Page 28 of Bride of the Fae Prince

So I stay.

His head lifts, enough that our eyes can meet, and he speaks clearer, firmer. The language is still unintelligible to me, but the intensity of his expression makes me think this is serious,whatever he is saying. A lock of his hair falls onto his forehead, the chiseled edges of his face painted in light and shadow.

Then he says my name, right in the middle of that string of nonsense. The glowing gold string wraps around our hands, binding them together. At some point, my mouth has dropped open, and I’m gaping. At him, at this string from his heart.

He stops speaking, lowers his head, and winces. His free hand presses against his chest as he takes a deep breath. The glow around our hands doesn’t subside. Is this exhausting for him? Draining or painful?

“My lord? Are you well?”

“Ash. Not lord.Ash.” He lifts his head. “And I am fine. Merely struggling to access my magic in this stifling air.”

“Would it help to open a window?”

He blinks at me in surprise for several long heartbeats, and then a grin spreads across his face. “I wish, love. Now, it’s your turn. Can you repeat after me?”

Repeat after him? In another language? I struggle enough in my own. My toes tingle with numbness. “B-but I d-don’t have magic,” I say.

“You will have mine to draw from.”

“It w-will h-hurt you?”

“Think of it like sprinting as compared to walking. It is only painful when done too long.”

I give a slow, hesitant nod, not wanting to speak again.

“Are you ready?”

I nod again, my throat closing.

“Rometh elrial tadoth,” he says.

I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, twisting my free hand into my dress to hide how it clenches into a fist. My heart hammers, my throat turning to sandpaper. “R-r-r-roometh elri-i-iel tadooth.”

“Good,” he whispers. “Samens lir dyketor.”

“S-samens leer dye-dye-ketor.”

“Very good.” He gives me more sounds to make, but with each of his gentle reassurances, my anxiety eases, and with it, my words become clearer. Then he gives me his name. “Trenian Ashrift Solavirth.”

“Trenian Ashrift Solavirth,” I repeat. I open my eyes, and then open them some more in shock when I see a pearlescent white strand twining around my arm and wrapping around our hands. I almost jerk away and try to shake it off.

A few more collections of strange syllables, and then Ash announces, “That’s it.”

The glow of the strands around our hands illuminates his face. A kernel of wonder hatches in my breast, expanding into something that swells almost too large for my rib cage.

My husband is everything I could have dreamed of—and more. How were the cards dealt thus, that my husband would be both handsome and good, strong and kind?

“What did I say?” I ask.

“You pledged yourself heart, body, and soul to me and no other, as long as we both shall live. And you gave me permission to forgo addressing you by your royal title.”

“And you promised me the same thing?”

“Similar things, yes.”

“What’s next?” I breathe.

“I said I would never hurt you, but I must make a slight caveat to that. The bonding needs blood to finish. Only a drop from each of us. May I prick your finger?”

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