Page 98 of Bride of the Fae Prince

He gives a single, prim nod. “Good.”

“It’s good?” I straighten. “It is, right? This means she’ll recover?”

“It would seem so.” The doctor comes around to Stella’s side of the bed and performs a few checks. Opening her mouth and one eyelid, taking her pulse, touching her forehead. “She is much improved. It’s quite a miracle, I’d say. Her magic may not be very strong if she’s already overcome the worst of the sickness. But that is to be seen.”

After he’s performed a few more inspections, he leaves with the same instructions as before.

I’m alone once more, holding my sleeping wife.

She’s through the worst of it. She’s going to be alright.

Stella will survive. And she hasmagicnow.

Everything has changed.

I carefully extricate myself from her, lay her against the pillows, bring the blankets up to her chin, and tuck her in. I bend down and press a kiss to her forehead. It is like kissing a heart mended anew, or the bright rays of a fresh dawn.

“Rest,” I murmur.

Then I straighten, all but throw myself into my desk, and pick up my quill. I take a blank page and scrawl frantically while hope sleeps a few feet away.

Chapter 35

The Prince

Edvear interrupts me shortlyafter Stella’s brief awakening, and I turn a bright grin on him. “Hullo.”

He doesn’t grin back. My stomach drops, knowing exactly what he’s here for. “The High King . . .”

I sigh, setting down my quill and running a hand down my face. “I should have known he wouldn’t be put off for long. What sort of mood is he in today?”

“I’m not sure, my lord, but the servant at the door seemed anxious.”

As much as I hate responding to the High King’s summons, I’ve put this one off long enough. It’s a fine line to walk, of keeping himjust angry enoughthat I can manipulate the situationbut not so explosively angry that he does something unpredictable.

I push myself up to my feet, sighing again, and cast one last forlorn look at Stella. She sleeps much more peacefully now, her skin a normal rosy hue instead of ghastly pale or feverishlyflushed. An ache builds in my stomach. I don’t want to leave her until she’s better.

It seems I have no choice, however.

“Keep an eye on her, please,” I say, grabbing an overtunic and shrugging it on. “And if anyone comes to the door, send them away. I don’t care if it’s the tailor, or a scheduled delivery. Don’t open the door while I’m gone.”

He bows. “Of course, my lord.”

With that, I sweep a glamour over the rest of myself, hiding any last visible sign of poison, polishing my tall boots and outfitting myself in a prince’s garb that isjusta smidge too casual for visiting the High King. Not that it matters too much; being High King gives him the power to see through glamour.

On my way out, I pause long enough to cast one more ward over my chambers. No one is going to lay a finger on my wife while I’m gone.

The walk to the throne room through echoing marble hallways is not too long—not as long as I should prefer—but I use the time to focus my mind.

I don’t care about my wife. I don’t care about my staff. I don’t care about Rahk. Nothing matters to me but that throne, and I will do anything to get it. I will be ruthless and sacrifice anything in my way.

It’s time to make Faradir pay for what he’s done.

I reach those doors that I used to shrink before. There’s no shrinking now. Before the guards can move to open them, I stride past and shove both doors open so they swing on their hinges—and hit the walls.

My mouth twists into a grin as I meet the High King’s gaze. He lounges in his throne, a bored, lazy expression on his face as he leans his jaw on his fist.

“It really has been too long, hasn’t it?” I say, stopping and spreading my hands wide. “Dear Father, my High King.”

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