Page 64 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Hylath growls, but comes to help. Ash barely closes the door to his study before Hylath is yanking me out of my dress until I’m in nothing but my shift. The tailor moves with practiced efficiency, all business as he works. It reminds me of my time at the palace, where I endured standing on a wretched little stool for hours while they took and retook my measurements, draped dresses over me, and my sisters gathered around, sharing their various opinions on my clothes. Because it’s so familiar, I’m not embarrassed.

A sudden question occurs to me. Why did the tailor send Ash away? It’s true that I prefer this arrangement, but how did the tailor know that? As far as the tailor knows, Ash is my husband in every sense of the word, and if that were true, him being present now wouldn’t have broached any concern.

“Almost done.” The tailor wraps his tape around my waist as he scribbles something on his pad. “Hylath, would you kindly fetch a dressing gown for the lady and then summon His Highness?”

Hylath blinks all five eyes at once, as though irritated to be ordered around, but with a grumble, she hops down from the stool she’d been standing on to hold the measuring tape for my height.

“Just your shoulders now,” says the tailor. He rearranges the measuring tape across my shoulders, then around. He leans closer, brow furrowed with concentration as Hylath leaves the room.

I keep my eyes fixed on the far side of the room.

Then the tailor’s voice tickles my ear, low and urgent. “If you need to escape, send a request to me for a white dress.”

My breath catches.

“Quite narrow shoulders you have, my lady,” he says as Hylath reenters the room with a long blush-pink robe. At the tailor’s beckoning, she wraps it around me and secures the tie firmly across my waist, ensuring my decency before she squawks loudly in the air. I resist the urge to cover my ears.

Almost immediately, Ash’s door swings open. “Don’t order me about like I’myourservant,” he says grumpily to Hylath.

She waggles her tongue at him. I still don’t understand what that is supposed to communicate, but Ash grins in response. Then, with all the drama of a royal, he flops onto the couch facing me, spreading his arms and legs so wide he takes up almost the entire piece of furniture.

My heart is still hammering from the tailor’s words. I hope nothing shows on my face.

Escape?

The thought of it terrifies me. But I’d be lying if I said a part of me doesn’t tuck that knowledge away. I’ll consider it later.

And consider it, I shall.

I would need more information, though. How dangerous would it be to escape? And once I’ve escaped, what then? I cannot return home to the palace in Aursailles. I’d have to survive on my own somehow . . . somewhere.

“I have many color swatches for your perusal.” The tailor is as pleasant and unruffled as when he first entered. He holds up a stack of large, colored squares of fabric. Returning to my side, he offers his hand to help me down from the stool and motions me toward a simple folding chair he brought with him. Then he sets the squares across my torso.

Ash frowns at the color—a dark burgundy. The tailor pulls back the swatch to reveal the next: a slightly different shade of burgundy.

This is going to be a long morning.

Ash’s brow creases, his eyes flitting from the color to my face, and I try to keep my blush at bay. “Hylath, undo that bun. Her hair should be down for me to properly see what suits her coloring.”

With a grunt, my maid totters back over me, her blobby fingers unwinding my hair with far less care than Ash handled it this morning.

I glance up, find Ash’s eyes heavy on mine as Hylath arranges my long hair over my shoulders. I hold his gaze, unsure what that look means, unsure why his bright eyes seem to darken just slightly.

He looks away first, clearing his throat.

“How is the color, Highness?” the tailor asks. This one is a deep red.

Ash shakes his head. “Skip the reds. I want to see the lighter colors you have.”

The tailor obliges, holding up a periwinkle swatch.

My husband’s mouth spreads in a slow smile. “That’s more like it.”

The tailor thumbs through the swatches, pulling out similar colors and a wider variety of pinks, blues, purples, and greens.

“This pink is quite lovely with her eyes, yes?” says the tailor, holding up the next one.

Ash’s gaze drills into mine. I lick my dry lips. He smiles again. “Quite.”

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