Page 19 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I stare evenly at the king. This is the one part of my plan that I detest with all my soul. The simple fact that Faerie is not only a dangerous place for humans—it is not a place for humans at all.

Humans die there. Many at the High King’s hand.

Isabelle Louise is a human. There is no telling how long she will last, but when her time doubtlessly comes to an end, I will watch her die.

And I will hate myself for bringing her there.

The tattoo on my wrist burns as if freshly seared. An ever-present reminder that there is no going back now. There is no retreat. There is only forward. I set my jaw in a determined line and face the father of the girl whose death I will solidify.

“Then you may not have her,” says Roland.

I’m actually surprised. This human is improving on me. I’m glad he will put up at least some semblance of a fight for his daughter’s safety. But they need this marriage as much as I do. In the end, he will cave.

“Then you will not have my promise of safety and peace for your lands,” I say coolly. “My father is greedy to expand his borders. He moves slowly now, testing the waters, but he thirsts for blood. Who will protect your daughter when he declares war? Will she be safe then?”

Roland says nothing, and his advisors glance uneasily among themselves.

I retract my improved opinion of the king. He’s as spineless as I first thought.

When the silence continues, I press onward. “This is what I will give your daughter. I will take her as my wife, and so long as she lives, I will take no other. I will protect her, so that if anyone raises a hand against her, I will sever that hand and affix it to my wall, and should anyone make an attempt on her life, I will remove their head and give it as a toy to the fauns.”

The uneasiness turns to blankness. Confusion.

Maybe I’m not getting as far as I thought. I’ve always heard stories of humans being greedy, but I’ve never seen it quite to this extent. It’s time to pull out my trump card.

I lower my voice. “I will even give her a strand of my hair.”

“No one wants your hair!” bursts the king. “I want the assurance that my daughter will be cared for, respected, and protected as your bride. I want you to honor her.”

I frown. It occurs to me that he might not understand my hair offer. The things people in Faerieland will do for a strand of my hair! And it’s just blown off here with a sweep of the hand!

“Of course I will do those things,” I say, still frowning. Is he afraid I will go to all this trouble to get a human bride and then just toss her aside for the unseelie to eat? I think I’m offended.

“Then in that case . . .” Roland glances back at his advisors, then returns his gaze to me. “I accept your terms. We will have an official treaty written up for you to sign before the wedding.”

I cannot contain the small curl of smug satisfaction that escapes my composure. I didn’t think it would take much to make him capitulate. I’m mainly glad I didn’t have to sit here all day, arguing against his pretense of caring for his daughter, when clearly he views her as little more than bargaining material.

“Thank heavens,” I say. “I was about to pack up and go find a different bride.”

Chapter 8

The Princess

“Stand up straighter, IsabelleLouise!” barks Vivienne.

I comply, but shift my weight between my feet as subtly as I can. I’ve stood still as a rod during fittings like this before, and the reward was always passing out. I’d rather not begin my wedding day by fainting.

Vivienne is in an especially sour mood as I stand in her dress. Mine is not much better, as this dress is the last thing I would have chosen for myself. It’s notugly, but it is very . . . very . . .much. The skirt is so full I take up half the fitting room wearing it. It’s a nice shade of dark peppercorn blue, but soheavy, and covered in frills. It somehow manages to be both solemn and fanciful in a way that makes me feel like I’m walking in someone else’s shoes.

I won’t have to wear it long, though. Just through the ceremony. I won’t even have to attend the celebration following and trip my way through the banquet hall.

I will be in a bedchamber awaiting my husband.

A wave of lightheadedness passes over me, and I switch my weight to my other foot quickly. Last night, I told myself I wouldn’t worry. I needed to not scare him away first during our dance.Ensnaring him—as Father likes to put it—was my priority.

Now that he has confirmed that he wishes to marry me, and is in negotiations for my hand, it’s officially time to panic about tonight.

Part of me wants to postpone the panic even further until after the dress fitting and ceremony. But then there will be no more time to panic. It will be happening.

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