Page 92 of Bride of the Fae Prince

A parched little cry of pain slips between her lips when the needle pierces her skin. Her head thrashes from side to side. I catch it against my chest, holding her still while the doctor injects the blood into her veins.

When it’s finally over, and we have matching arm bandages, the doctor closes his bag with a snap. “That is all I can do for now. Make sure she stays comfortable, and try to get her to take a little water and broth every few hours. Then pray she comes through.”

With that and nothing more, the doctor bows and leaves. Edvear gives me a too-knowing look. “Shall I have your desk brought in here for the time being?”

I gnaw on the inside of my mouth. Different snippy responses fly through my head, but I shove all of them away and nod. “Thank you, Edvear.”

When the door closes, and I’m once more alone with my wife, I tighten my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder. She’s so limp, so cold. It’s almost as if she’s already gone. The tears come then, hot and unfamiliar.

“You can’t die,” I growl, my shoulders shuddering. “I can’t lose you, too. Not after . . . Not after you made me like you, you confounded woman! I shouldn’t have lifted that cursed veil. Shouldn’t have talked to you. Shouldn’t have brought you here at all. Cursed Great Kings! Don’t you hear me, Stella? Come back to me.Please,come back to me.” My voice breaks into sobs, and I fall back against the pillows, clinging to her as though my touch will bring her back.

I was a fool to love her.

Everything I love dies.

The Princess

I run through theempty halls of my palace home, chasing fragmented phantoms. What am I searching for? Why can’t I find it? I know it’s here somewhere . . . somewhere . . .

A glitter catches my eye.

Gripping the skirt of my ice-blue gown in my fists, I run harder. My feet slip on the polished floor, and I land hard on my hands and knees. Palms burning, I shove up and get my feet under me. For a moment, dizziness nearly overcomes me and I almost fall back to the ground. Gathering my determination, I catch my balance on the white-plastered wall, breathing hard. My skirts float lightly around my ankles, the translucent material revealing my calves and bare feet, clinging to my hips. For once, I don’t care about modesty. There issomethinghere. Something I need so desperately. It itches at the edge of my mind.

Something sparkles in my vision again.Remindingme.

I’m running again. The glitter sits on the windowsill by the feasting hall, overlooking the gardens I used to love so much. I race between tapestries depicting maidens among wildflowers and waterfalls and knights amid gore and bloodshed. I slide to a stop before it, reach out—

It vanishes between my fingers like a will-o’-the-wisp.

The Prince

My staff brings mydesk into the bedroom, and I pointedly ignore it for hours, doing nothing except rocking my frigid wife andthinking.So much thinking.

Sometimes I hate my own brain. The way it tries to shove away the grief, focusing instead on trying to spin this new hurdle to my advantage. I put it off for hours, but each time Edvear slips in to add another sealed missive to my stack, my resolve crumbles just a fraction.

When the day is mostly gone, I finally get up. I’m still in the thin wool trousers and loose white shirt I wore to bed last night. I don’t bother changing, glamouring myself, or even eating the plate of food Edvear has left for me. The second plate, actually. The first untouched plate sits on my bedside table. Beside it is a mostly full mug of tepid broth and a cup of water. I didn’t get much down her throat earlier.

Making sure I’ve piled every blanket I can find on top of Stella and slipping a pair of spell-heated bricks near her feet, I force myself to stumble to my desk, fall into the chair, and stare blankly at the papers before me.

Distraction.

I don’twanta distraction. Iwantto stay with my wife.

Clenching my jaw, I force my hands to move, to pick up the first missive, to open it. Reading the first few lines punches the wind right out of me.

To His Royal Highness, from the Imperial Human Tailor. The first set of dresses for Lady Stella will be delivered tomorrow morning at first light. If any adjustments are required, I am happy to oblige.

I need to get control of myself. I cannot allow myself to burst into anger at any mention of her. Yes, my heart might be cleaving in two, but I can handle this.

It’s not as though I’m a stranger to heartbreak. I can handle it.

Straightening my shoulders, I scrawl a reply and force myself to inquire about the progress of the Lulythinar ballgown. Then I move on to the next missive, and the next, until I’m through my stack. I shift to the list of things Edvear has left for me.Mostly household things, like approvals for large purchases and issues with the staff. Beneath it is a scrawled reply in Rahk’s handwriting that says:I’ll take care of it.

It’s a small relief I won’t have to worry about Mama Bagogs or Orawyth right now.

The next thing I do is pull out the social calendar Edvear keeps for me and study it. I take my thickest quill, dab it in the ink, and slash through everything I can possibly skip. Curse the consequences. The whole world can be offended if it likes. The High King can get his underthings in a twist if he so pleases.

I don’t care.

---