Page 6 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“Prince Trenian,” he whispers, then, without lifting his head to the dais, “High King.”

“How long have you served my son?” the High King asks him.

He swallows. “Thirty years, Your Majesty.”

I hold his gaze for a heartbeat.As I have vowed to you, so I will do.A fraction of relief passes over him as he bows his head, his shoulders shuddering.

“A pity to lose one so faithful,” says Faradir as he lifts his hand into the air and curls his fingers inward.

I don’t flinch at the gasp of pain at my feet, at the wheezing gurgle. I don’t flinch when the High King squeezes his hand into a fist, and a snap cuts through the air with sharp finality.

“It grows more challenging to keep my household staff populated these days,” I drawl, flicking my wrist for the guards to drag away the body. I don’t let my eyes linger, lest I betraythe fury burning through my blood. “High turnover is simply not good for morale, and the effort to train new staff is quite headache-inducing.”

“Then perhaps you ought to behave yourself, Prince Trenian, and I won’t find myself needing to discipline my wayward son,” says Faradir.

I chuckle. “Come, come Father. You always present it as if it is you against me. Surely, we can arrange something mutually beneficial. You want me to have a son to continue the line of succession.” My mouth twists into some semblance of a grin. “AndIwant to fall in love.”

Both are as close to lies as I dare come.

The High King leans forward on his throne, steepling his fingers and regarding me with obvious disdain. “Andwhat, dear son, would you propose?”

Now I do grin. “A bargain.”

“Does this face”—Faradir points at his own—“look like it thinks you can give me a bargain I’d be tempted to take?”

Something shoots like glee down my spine. All these years of collecting my pieces and planning. Now the board is set, and it’s finally time to make my first move. “What if I promised to travel to the Fae Courts and return with a bride by the height of Lulythinar?”

At that, the High King’s eyes sharpen. “And what would you want in return?”

“The freedom to choose whom I wish.”

He leans back against his throne. The hand that just choked the life out of my manservant strokes his long beard, considering. His eyes glaze and narrow, as he works through what angle I might be hiding. He’ll suspect that I am intending to marry, but not sire an heir, and will add a clause to the bargain involving an heir.

“Tell me what you intend to bargain,” he says.

“That I will travel to the Fae Courts and if I do not return with a wife by Lulythinar, I will marry whomever you choose.”

His attention shoots back to me. He wasn’t expecting my offer to marry whomever he chose—or so soon. Lulythinar isn’t even a fortnight away. I rein in my impulse to let my grin morph into something smug and calculating. He knows I’m angling for something. He knows I’m trying to trick him.

But it’s an offer he cannot refuse.

“And you, Father? What would your bargain be?” I ask.

The High King thinks for several long minutes. Our audience is silent, so silent I can almost forget that dozens upon dozens of fae creatures stand just behind me, hanging on every word. How quickly news will spread among Faerieland that the heir to the High King’s throne is searching for a wife. The Courts will be insufferable. I’ll hardly be able to attend a social function. Faradir had better add a clause about royalty. I would, but I must leavesomegaps in the bargain for him to fill.

At last, he says, “I would give you freedom to choose a noble for your bride from among the Courts by Lulythinar. If you are without possession of a bride by Lulythinar, you will marry my choice and fulfill your duty to produce an heir. Will you accept the terms of this bargain?”

I turn his words over in my head, searching for any hidden tricks. It’s as I anticipated from him. “I will,” I say, and raise my fist into the air as Faradir does the same. “Let it be so.”

“Let it be so,” echoes the High King.

Light flares between us, sharp and fast, like a brand. A tattoo appears, adding to the ones on my right arm. This one spans the width of my wrist, the picture of a crown broken into two pieces. One to represent his side of the bargain, and one to represent mine.

If the High King is alarmed or concerned by the appearance the bargain has taken, he doesn’t show it. I lower my fist,leveling a hard gaze at him. “I shall request leave of Your Majesty. It appears I have a bride to woo.”

Without waiting for said leave, I push off the pillar and stride through the throng of onlookers. They part like the Maltun Sea at Lulythinar before me, and I don’t spare a single glance for any of them. The guards go to open the doors, but they move too slowly. I plant my palms and shove them open, letting them swing closed in my wake.

It’s technically true that the High King wants me to continue the line of succession, and that I want love. Faradir wants me to a have a son, but not because he wants a reliable line of succession. It’s because no one can sit on the throne who doesn’t have Great Kings’ blood flowing in their veins, and I am Faradir’s only heir.

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