Page 58 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Was I?AmI? I sit up straighter and attempt to soften my features. “What’s the damage from last night?”

His goat ears twitch. “Those three who tried to harm Lady Stella last night at the revelry are dealt with. None of them were significant members of the court.”

“That’s good, at least.” I drum my fingers on the table. “What rumors are circulating?”

“Mostly what you anticipated. There is debate over whether she will be queen, though most dismiss the possibility because of how angry the High King was. Some were placing bets on how long she will live. Others speculated that the High King is, in fact, jealous of you and wishes to claim the human princess for himself.”

I shudder at that. “I suppose I should be relieved that’s not a viable option on the table.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I stop drumming my fingers. Then, catching myself before I give too much away in my expression, I shift to lean my chin on my fist.

Wouldthe High King attempt to take her as a pet? I would like to think him too repulsed for something that debased, but I cannot dismiss the possibility. It would certainly be a more creative way to punish me than outright killing her. It would be torture for me to see what he would do to her, how he would break and humiliate her before the eyes of the world—and know that I was helpless to stop it.

Faradir took a human pet once—ages ago. She wasn’t a noble, merely a beautiful girl who had stumbled into Caphryl Wood and was brought before the king as a trespasser. He took a fancy to her—much to my mother’s chagrin at the time—and kept her wrists shackled in golden manacles as he forced her to kneel beside his throne, wearing a gold chain around her neck and little else. Some of the higher nobility, like Rahk’s family, refused to see the High King unless he sent the girl away for the duration of their visit. I remember that fire that burned in her eyes when he first chained her, first forced her to kneel beside his throne and made her obey his every command, no matter how degrading.

I was only a child, but I never forgot the way her eyes changed with each day, until they were dull and lifeless with the abuse she had suffered. Her fight leaked away until there was nothing left. Then the High King decided she was no longer beautiful or interesting.

So he took that chain around her neck and pulled it, cutting off her air, until she collapsed at his feet before the entire court, never to move again.

It’s not difficult to imagine Stella there instead, frightened and innocent. Bound and awaiting a tyrant’s whims.

My blood curdles.

“You d-didn’t need t-to wait for me,” comes Stella’s soft voice.

I look up, pulled out of my thoughts, to discover that Edvear is bowing to leave, and Stella stands in the arched doorway. She wears a simple floor-length gown of soft blue with spider silk detailing at the waist, neckline, and hems. It’s one of the crossover fashions from when fae thought to imitate human dress. That style has since passed, but Edvear was able to get his hands on a few things to make Stella more comfortable.

She’s lovely as always, but I cannot help my twinge of disappointment that her hair is all bound up in a bun at her nape.

“I was glad to wait for you,” I say, getting to my feet to pull out the chair for her.

She sits, tucking an imaginary loose piece of hair behind her ear. As I push in her chair, I try to ignore her fresh scent and keep my manner brisk until I’m safely seated back in my own chair.

Stella tries not to stare at the fairy from one of the seelie courts who comes to serve us. She’s not used to the folded iridescent wings, the bark-like skin, or the wild tangle of hair atop the fairy’s head, but she attempts politeness and smiles when she pours her cup and serves her plate.

I’m only a few bites into my own meal when I realize Stella is just staring at the round biscuits and nectar compote. I glance between her and the plate. My eyes widen.

“You’ve never had scarpi, have you?”

She leans back in her chair with a little wince. “I’m not very b-brave when it comes to food. Why does it look like a cake but smell like fish?”

“Because scarpiisfish. Scarpi biscuits are a common breakfast here. The purple liquid is a nectar compote. You dip the biscuit in the compote.”

Her nose wrinkles, but she cuts a small bite out of the biscuit, dips it in the compote, and brings it to her mouth. She takes a delicate sniff—and gags.

“I’ll have the cooks prepare something more suitable for your palate,” I say quickly. “Another time you can try it. If you’re able to get used to our food, it might make social obligations likely less . . . detestable.”

“But shouldn’t I avoid eating in social situations? In case something is poisoned?”

“Now you’re thinking like a fae,” I say with a rueful chuckle. I’m going to corrupt this girl’s innocence, aren’t I? “Nothing will touch your lips that I haven’t inspected first.”

“Aren’tyouworried about being poisoned? What happens if you die before you sire an heir?”

The memory of a black slug sliding down my throat assaults me, and I barely swallow my bite of food. “I’m not worried about being poisoned, no. I take precautions.”

She purses her lips as though biting back a question. The servant whisks in just then with a plate for Stella. Her eyes widen when the fairy replaces her plate with a fresh meal of eggs benedict.

My staff continues to please me and surpass my expectations. The servant must have been listening to our conversation. How they whipped this up so quickly is beyond me!

Stella lets out a tiny squeal. “My favorite!” She dives into her breakfast with vigor, and it’s all I can do to keep eating my own instead of just grinning at her. Her cup of steamed mothweed milk is replaced with tea, and she gasps. “Thank you!”

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