Page 170 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“He was going to kill Hylath and Milton and all the rest!” Edvear screams back. “I had no choice!”

“No wonder the High King accepted my second bargain!” I’m shaking with rage, with hurt, with hatred. “Because he knew he had you all along to tell himeverythingI was planning! Itrustedyou!”

“Enough!” Rahk bellows and throws his body into mine with such force I am nearly knocked off my feet. I scramble to catch my balance, lose my grip on Edvear, and the moment I’m almost recovered Rahk barrels into me once more and smashes me against a marble column.

“Go save your wife,” he hisses at me when our faces are only a few inches apart. “What’s done is done. Edvear is a victim, not the enemy. So get ahold of yourself!”

I only stand there frozen for half a second, but it feels like time slows, expands, enough for the panic in my mind to crystallize.How can I not keep my balance? Every time I think I’m in control, think I have what it takes to overcome the High King, something shoves me to the ground. It’s as though I walk a tightrope of courage with gaping chasms of fear on either side, ready to swallow me the moment I take a misstep. And I’malwaystaking missteps.

It’s not hatred of the High King that is stronger than my love for you, Stella. It’s my fear of losing you.

Ash, I believe with all my soul that there is always, always happiness on the other side of heartbreak.

I love you, Stella.

Stella has been my guiding line, my north star since the moment she came into my life. She is the calm to my chaos, the reason to my madness, the hope to my despair.

I am better for having known you, Ash. Can you believe that? For me?

The memory of Stella’s face replaces that of Rahk’s before me. That first moment I saw her, when I removed her veil. The sheer terror always reflected in her gaze—it’s gone, and has been for some time.

Maybe I need to accept that, despite the heartbreak of our circumstances, we have made each other better. And that even if this ends worse than I could have imagined, I wouldn’t give up the time we had with each other. Iwon’tgive it up.

My father may take her away from me, but he can never take away my love for her, or the happiness I found with her. Those are mine, forever.

“I won’t touch Edvear,” I growl. “We need to get to Stella.”

With that, Rahk releases me, and we break into the fastest run of our lives to the place where my gut justknowsFaradir has taken her.

We reach the massive double doors with the carved oak and its spreading foliage and vast root network. The usual guards are gone, probably out celebrating on the blood-soaked lawn.

“I’m with you,” Rahk murmurs under his breath.

Those soft words bring a sudden lump to my throat.

“He’s fighting to keep his tyranny,”Stella once told me.“But you are fighting for freedom. For hope, for peace. For me, Ash. That’s why you won’t break.”

When I drag my composure under control and shove open those double doors, it is for those that I love. Stella, Rahk, my mother, Oleria, Hylath, Calver, my whole staff—even Edvear—the Small Cities, and for those who sang the Call of Lulythinar earlier. It is for what is good in the human lands and in all of Faerieland that I step into that room and face the man sitting on his throne. The man I call Father.

He smiles at me, long and slow and triumphant.

In his palm is a small, clear globe of glass, and trapped inside, shrunken to the size of one of my fingers . . . is Stella.

Chapter 65

The Prince

Stella’s tiny hands bangagainst the glass, her mouth moves—like she’s trying to shout to me, to tell me something. Not a sound escapes the globe.

The High King gives it a little toss. My stomach bottoms out. He catches it. Tosses it again. I swallow hard.

“Prince Rahk, it pains me that my son has brought you into this,” Faradir says. “I would hate for you to become collateral damage.”

Rahk, ever collected, executes a bow and replies, “I have no intention of becoming thus, High King. Thank you for your concern.”

Faradir gives Stella another toss. When he catches her again, her face is the color of murky seawater. She presses a bracing hand against the wall of the globe, the other to her stomach. “Suit yourself. Prince Trenian, I believe we have something to discuss.”

I itch to draw my blade, to send it hurtling through the air into Faradir’s heart. But he would be expecting that, and at any moment, he can smash the globe to the floor and kill Stella.

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