Page 59 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I can get used to having her around. I alreadyamused to it.

“I have another question about the things we discussed last night,” Stella says, dabbing her mouth daintily with a napkin between bites.

My fork is halfway to my mouth. I pause, then set it back down. “Yes?”

“What happens if you die before you have an heir?”

I draw a deep breath and lean back in my chair, my appetite gone in an instant. “Well, at that point, hope of my father’s ruling line will be lost. He will be vulnerable, and the other Courts will have the opportunity to vie for the throne. It will be a civil war. A very bloody one. Some Courts won’t want a new High King, preferring to remain independent, while others will have aspirations for the office themselves. If the fae waramong themselves, the human worlds will be at risk. The current law limits frequent human and fae interactions. But one of my ancestors established that law, and if the High Kingly line is broken, the law will also be broken. Inevitably, someone will claim the throne and the line will start over. A new throne and a new set of laws will be forged, but not after the humans and fae have their own bloody wars.”

“And perhaps the new High King who arises will be even less merciful than the first,” says Stella.

I stare grimly down at my food. “Indeed.”

“It seems a heavy burden to bear.”

I look up, surprised. “Pardon?”

“It’s a heavy burden for you to bear.” Though her eyes are softly rounded and innocent-looking, they’re uncannily sharp. Prodding for a reaction. “The blood of thousands if anything goes wrong.”

I blink at her, caught off guard. I avert my gaze, pour myself another cup of steamed milk, and guzzle it down.

“Well,” I say, slamming the cup down on the table and pushing back my chair. “The tailor will be here shortly, but if it would please you, I’d love to show you the gardens your room overlooks. I suspect you will find the place very rejuvenating.”

If she notices the briskness in my voice, or the way I don’t quite meet her gaze, she doesn’t say anything. She nods eagerly, dabs her mouth with her napkin, and stands when I pull out her chair.

It’s not the blood of thousands that rests on my shoulders. If I don’t play this right, it’ll be the blood ofmillions.

Chapter 24

The Princess

Ash escorts me outof his quarters on his arm, and I half-expect him to revert to how he was last night. The palace is empty, however—seemingly drunk into a stupor—and Ash maintains that approachable expression as he leads me outside.

What I see makes me stop dead.

It’s strange, because I looked at this garden out my window, but something about walking into it is so magical that it almost overwhelms me at first.

A long, arched walkway stretches before us, the entire thing covered in vines of pink roses. Petals fall to the stone path beneath our feet, and butterflies of all different colors and sizes flit from flower to flower. Running water burbles nearby from a fountain I cannot see. Beyond the walkway, the garden opens into a dazzling array of color and beauty, making me want to run to see it all, while still walking slowly enough to savor each part. To think I was once afraid I couldn’t grow anything in Faerieland!

My mouth gapes in awe until a butterfly flies toward me, and I hold my breath to avoid scaring it. It keeps coming, until it lands on the tip of my nose.

I stare cross-eyed at it as its wings slowly fold and unfold, filling my vision with whorls of blue and purple. When it still doesn’t move, a grin slips free of my restraint. Then I giggle. The butterfly flaps its wings and flies away.

“Did you see that?” I demand, whirling toward Ash and grabbing his arm. “It landed on myface!”

He’s smiling down at me. “Yes, I saw, love.”

Then he bends down and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, right where the butterfly was. I stand still, even more stunned than when the butterfly landed on me. But Ash takes my arm and brings me deeper into the garden, either oblivious to how hot my face has gone or purposefully ignoring it.

“You’ll like this,” he says, tugging me toward what appears to be a gazebo tucked away in a corner. I eagerly follow him, barely containing my excitement as we reach the overgrown structure made of chiseled and polished granite. I can hardly decide what is prettier between the colorful flowers wrapping around its pillars and dripping from the ceiling or the sparkling crystal streaks through the stone. Ash guides me up the steps until we’re standing on a blanket of petals, surrounded by so much beauty.

I gasp, twirling to see every section of the gazebo, and clap my hands. “Oh, Ash! It’s so lovely! I cannot believe this is right outside your quarters!”

He gives a pleased grin, then drags me right back out of the gazebo. “You’ll like this too.”

And that’s when I realize it.

He istryingto make me happy. It pleases him to delight me.

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