Page 69 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“He said you might make me leave,” the woman responds sadly.

“It’s only temporary. I will place a ward on your home while you’re gone. You will return to it exactly as you left it. But you must leave, because if the High King learns of the bargain I made with your son, he will kill you to spite me. I don’t intend to take chances. Not now.”

My eyes finally manage to open, enough for me to see Ash reach across the table and lay his hand over the woman’s.

“Your son gave his life for your safety. I will not allow his death to be in vain, Mama Bagogs.”

She nods, sniffling, and gives his hand a squeeze. “You are a good man, Prince Trenian. All of Faerieland groans under the hand of your father. We long for the day you will be our High King.”

She’s a human, heavyset, with gray hair bound up in an orderly bun. A patched kerchief covers most of her head, and her simple calico dress is starched smooth, without a single wrinkle. Eyes the color of honey fall on me. “You’re awake, my lady!”

“Decided to join us after all?” says Ash with a quirked lip as he shifts me upward. I catch hold of his collar, suddenly dizzy at the movement.

“F-f-forgive me,” I manage, my vision going in and out of tunnels.

“Do you still have those smelling salts?” Ash asks the woman, studying me as he tilts my head back on his shoulder.

“Of course!” She hops up, hurries to grab something. “Right here, Highness!”

Ash takes the offering, and before I can protest, slides it right beneath my nostrils. Stink flares into my brain, so sharp and startling I let out an unladylike, “Ugh!” and twist away. But when I open my eyes, I’m alert.

Alert—and much too aware of all the places Ash and I are touching.

“Better, love?” he asks.

“Here’s some steamed sap tea, dear. It’ll help restore your strength.”

Before I can protest, an oven-fired clay mug is pressed into my hands. The sweet scents of nutmeg and maple syrup waft to my nostrils, and curiosity replaces my misgivings. I lift the mug,take a tentative sip, and pure goodness blossoms on my tongue. I make quick work of the drink, and when I set the empty mug back on the table, I discover Ash has already downed his.

“Mama Bagogs’ steamed sap tea is therealreason I accepted Calver as my manservant,” Ash whispers to me, loud enough for the elderly woman to hear.

“Oh, enough of your flattery! Let me go find another chair for your wife!” says Mama Bagogs, bouncing up again. “There’s one in the other room—”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself.” Ash flashes one of those devilishly brilliant grins of his and tightens his arm around my waist just as I go to stand. “There’s no need.” And with that, he pulls me right back to perch on his knee.

“Ash!” I give a little protest, trying to calm my whirling thoughts.

“What? Am I scandalizing you? You look scandalized. Do married couples in your land not behave this way?”

“Certainly not!” Not in front of others, that’s for sure. For most couples I know, I highly doubt even their private interactions would share any resemblance to this.

But in the end, it’s Mama Bagogs who rescues me. She grunts while trying to bully a rickety, wide-legged stool through the small, arched doorway of what looks like a cozy bedroom. Ash leaps to his feet, sliding me off his lap, and hurries to the woman’s side. “Please! Don’t trouble yourself! What would your son think if I let you break your back trying to move furniture?”

“Oh, now, Prince Trenian, you mustn’t burden yourself!”

“I’ll burden myself however I please!” And with that, he snatches the stool from her grip, replaces it in the bedroom.

“Now, now—” the woman protests.

“Now, now!” he retorts, wagging his finger in her face. “You might be my most troublesome denizen yet!”

She bursts into a warm chuckle, shaking her head. I stand beside the table, picking at my sleeve with my fingernail as I watch this odd exchange. I’m not quite sure what to make of it when Ash grins down at the little lady, or when he bends and presses a quick kiss to the top of her head.

Have I been misreading his frequent kisses this entire time? His warm demeanor? Perhaps what he feels for me is more platonic than I first thought.

Somehow, I cannotquitemake myself believe it.

“Stay safe,” he says to her. “You’ll leave in two days. Pack only what you can carry. I’ll give you funds enough to settle comfortably in Orawyth until it’s safe for you to return.” He comes to my side, stooping from the low ceiling, and briskly slides past his chair. I peer up at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

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