Page 76 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I let out a deep sigh. Always best to be prepared in my father’s presence. Even if he cannot kill me yet . . .

It doesn’t hurt to expect the unexpected.

I dare not underestimate the High King.

Quickly, I take a draught of each, wincing as the last slug-like black liquid crawls down my throat. With a shudder, I pull my composure back together and return the vials to their hiding spot.

I march out of the room, cross the hallway to the bedroom. I skirt around the untouched bed that I haven’t slept in for over a week and pretend it isn’t looming in my periphery as I stop before Stella’s door. There are those familiar soft snores.

I smile despite myself.

What if I declined tonight’s banquet, too? Perhaps I could workthatto my advantage. Then, instead of playing political games with fools, fops, and worse, I could slip beneath the covers beside her and hold her in my arms while she sleeps.

I blink. Shake the thought away. Silently, I turn the latch and push the door open.

She’s curled in a little ball, her mouth hidden beneath the covers. Her dark lashes fan her cheeks, her hair a disastrous mess with half of it fallen free of her bun. The sight of her like this, sweet and beautiful and completely lost to her dreams, could stir even the blackest heart to soften.

My shoulders slump slightly. If I’d had any intention of waking her before now, it has flown away like a bird from its coop. I’ll just have to go without her, then.

I should be relieved. She’s safer here, after all.

A snore turns into a snort. Stella’s brow puckers faintly, and she rolls onto her back and stretches her arms above her head. Oh Great Kings, is she waking up? I can’t let her catch me—

Her eyes open. Blink thrice up at the ceiling. Then they swivel straight to me, puffy with sleep.

“Ash!” she gasps, clutching the covers to her chest and sitting upright, hair falling everywhere. Hastily, she tries to comb it back, succeeding only in making it worse.

I put up my hands quickly, and in my surprise, my glamoured control over my flush slips away. I reassert it and hope she doesn’t notice. Then I take a step backward, moving my foot beyond the threshold of her room. “My apologies! I didn’t mean to wake you. I merely intended to check on you.”

She stares at me, her own flush brightening. She looks down, seems to realize she’s fully dressed, and lets the quilt fall into her lap. Twisting the fabric of her skirt between two fingers, she glances around, her eyes lighting over the space—everywhere except me.

Her eyes aren’t puffy from sleep. She was crying.

Mountains of Ildrid, I’m such a cad for taking her today. I should have left her behind. I’d mistakenly thought we wouldn’t encounter trouble, and hadn’t anticipated all the adjustments she’d face along the way.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Her voice startles me back to the present. “Four hours,” I answer.

“Four hours?” she gasps. “Oh! Don’t we have . . . something tonight?”

I clear my throat, turning my head away. “A banquet. But you seem fatigued . . .”

Her lips spread in a wry smile. “I should hope myself rested after four hours.”

She wants to come? My gaze shoots to hers, and something about her seems different. Different from even a few hours ago.

“You don’t have to come,” I say, clearing my throat again. “I can think of an excuse—”

She sits up straighter, leveling her narrow shoulders. “I’d like to come.”

I blink, certain I didn’t just hear those words cross her lips. “It will be dangerous,” I say quickly, and I’m not sure why I’m trying to dissuade her. “Only fae will be present, aside from the human servants. The High King will be there. I will have to be the way I was. Last night.”

A slight shudder passes through her at the mention of the High King. But as fast as it comes, it’s gone, and when she looks up at me again, determination flashes in those soft eyes.

“Would it help your . . .goalif I came?”

I lick my lips. “Yes.”

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