Page 65 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I flush and look away, unable to keep staring into those sapphire-and-gold eyes. What am I to do with all this attention? It’s quite overwhelming. I have the sudden longing to take refuge in my room so I can think, perhaps make plans of my own. Do the fae have libraries? It might be good for me to locate some histories, maybe some dramas or poetries too. Things that will help me understand these people better. Here, ignorance is deadly.

I want to understand why the High King hates Ash so much. I want to know if I can trust my husband, or if offering to help him is utter foolishness.

I want to know if Ash is the hero or the villain.

I want to know if he is good.

“That is everything I need for now,” says the tailor as he snaps his bag shut and readjusts his spectacles, looping his measuring ribbon around his neck once more so it hangs over his vest. He smiles and bows at Ash, then at me. “I’ll require two days for the wardrobe. At the end of the week, I will bring the ballgown for a fitting. The dress you ordered last night for this evening will be delivered within a few hours.”

Two days for an entire wardrobe? And a ballgown by the end of the week? What sorcery does he use to sew? I climb out of the chair he brought as my questions buzz around my head.

“The gown will be ready before Lulythinar, right?” asks Ash.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

With that, he bows once more and leaves with his bag and chair. Hylath lets him out, then scurries off with a chirp to the washroom. Perhaps she’s cleaning it after this morning? Or does she intend for me to follow so she can help me back into my dress and redo my hair?

The dress has been laid over the back of one of the dining chairs. I’m just about to retrieve it when Ash’s voice sounds from the couch.

“Come here.”

I look up with a start. He studies me from beneath that prominent brow, his eyes the color of a sea at midnight.

I think . . . I think I might know what that expression means.

If you need to escape, send a request to me for a white dress.

A lump forms in my throat. I need to keep a clear head. That will be especially difficult if Ash’s lips find their way to myshoulder again. It would be better if I put my hair back up and redressed.

“I’ll b-b-be back in a m-moment,” I manage, scooping up my dress and scurrying around the couch, giving Ash a wide berth. Is that a chuckle behind me? I can hardly hear anything past the blood roaring in my ears.

The Prince

It’s a good thingStella left.

I wipe my hand down my face, give myself a little shake, and get to my feet. Work has piled up, and I wouldn’t be so behind if I hadn’t fallen asleep last night. It’s just suddenly much more difficult than before tofocus.

I enter my study and shut the door behind me. My desk is a disaster of paper, but I set to work shuffling through the stacks and rifling through drawers. Where did I put it? I told Edvear to set it on my desk, and I know I saw it around here somewhere . . . It’s been so long since I organized—

Ah ha! There it is.

I pull the small, crumpled parchment out of the pile. It’s folded in half and yellowed with age. I stare at it, slumping back into my chair. It crinkles as I unfold it.

239 Humpidy Lane, Mithral, Valehaven Forest.

I sigh, toss the address onto the table. My manservant Calver was in my employment for thirty years. It’s not an enormous amount of time, but it’s enough time for that ache to hit, especially when, for the first time, it wasn’t him setting out my clothes this morning.

Stella will be gone too.

I’ll be left with nothing but reminders of her sweet laughter at the sight of a leaping fish, or her smell clinging to the room adjacent to mine. Now I won’t be able to walk into the washroom without imagining her there before the mirror, her long, wet hair dripping on the floor.

That’s why I’m doing this. Because no matter what short-term sacrifices I must make, those sacrifices will be worth it.IfI win this gamble.

The tattoo of the broken crown itches on my wrist. I need that constant visual reminder of the bargain I made with my father. I need it, butoh,I hate it. I hate that it means it’s too late to get Stella out of this.

This situation is what it is.

I need to stop bemoaning this turn of fate—and truly, it’s quite conceited of me to be frustrated that I like my wife, as if this situation would be better if I didn’t. It shouldn’t matter if I liked her or not. Her loss should still impact me.

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