Page 3 of Bride of the Fae Prince

The air turns stifling. Father’s arm is suddenly my only refuge, and I try not to give into the impulse to shrink a little closer to him. I hide my free hand in my skirts. Will King Ilbert notice how sweaty it is through my glove? Will it scare him away?

I scan the crowd of courtiers, foreign ambassadors, and two of my sisters’ betrotheds.So many people. Will I know King Ilbert when I see him? He’s a king—and yet my vision swims with lace, brocade, taffeta, piled mounds of curls. I steal a glance up at Father, and find his eyes pinned in one direction of the room. I follow that look, and find a tall man setting his goblet on a servant’s tray, his full attention at Father. And me.

He’s actually . . . not unbecoming. He is certainly much older than I am—twice my age, at least, I suspect—but he has a crisp jawline with a close-shaved beard and a pronounced brow that bespeaks a firmness of character, yet a pleasant smile stretches across his face when he sees us. A kind smile, I think?

My heart lifts.

He has a very slender physique, which is quite the opposite of my eldest sister’s intended, and he wears a finely cut black surcoat with elegant fur trimmings, a belt inlaid with precious stones, and a dark blue silk coat.

I can certainly do worse. Much, much worse.

Unless, of course, that jawline and smile are simply a veneer for a dark, malicious personality. How would I know? A ball doesn’t require masks to be a masquerade.

He bows cordially before my father, and then smiles at me as he bends over my hand. Can he feel how sweaty it is? Can he feel how I tremble? I hope my smile isn’t as wobbly as my fingers are in his.

“Princess Isabelle Louise,” he says, and flashes that warm smile once more.

I curtsy and my ankle chooses that very moment to waver—but I don’t fall or sway too grandly, I think. Does he notice? Am I to be known as the clumsy daughter as well as the least comely?

“Y-your Majesty,” I say. My voice is rail-thin and weak.

“May I have this dance?”

My gut thrills. Are my so-called wiles working? Or is he merely fulfilling his obligations? I hardly trust my voice when my stomach is so unsettled, so I merely incline my head and offer a smile.

“Music!” calls Father, clapping his hands at the musicians in the corner on their dais. Immediately, a lively tune begins on fiddles and an Algravian imported harpsichord. I glance at himas King Ilbert draws me toward the center of the ballroom. I’m almost struck dumb at the sight of Father—beamingat me.

Something lifts in my chest. I haven’t ruined this yet. Maybe there’s hope that by the end of the fortnight, I’ll be betrothed.

I peek up at the King of Enslington and smile.

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking over my shoulder at the rest of my sisters. As though sensing my gaze, he glances down, finds me staring, and offers me another polite smile. He slips his hand around my waist as we take our position on the dance floor. Inside, my courage falters.

“This is a lovely dance, Princess Isabelle Louise,” he says. “You look beautiful in your gown.”

Just like that, my courage is bolstered. My eyes widen as warmth floods my cheeks. He thinks I look beautiful? I catch myself just before I let my smile widen too much. What if he thinks me vain? Vivienne always cautions against appearing too vain. Or perhaps his compliment was merely polite. I duck my head and say a quick, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

We dance in silence. Sweat slides down my neck with each passing minute. My glove must be growing damp. I desperately hope he cannot feel it!

Wait—was I supposed to compliment him back? It must be too clumsy and awkward to compliment him now, after the silence has lasted. Besides, every compliment that comes to mind is vastly more awkward than the silence.You are far better looking than Vivienne’s betrothed. I am glad that you are not an old drunkard. Your smile makes me think you have a good heart.

I hate this.I hate it, hate it, hate it.There is only one thing I was born to do—only one thing in my entire life I need to accomplish, and it comes down to this moment. What if I mess everything up? What if I cannot get him to agree to marry me? What if he decides he’d rather marry some other kingdom’sprincess? What if my father cannot get the military strength he needs to fight the fae? What if people die because I cannot flirt well enough?

“Are you quite well? Forgive me, but you seem rather pale,” says King Ilbert.

Pale? I’m pale? Heavens, I need to pinch my cheeks! But we’re dancing, and my hands are occupied. Does King Ilbert mind pale wives?

Deep breath.

This panicking will get me nowhere.

“I’m quite well, thank you,” I manage with a breathy laugh.

The lightheadedness returns in full force just as the dance ends. King Ilbert takes my hand, his brow knit with something akin to concern as he leads me off the dance floor.

“The dance is too lively for you, Highness,” he says as he escorts me to a seat. “Please rest and allow me to fetch you some refreshment.”

Fetch me—what? He releases my hand, straightens, and strides off toward the table of refreshments and crystalline goblets of wine. I stare at him unabashedly. He’s a king! Does he consider himself a servant?Noneof my sisters’ betrotheds would offer to fetch refreshments. They’d hardly even order a servant to take care of her needs.

---