Page 74 of Bride of the Fae Prince

It would be a miserable existence, but I would know exactly what to make of it. I’d hardly have to speak a word, and once Prince Brochfael grew tired of his new wife, I could slip back into the shadows where I belong. I’d find a quiet way to pursue a proper interest besides growing little potted plants in windows. Needlework, perhaps.

Here? With Ash? I don’t know my place anymore, and it deeply frightens me. Who am I, if not quiet, docile Isabelle Louise? Why do these unexpected flashes of will, of anger, plague me? Why do I want to test and prod the identity I’ve had for so long?

Ash doesn’t want me to be afraid. Well, neither do I! But how else am I supposed to face this terrifying new world? A little fear seems like a healthy thing, right?

But I don’twantto be afraid.

I want to stand on my own two feet, to face arrows without a flinch of fear, to not shirk from my imposing, charismatic husband. Maybe Ishouldtell him what I think! Maybe that will give me the boldness I long for.

Maybe I’ve spent too much of my life letting others decide my path. Maybe I’ve considered myself too much a victim of my father, and now, of my husband, Faerieland, and the High King.

But perhaps I can face these things head on.

What if my spine didn’t have to bend? What if . . . what if Iwasn’tafraid?

Who would I be if I let go of the chains of fear binding me?

I throw aside the pillow, launching to my feet. I pace the U around my bed, back and forth, and then—because I still don’t want anyone to hear me—I growl under my breath. “Don’t tell me what to do, Vivienne. Don’t tell me what to say, Jacquelle. Don’t tell me who to be, Yvonne. I’m sick of it! I’m sick of your nagging, and the way your nagging has carried with me to Faerie. Go away and nag yourselves!”

I stop, breathing hard, but more invigorated than I have been in a long time. Uncurling my arms from around my middle, I put them at my sides and clench my hands into a fist. “I really like you, Ash, but I’mnotgoing to be your pawn. I’m your wife, not a piece on a gameboard. So don’t think I’m just going to capitulate to your every whim!”

This feels good.Reallygood. I prowl to the other side of my bed, nearer to the window, and stick a finger in the air.

“Andyou,High King . . . well! Don’t think you can kill me or my husband without a fight—from both of us! You think I’m just Ash’s pet. Keep thinking it, High King, and let’s see what happens when you discover you’ve underestimated us!”

This is ridiculous,part of my brain insists.You’re making a fool of yourself.

“So what if I am?” I demand aloud. “What if Idon’twant tocareanymore?”

My lungs heave with every breath, as though I’ve just run to Mama Bagog’s house and back with no breaks. But I am alive! Electricity buzzes beneath my skin, igniting me. A grin spreadsacross my tear-streaked face, and I cannot suppress it. I don’t want to suppress it! This is glorious!

But then I find myself facing the patch of floor between the window and my bed’s floorboard. My grin fades, my shoulders slightly hunching as tension radiates back into my body. Every instinct tells me to bow my head, to fold my hands in front of me.

Father.

How can I face him? It goes against the code written into every bone in my body.

I bow my head.

I clench my fists.

There is no more cowering. I’m not Isabelle Louise anymore. I’m Stella. There’s nothing left for me back in Aursailles. Faerieland is my home now. Ash is my home now. Father has no power over me. His memory cannot hurt me.

I lift my head, glaring into the empty air where I imagine his eyes to be. “I’m done making myself small so you can feel strong. I’mdonebeing afraid of you. I’mdonefighting for your fickle approval. I’ve had enough!Enough,I say!”

They’re only whispers, but they leave me breathless. Breathless andalive.My shoulders are lighter. My wholebeingis lighter than it ever has been, as though I’ve shed a massive burden. I stare at the empty space that represents Father. My chin quivers, and I don’t fight the tears as I bow my head. “You were supposed to protect me.”

I shudder, stumbling back to the bed, falling onto it, and burying my face in my hands.

Father didn’t protect me. Not in the way he should have. The sobs that wrack my shoulders aren’t sobs of helplessness or frustration. They’re made of mourning, of realized loss.

They’re also a goodbye. A severing.

No part of me belongs to him anymore.

Cathartic tears wash away the pain, until I’m left spent and exhausted on my bed, folded in the soft blankets and staring at a damp spot on my pillow. Then I close my eyes, and a warm peace blankets my soul in darkness.

Chapter 28

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