Page 89 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“I don’t know! Not a poison I’m familiar with! None of the ones I’ve studied make someone socold.” I run my hands up and down the pile of blankets on top of Stella, trying to warm her with my magic, but it seems to do little good. I wrack my brain, running through the last twelve hours. She came with me to dinner. She didn’t eat anything. I lost track of her for a few minutes, during which Rahk rescued her and brought her back. Neither of them mentioned anything bad happening—someone giving her food or pressing a strand of hair into her hand or even anyone elsetalkingto her. The servants didn’t mention anything.

Had something happened? If not then, when else could something have happened? She was back here the rest of the time—in my arms most of the night. There was a short window when we weren’t together while I bathed, and then again before she climbed into bed with me.

A sudden fear hits me. She had been in my study when I left the bathing chamber. Did she find my stash of poisons? Did she touch any of them? Consume anything? Surely, she wouldn’t be so stupid! I cannot imagine a world where she’d find an unlabeled bottle and just take a swig.

“Did she eat anything?” I demand as Edvear hurries back out the door.

“She had a meal, yes. But it was prepared in our kitchens, and I served it myself. When did she start displaying symptoms?”

“This morning. Once you’ve gotten the doctor, I want a list of everyone who touched her food and a timeline of preparation. I want to know if it was ever left alone, and if so, where and for how long.”

Edvear nods and leaves. Part of me wants to follow him out, to go racing through the hallways of the palace shouting for a doctor myself. But I cannot bring myself to leave Stella alone, shivering so cold.

Steeling my spine against the bitter fear swelling in my soul, I get back in bed. Pulling her so she’s flush against me, I wrap her up as tightly as I can and lay my head against hers. I siphon heat from the air with my magic and pour it out of my hands like water from a glass. It’s not enough. Nothing stops the shaking.

I let my shoulders sag, but don’t stop trying to warm her.

Have I already lost her?

It hasn’t even been three full days since we arrived in Valehaven. How could this have happened? Did my father outwit me somehow? Anticipate some move of mine that I didn’t think he knew? How did he get past my guard? Or was it Princess Listhra, who tried to poison her last night? Did the High King learn of her attempted poisoning and use it as a distraction from his own maneuver?

Stellacan’t die.She can’t. She just . . . can’t!

Lulythinar is swiftly approaching, and if she dies now, what can I do? It might be too late to find another wife, which means I’ll be forced into a marriage, forced to sire an heir. Forced to ensure my own death.

But deeper than that . . . I can’t loseher.She’s too good to die. Too bright and beautiful and sweet, and I . . . I . . .

I let out a groan, squeezing her closer to me and pressing another kiss to the top of her head. She has fallen back into sleep, her mouth open and her brow puckered. Her name is another groan on my lips. “Oh Isabelle. My darling Stella. Please, please be alright.Please.”

If the High King killed her, I’ll forget this whole throne overthrowing business. I’ll kill him in cold blood and destroy my claim to the throne. I’ll plunge this whole world into war and leave the fae without a king, and the humans without protection from their rampaging.

A bitter resolve sears like a brand into my soul.

If she dies, this world burns.

The High King took my mother from me. Hecannottake Stella too. If he does, he’ll finally know the monster he spawned. It prowls beneath my skin now, ready to rip and devour.

What I’ll do to him will make what he’s done to me look trite.

The door bursts open and I tense, tightening my arms around my wife as though expecting the High King to walk in with a sword and try to kill her this very instant, despite the wards I have on my quarters to prevent exactly that.

It’s Edvear. And a short, round-bellied human doctor with spectacles and a little black bag that he sets on the bed and opens. I recognize him as the traveling doctor who visits the Small Cities.

“If you would please, Your Highness,” says the doctor, coming around to Stella’s side of the bed.

If I would pleasewhat? If he thinks I’m going to let go of my wife—

“My lord, he must check her for poison. We must move quickly!” Edvear’s voice, ever practical, rankles down my spine. Nevertheless, I disentangle my arms from around her and sit up.

“Please help me lay her flat, Highness.”

I spring into action too quickly, rolling Stella from her side onto her back. I brush the hair out of her face, my heart hammering, as the doctor pulls down the blankets and presses two fingers beneath her jaw, and another two fingers to her heart. He looks at the ceiling, his mouth moving slightly as though he’s counting.

Next, he pries her mouth wide with his thumbs, peering inside. He pulls a strange instrument from his bag, a long slender piece of wood inlaid with bits of metal, it seems, and lays it on her tongue. After another minute, he peels it up, and sets it on the bedside table, the wet end propped up on a small towel. He doesn’t speak while he works, taking a little dish and mixing two different liquids from vials in it before dipping the instrument into the liquid.

“Well?” I demand, and Edvear shoots me a look like I’m being rude.

“A moment or two for the results, Highness,” says the doctor. “But I don’t think it’s poison.”

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