Page 56 of Bride of the Fae Prince

We pass through the bedroom just as Ash is pulling on a fresh shirt. I quickly avert my eyes—though not before I glimpse a tanned, toned back—and scramble into the hallway to the bathing chamber.

I hadn’t seen much of it yesterday, so today I find myself once more agape at the beauty of a simple washroom. Plants of many varieties hang from the ceiling, climb the walls, and fill nearly every nook and cranny in the room. They surround a great white-marble tub with gold claw feet. A long vanity faces a beautiful mirror, providing far more space than I would ever need to get ready.

Hylath points to the steaming tub and gestures for me to get in. I step around a stunning array of potted plants to get to the tub, only to realize once I’m there that the door lists open on its hinges, and my maid doesn’t seem to have any consideration for my modesty.

“Um . . . can we close the door?” I squeak.

Hylath’s eyes blink in unison at me. Then she marches to the door, kicks it shut, and turns around to stare at me expectantly.

Trying not to feel nervous with Ash on the other side of the door, I hurry to disrobe and slip into the tub, hugging my knees to my chest as Hylath works to lather my hair. Each time footsteps sound near the outside of the chamber, I tense up and wait for them to pass.

I experience a heart attack when it’s time to get out of the bath, and heavy footfalls happenrightoutsidejustas I’m standing up in the tub. I squeak and leap into the towel Hylath has for me. All five of her eyes blink at me again, as if she’s wondering what in the world is wrong with this stupid human on her hands.

“S-sorry,” I chatter, wrapping myself up tightly. Hylath burbles something in response, then gestures to a short stool before the enormous, beautiful mirror. She brushes my wet hair, then lets out a series of shrieks that almost make me duck and cover my ears.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” calls Ash from the other room.

She shrieks back and punctuates it with a few spits.

“Have some patience, you crotchety old woman! Let a man put some trousers on before he scares the daylights out of his poor bride.”

Five eyes roll in succession while I wrap my arms over the thin material of my robe and wait, tensed, as footsteps come toward the door. They stop, and a knock sounds.

Hylath spits three times.

“It’s notmyfault you’re in a bad mood today,” says Ash with a glare at my maid when he opens the door. “If you’re not nice, I’ll have to separate you from my wife, so your temperament doesn’t rub off on her.”

My eyes widen. Hylath sticks out her tongue and waggles it.

Ash laughs.

I sit where I am, not a little perplexed. Then Ash’s gaze falls to me. And sweet heavens, he’s so handsome, especially with that little quirked grin.

“Hylath says you need my help,” he says, giving me a quick once-over.

“She did?”

Hylath lets out an exasperated huff as she burbles and her five eyes point—if that’s possible—to my wet hair.

“Dry her hair?” Ash repeats, then looks at me. He shrugs. “I suppose there are worse things than getting to touch my wife’s hair. Move aside, you old woman.”

She waggles her tongue, spits twice, and hobbles away. Ash takes her place at my back. I grip the collar of my robe tightly, staring at him in the reflection of the mirror as he drags over another stool to sit on.

He sits, lets out a great sigh, and surveys my hair. Then he looks up, catches my gaze in the mirror. “Tell me one of those thoughts. Or else I’ll kiss you.”

I flush as he threads his fingers into my hair and combs them through, leaving dry strands behind. “How are you doing that?”

He grins at me and then leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Magic.”

“Is it glamour?”

“This isn’t glamour. I’m pulling the moisture out of your hair via heat and evaporating it into the air. It works better with smaller chunks than all of it at once.”

I watch him work, trying to keep my shoulders and back straight as he moves closer to the hair at the nape of my neck. A shiver goes down my spine, and he looks up. “It’s . . . s-s-sensitive,” I say, trying to pretend my face isn’t turning red by avoiding my reflection.

He only gives a small smirk as he continues. “You still haven’t given me a thought.”

“I asked how you were drying my hair!”

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