Page 4 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I stare after his tall form as he threads his way through the crowds, and try to pretend I don’t notice my sisters staring bug-eyed at me from across the ballroom.

“Why did he leave you here?” demands a familiar voice from my right.

I flinch, turn, and find my father’s disapproving frown hovering above me. “H-he is g-getting me r-ref-ref—something to drink.”

“Did you stutter like that during the dance?”

I duck my head. “N-no.”

That frown won’t go away, no matter how much I long for it to. I want him to beam at me again—but what does it matter? It wasn’t as if it could last, and I was a fool if a tiny part of me thought it might.

“I thought you’d made progress on it with your tutors,” says Father.

I made extremely great strides with my tutors. When I was a child, I could hardly get a full sentence out. Where I am now is as different as day is from night. But Father wouldn’t know that, because a small stutter always returns when I’m anxious.

“If only you were as beautiful as Jacquelle and Vivienne,” says Father with a sigh and a shake of his head, as if this is already a lost cause, “you could make up for this defect. Just avoid talking.”

“King Ilbert called me beautiful,”I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

“Ah! King Roland!” cries a loud, boisterous man from behind Father.

Father loses his frown as he turns, donning his warm kingly mask before I can even blink. “My friend, you are enjoying the wine, it seems.”

“Best wine on the continent,” cries the newcomer, whom I recognize to be the old Prince Brochfael. He is heir to the throne of Algravia, and with the king on his sickbed, it is looking like Prince Brochfael will have some years on the throne before his enthusiastic relationship with alcohol takes him to an early grave. “Perfect for coping with these rambunctious fae, now isn’t it?”

“Aye, aye, my old friend,” says Father with a laugh.

Prince Brochfael spots me, sitting where King Ilbert left me. “Ho! Is this the young bride you’ve promised me, Roland?”

My eyes go wide. Father’s face flushes scarlet, and he doesn’t meet my gaze. My stomach drops straight to the floor.

Father promised one of us to Prince Brochfael?But the man has five wives already—and legend certainly has not regaled him as a magnanimous husband. I press a hand to my unsteady stomach.

“I have two unpromised daughters,” says Father, and places a hand on the prince’s shoulder to guide him away from me. “It is yet to be seen which will have the privilege of your attentions.”

Even though my knees wobble so much I cannot trust them to hold my weight, should I decide to stand, I understand now. Prince Brochfael will soon be king, and Algravia is known for its military strength. Father cares enough about his daughters to give us a chance at something besides being the sixth wife of an old drunk, but whichever of us couldn’t secure an alliance fast enough . . . Father had this arrangement made. A backup plan.

If I succeed in this alliance, that only leaves—

Amelia.

King Ilbert is taking much longer to get my refreshments than I would have imagined, but at this moment, I’m relieved he hasn’t returned. I pinch my cheeks quickly, hoping that will fight the sudden pallor that must have overtaken my features.

Then, after flattening the skirts of my gown to disguise wiping the sweat seeping through my gloves, I arch my neck as I try to locate where King Ilbert has disappeared to and if he is returning soon.

There he is!

A goblet glitters in his hand like a garnet, the facets of crystal catching the light. Is that for me? The thought should ease my cascade of panic, but it only sharpens it. If I am successful tonight inensnaringhis interest, then sweet little Amelia, barely eighteen, will be wed to Prince Brochfael.

I cannot let that happen.

Iwon’t.

It would be better if I went, if I were the prince’s bride. I can endure being the sixth wife of an old goat, can’t I? If I am one among six, then surely I can slip notice easier. Perhaps he has mistresses, too. It wouldn’t be too bad for me to handle.

But I cannot let Amelia endure it. She needs someone kind, someone gentle. Someone who will be good to her and cherish her sweet nature. I glance down and discover my hands are fisted in my skirts. Quickly, I smooth them out again.

King Ilbert is caught in conversation. I cannot see to whom he speaks, only that it’s someone by the food, and he’s smiling. The smile is just as kind as the ones he gave me, but it seems both easier and warmer. To my surprise, he throws back his head and laughs—and it’s quite a nice sound.

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