Page 84 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Silence falls.

“Send for me if you need anything, Lady Stella,” he says at long last, as though he’s my servant rather than a prince in his own right. “I stay in Nothril Court quarters when I’m here. Ash can show you when he’s feeling better.”

He turns to leave, but pauses when I call after him. “May I ask you a question before you leave?”

He glances back at me, his dark eyes watching, assessing. “Yes.”

“Ash has been poisoned before?”

“He has.”

“By the High King?”

“No, not by the High King. At least, not intentionally. There was once, when Ash was much younger, when he tricked his father into poisoning him. It was shortly after his mother was killed—”

My mouth falls open. “His mother was killed? By whom?”

Rahk’s eyes darken. “By the High King.”

I scramble around my brain, confused and shocked by this revelation. Then again, should I be? He’s trying to kill his son and me. Why shouldn’t I be surprised that he killed his wife?

Isthisthe real reason Ash hates his father and works to overthrow him?

“Why?” I ask quietly.

“To punish Ash for something.”

“Oh.”

Rahk chews his lip, his gaze casting away from me and latching onto a butterfly landing on the windowpane and fanning its wings. “We knew each other as boys, but Ash changed that day. He was furious and bitter for many years. It wasn’t until he got this idea of overthrowing his father that he finally pulled out of it. The time he tricked his father into poisoning him was while he was trapped in those angry years. He set up this elaborate scheme, created rumors of a courtier attempting an assassination, planted clues to be discovered, and maintained false lines of communication until he’d convinced the High King he knew exactly what was going on and who was behind it. Then, at the grand banquet where hundreds of courtiers and dignitaries were present, Ash laid his trap. Faradir sent a poisoned goblet to who he thought was the assassin, but Ash bribed a servant to switch his goblet with the courtier. When Ash was the one who started choking and gasping for air, the High King nearly lost his mind. He thought he’d just poisoned his only heir and nullified his claim to the throne. But Ash had been taking small doses of poison already, so while he was very sick for several days, he didn’t die.”

“He was trying to scare the High King?”

“Indeed. He wanted to punish his father by making him believe he’d lost the only thing he cared about: his throne. But Ithink there was more to it than that. I think Ash wanted to prove he could out-maneuver his father.”

I nod slowly, grabbing one of the couch’s armrests and leaning into it. “And the other times he was poisoned?”

Rahk waves a hand. “None of them important. Once he took half a lethal dose ofbindorgas a boy at the dares of his friends. His mother didn’t let him hear the end of it, especially since he was sick for two weeks that time. The others were attempted assassinations by other Courts.”

He mentions the attempted assassinations almost flippantly, as if one might dismiss an offer to share a meal because they weren’t hungry.

This is normal here,I tell myself.

When I’m silent, he inclines his head in a deep nod. “I’ll leave the rest of your questions to Ash. He’d probably not be happy with how much I shared.”

“Well, I am grateful to know those things.” I straighten, putting on my best princess smile and curtsying. “Thank you, Prince Rahk, for your aid tonight and the explanations. They are greatly appreciated.”

Once he leaves, I pace outside the washroom, rubbing my arms and listening to the susurrus of my gown trailing on the ground. Eventually, I muster the courage to approach the door and knock.

“Ash?” I call. “Are you alright?”

“He’s quite fine, my lady! Do not trouble yourself!”

“I’m rather miserable, my love!” calls Ash before the steward has even finished. “I am in great need of comfort!”

Edvear calls back through the door: “With all due respect, please ignore him, my lady.” A long, pained groan follows this, and on its heels is an exasperated, “Don’t be so dramatic, Highness!”

I stay standing at the door, warring with the desire to enter, to makesurehe’s alright, and the desire to leave him be. Clearly, there is a routine here.

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