is.

How quiet everything else is.

How still the hundreds of fae around us have gone.

Sweat slides down my back as I peer around Ash to see what has made him stop short. My blood runs cold as ice.

Because there, in front of Faradir’s throne, is a young woman I’ve never seen before, shuddering on her knees, her wrists bound behind her. Perhaps I wouldn’t have recognized her at all, if it hadn’t been for the pair of ripped, bloodied wings lying in the dust at Faradir’s feet.

The High King looks up, directly at me.

He smiles.

Chapter 62

The Prince

At first, I canhardly think past the horror, can hardly suppress the urge to vomit right here in front of all Valehaven.

The second thought?

Someone betrayed me.

This wasn’t a failure of my plan. Someone betrayed us. One of the human servants we hired?

It doesn’t matter who.

All I know is that everything—everything—is compromised.

If everything is compromised, then there is only one thing I’m sure of.

Stella needs to get out of here.

Before I can move a muscle, the words Faradir is speaking register in my mind. “She is yours as a token of our continued goodwill. She will make a beautiful bride, even without her wings.”

That is when I notice who stands opposite, where Oleria shivers in pain. Or ratherwhat.

He stands as tall as the Neverseen King, with rows of black braids down his head and back, garments made of fur and an iron breastplate against his mostly bare chest. In one hand, he holds a massive staff with a glowing blue orb that casts a strange color onto Faradir’s golden smile.

He is a fae . . . from beyond the Veil.

Oleria—I need to save her! I need to intervene somehow—

But even before I’ve drawn my sword, the barbarian fae takes Oleria’s arm, pulls her to her feet, scoops her over his shoulder . . . and vanishes with a flash of the orb on the end of his staff.

She’s gone.

Oleria is gone. Beyond the Veil. I have no way of reaching her unless I beg the Neverseen King to let me use one of his portals—a request that would certainly be denied. Even then, I might end up at the right place, but the wrong time by thousands of years.

She is well and truly . . .gone.

“Oleria,” Stella chokes, tears streaming down beneath her mask.

I don’t bother looking at Faradir, don’t bother glamouring my expression. There is room now for only one thought.

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