Page 63 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“Fine, I will!” And with that, he touches my other ear—a soft caress on the outside shell.

I cannot help my flush as I stare up at him, as his fingers brush a few loose strands of hair. But I don’t move a muscle.

He blinks, his jaw dropping open. “How do you do that?”

I try to hide my mischievous grin, but part of it slips through. “You cannot hold still if I touch your ear?”

He turns away, giving an irritable grunt. “It’s sensitive.”

I burst into laughter.

His ears turn red, and I have the very sudden and very strong impulse to test his claim, to dare him to hold still while I touch his ear the exact same way he touched mine.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pulling me toward the exit of the garden.

I giggle all the way back.

Chapter 25

The Princess

“The tailor is here,my lord,” Edvear tells Ash when we make it back inside.

I try to pull myself back under composure, but the steward glances sidelong at me, a question in his eyes. Obviously, I’m failing. Ash grunts in acknowledgement, striding right past him toward the main living space of his quarters.

A man stands there, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He has a curled mustache and a prominent Adam’s apple poking out above his starched collar. He’s a very slender man, of medium height, with a measuring ribbon hanging from his neck and a sketchpad under one arm. I blink.

He’s a human.

“Prince Trenian,” says the tailor, bowing.

“She’ll need a full wardrobe,” replies Ash in that same brisk tone that I’m beginning to recognize as his way of trying to hide his own discomfort. I fight to keep my lips from twitching. Unnerving him is just too much fun. “Also, a ballgown.”

My head swivels up to his. “A ballgown?”

The smirk is back. “Of course. What else would you wear to the Lulythinar Masquerade?”

“A masquerade?” I breathe, clutching a little tighter to his arm. Would it be like last night’s dance? If so, I don’t want to go. Not one bit.

“What sort of ballgown would please the lady?” the tailor asks. He pulls out a pencil and begins making notes on his sketchpad, his gaze flicking from his notes to me, assessment sparking in his eyes.

Please me? I know nothing about fae dresses. I was hardly allowed an opinion, even on my own human dresses. I peek up at Ash, as if he’s supposed to send a message directly to my brain about what I should want.

“I think a butterfly costume would suit her very well, if that should please her,” says Ash, arching an eyebrow down at me.

My mind goes back to that beautiful butterfly that landed on my nose in the garden—then his kiss once it had flown away. Warmth spills into my middle. “I’d like that very much.”

“Wonderful.” The tailor adjusts his spectacles and tugs his measuring ribbon from around his neck. “Now, Your Highness, if you might consider giving the lady some privacy, I must take her measurements.”

Ash hesitates. It’s only a second, but it’s enough to make the blood rush to my head. Does he not trust the tailor? Is he afraid I’ll be hurt if he leaves me alone? But the tailor is ahuman.Surely I’m safe with him, right?

“Hylath!” my husband calls.

A gurgling answer spits from the washroom, and the door opens enough for one eye to poke through.

“Come aid the tailor,” Ash orders, letting go of me and heading toward his study. “He requires your help taking Lady Stella’s measurements.”

Ash doesn’t trust even the humans in Faerieland with my safety.I make a mental note of this. I mustn’t be too naïve around them. Even if the tailor seems quite nice to me.

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