Page 23 of Bride of the Fae Prince

My grip on his arm tightens as he removes his hand from mine and turns toward me. He hooks his knuckles under my chin, lifting my face toward his.

I can’t swallow. Cannot even breathe.

My gaze fixes on his mouth. His thumb brushes over my lips, as if locating them beneath my veil. Then, without removing the layer, he leans down toward me.

I cannot even close my eyes as his lips gently press against my veil-shrouded mouth. I’m not sure how much it counts as a kiss, but the veil doesn’t keep me from feeling the softness of his mouth. It’s over before I can blink. He straightens and returns his hand to cover mine, almost as if nothing happened.

Meanwhile, I go dizzy on my feet. The priest’s words are like hammers against a pounding headache.

Then, suddenly, they stop. Cheering starts, though it’s a stagnant and limp sort of sound, and I realize it’s done. It’s official.

I’m married.

I cannot bring myself to look up, to look into that piercing blue gaze of the fae prince who is now my husband. I can feel it on the top of my head, burning into my hair. He wants me to look at him, but I simply cannot do it.

His thumb slides to the sensitive part of my inner wrist and gives a stroke as he turns us to face the onlookers. Amelia is crying, which I can tell from the way she keeps slipping a kerchief beneath her veil to dab at her eyes. My other sisters stand like they are carved from marble. My father wears a grim expression.

Vivienne steps forward. “I will escort Princess Isabelle Louise to the bridal chambers.”

The prince’s grip tightens on my hand, and he shoots a narrow look at her. “I think not.”

And with that, he takes off, dragging me behind him down the corridor, away from the chapel. His warrior steps in line behind us. I nearly let out a startled squeak, and we’ve only gotten a few steps away when my father’s voice cuts through the din.

“She must stay beneath my roof tonight. You may not take her until dawn.”

The prince stops abruptly. I stumble to a halt in this cumbersome dress. The warrior behind us—ever silent—also stops. Prince Trenian turns to look over his shoulder. I don’t look up enough to read his face, but the ire is plain in his tone.

“I will abide by my terms of our agreement. I expect you to do the same.” He smiles—something cold and vicious. “We wouldn’t want to find out what would happen if you didn’t.”

Then, to my shock, his hand slides around my waist. I suck in a breath. He bends, and my eyes widen as his other arm scoops me up under my knees. I frantically grab hold of his shoulder with one hand, and his lapel with the other. My skirts are so full, they poof high enough to almost block his vision. He glances at me, and I cannot read his expression. It’s a mixture of possessiveness, anger, and perhaps a tinge of bitterness. Then those lips that just kissed mine twist up in a sardonic kind of humor, and I know exactly why I’ve been terrified of him this whole time.

There’s wildness beneath that princely veneer. A wildness that has just laid claim to me.

He hefts me more firmly in his arms and marches around the corner, out of view of my family and the people of our court.

This veil might not have been the worst idea. It hides my mortification from anyone who looks, including my new husband.

“Rahk,” orders the prince, and the warrior lengthens his stride until he is walking beside us. “Find this Great King’s cursed bridal chamber for me before I look too much like a fool.”

I blink. His tone has completely shifted from how he addressed my father. He almost sounds bored now. This will take some getting used to. To my surprise, Rahk only smirks and says in a deep, low voice, “Follow me.”

The prince does, his grip on me never faltering.

We wind through hallways that I’ve known all my life, but they feel different tonight. The distant sounds of feasting echo through the corridors, yet it only seems to emphasize the ever-sure footfalls of my new husband filling the air around me. I hold on to his lapel as though I’ll die if I let go. He hardly looks at me—but it almost seems like he’s trying not to.

There’s a new sound at the end of the hallway, and Rahk’s steps slow. I twist my neck to get a peek, and find a maid curtsying before a doorway wreathed in white roses.

“You are dismissed,” says the prince.

The maid curtsies again and swallows visibly. “Your Highness does not want aid with the gown?”

The prince stops before the door, and glances down at the mounds of fabric in his arms. My breath goes shallow at his study. A roguish grin spreads across his face, making my skin turn considerably warmer than before.

“I like to pick and choose my battles,” he says. “Brocade isn’t one I have an interest in approaching without a knife.”

The maid curtsies. The prince sets me on my feet. I wobble, and he steadies me with a hand on my low back.

“We won’t be long, Your Highness,” says the maid, and ushers me into the bridal chamber. The door shuts behind us with a thud that rattles my bones. Inside, the room is softly lit with candles, illuminating the enormous four-poster bed at the center of the space. I put out a hand to catch myself against the wall.

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