Page 87 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I set the napkin down. This gets me out of giving Ash my answer, it seems. I can do the more comfortable thing and return to my own room without having to tell him to his face.

I’m still in my fancy gown, so instead of going to the bedroom first, I find Hylath in the washroom. When I walk in, she’s bent over, her face in the giant copper tub. Two of her eyes pop up and blink at me, but she doesn’t otherwise move. A strange lapping sound comes from inside the tub, and when I creep closer and peer into it, Hylath’s long tongue is lapping the water.Drinking it.

I barely restrain my disgusted“ugh!”but probably fail to keep my face straight.

Hylath lifts her mouth out of the water, a third eye joining the first two. She burbles something with a lilt at the end. A question.

“Could you help me remove this dress? And . . . take down my hair?”

She heaves a great sigh of long-suffering, then straightens and gestures for me to sit on my stool like normal. Within twenty minutes, I’m in a soft pink gown of a material very close to silk, but not quite the same. It’s not as cold and has an almost velvety sheen on one side of it. I wear a light robe over it, and my freshly brushed hair falls in long, loose waves down my back.

There’s nothing for me to do now but creep into the bedroom past a sleeping Ash and try not to make noise as I slip into my own room.

When I’m outside the bedroom, I hesitate. Then, forcing away my own nervousness, I straighten my shoulders and push the door open.

The room is dark, but for a few glowing crystals hanging from the ceiling. The light is just enough for me to make out the path to my room and not stub my toe on the corner of the bed. Ash’s deep, even breaths fill the space, and his dark form beneath thecovers of the bed seems to overcome my awareness. I take a step closer, just to see if I can make out his face . . .

Then I remember the way he knew I’d been studying him on our wedding night. What if he’s not asleep this time, either?

I scurry to my room and shut the door behind me.

Safely ensconced in my own private room, I wrap my arms around myself and let my eyes wander over the lovely space, the only light coming from the dots of glowing fireflies from the garden outside the windows. They illuminate the blossoms on my lavender plant sitting on the sill.

I sit on the edge of my bed, but I don’t lie down. I stare at the door I just shut.

Why does this space feel so much lonelier than before?

Loneliness has always been safer for me. Back in Aursailles, it was safer for me to be lost than to be found. Being in the presence of others meant dealing with my own inadequacies and failings.

Now loneliness feels hollow. It’s warmer to be wanted, to bewithsomeone good and kind.

As I sit here, alone in the dark of my room, I realize I don’t reallywantto be alone anymore. I don’t want to stay here by myself. Which is grand and all—but do I have the strength and boldness to get up and change it? To choose closeness over fear?

My husband had the boldness tonight to drink poison meant for me. Knowing it would hurt him, knowing he’d be miserable. Perhaps I can find the boldness to stand up . . . put one foot in front of the other . . . and open the door.

It swings outward.

The four-poster bed looms in my vision. There’s the great lump of my sleeping husband. And here I am, only a few feet away.

It’s not too late to turn around, to throw myself into the downy-soft refuge of my own bed. Maybe another time I can be bold and fearless. It doesn’t have to be now, does it?

I firm my spine.

I am Stella, and I’m done being afraid.

Within a few steps, I’m at the side of the bed closest to me—the empty side. It’s quite tall. Much higher than the usual human bed. It’s a good thing my husband is asleep and doesn’t see my graceless scramble onto the mattress.

My heart pounds so hard it nearly rocks my whole body. I peel back the thick layer of blankets and slide underneath. Then I curl up on my side, laying my head on the pillow and staring into the dimness at the far wall of the bedroom. I try to slow my breaths to calm my raging heart.

It’s ridiculous that I’m this nervous. We’re so far apart. We might as well be in different countries. I’ll probably wake up in the morning, only for him to already be gone. So why won’t my racing mind slow down? Why can’t I calm my heaving lungs?

There’s nothing for me to—

The mattress shifts. The movement abruptly stops. “Stella?”

My eyes fly wide. Oh, what was I thinking? I should have stayed back in my own room! I clench my fists tighter around the covers, breathing hard. Maybe I can pretend to be asleep . . .

The mattress shifts again. He’s scooting closer, isn’t he? What am I ever todo?

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