Page 93 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Every few minutes, I look up, stop working, and listen for the sound of her breathing. It’s impossible to detect movement beneath that mound of blankets, but that soft whisper of sound is my lifeline.

The last thing I do is set down my quill and stare into space. Like it or not, I must spin this somehow. No one can know that Stella has blood sickness. Everyone knows someone tried to poison her last night thanks to my . . .little display. I could set Edvear in charge of spreading the rumor that last night’s poisoning was only a guise for Princess Listhra’s real trap, which awaited Stella when she returned to my quarters. Perhaps if the High King thinks I’m getting lazy protecting my wife, he will go back to underestimating me. Maybe I could get Rahk to let it slip to one of those gossipy sisters of his . . .

I cannot spread the rumor that the High King tried to poison her. He’ll know it was false, but since Princess Listhradidtry to poison Stella last night, no one will believe her if she insists this second attempt wasn’t her doing.

In fact, she might even claim it, as it’ll make her look much cleverer than she actually is.

When I don’t show for tonight’s banquet, more rumors will spread. Rumors that I’ve gone and fallen in love with the humangirl I wed. They’ll reach my father’s ears, and he will believe that he finally has a tool he can use against me, if he can just get his hands on her.

If I manage it carefully, Stella won’t be hurt.

And the High King will walk right into my trap.

It’s then that I notice the next missive on my desk. It’s written in Edvear’s hand.

The High King summons you to the throne room.

Everything inside me freezes.

Movement catches my gaze. I shift, whipping my attention to Stella as she lets out a low moan and thrashes her head from one side to the other. I shove back my chair, nearly tripping in my haste to get back to the bed.

“Stella?” I ask, hating myself for how much worthless hope can reside in a single word.

She groans again. Sweat glistens at her hairline, catching the last lights of the day.Sweat. I place a hand over her forehead and almost draw back. She’s burning up. I rip the blankets off her, leaving her scorching feet bare to the air, and her nightgown sticking to her sweaty skin.

“Edvear!” I call. “Get me a cloth and a bowl of ice water!”

It’s hardly two minutes before he enters the room with the requested objects. I thank him, ask him to inform the doctor of the change, and set to dabbing Stella’s face, neck, and shoulders with the cooled cloth. The excess water dribbles into her hair and the bedclothes.

Her fists clench the sheets as her head thrashing increases. Her face contorts in a wince, as though she’s in pain. Another moan slips between her lips. Then a third. The fourth almost sounds like my name.

“Stella?” I breathe, dabbing her cheek. “Can you hear me, love?”

“Ashhhh,” she moans, clearer this time.

“I’m right here, darling. Right here.”

Her hand loosens its death grip on the sheets, darting up and catching hold of my wrist. I cannot help the simultaneous leaping of my heart and twisting of my gut.

“Ash,” she says again, and this time it’s almost a sigh. Her body relaxes.

Blood pounding, I lean over her, leaving my wrist in her grasp. I try not to bring her discomfort by touching her, but I bring my mouth to her ear. “I’m here, Stella, and I’m not leaving you. Come back to me, sweet wife. Please, come back to me.”

Something keeps me from saying the thing I ought. Those three words my heart keeps saying over and over again. Once I say them to her, I cannot take them back. And once I say them to her, there’ll be nothing to buffer me from the pain of losing her.

When I pull back, I startle sharply.

Her eyes are open.

Those two beautiful doe-soft eyes blink once at me, and I cannot help catching her face in both of my hands, suddenly wild with hope. “Stella? Stella, love!”

“Ash?” she croaks.

“Yes, it’s me! Ash, your husband. Can you hear me?” She needs water, more broth! Maybe if I can get her to sit up, she can take something a little more substantive. Oh, Great Kings! I could sing and laugh and dance from the relief coursing through me!

Then her eyes roll back in her head.

“No, no, no! Stella, stay with me, girl! Stella?”

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