Page 117 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“So tell me,” saysthe beautiful princess, “why did Prince Trenian marry you?”

I sit where she tells me to on the settee in a cozy little room. A few other fae ladies are here too, and each one is more beautiful and kinder than the one before. I love them all! It’s so special being able to sit with them and talk to them!

They want to hear what I have to say. It’s soveryspecial. I giggle, flush, press a hand to my mouth. “He wanted to marry me to trick the High King.”

A few of the women exchange looks, but the princess’s golden eyes don’t move from me. It’s almost overwhelming, all this attention. I blush a little more.

“Yes, because of the bargain. But whyyou? What are his feelings toward you, dear?”

Why me? I rack my brain, not wanting to think too long—I don’t want to disappoint the beautiful princess—but it’s a confusing question. Do I even know the answer? I scrunch my face up in concentration. “I think he married me because I was the closest human princess who wasn’t betrothed to anyone. I wasalmostgiven in marriage to Prince Brochfael as his sixth wife, and he’s known to beat them. That terrified me.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. But does he love you? Does he care about you?”

This room issobeautiful. It’s all decorated in a rich, deep blue, with silvery curtains and a polished agate floor threaded with gold. Each object my eyes land on is like a whole new world of beauty, and soon I find myself staring in utter enchantment at a miniature glass-blown peacock on the table beside me. Its tail feathers are even the right colors! It must have been soverydifficult to—

“Princess Stella.”

“Oh, yes?” I sit up straighter, determined to stay focused andnotstare at the beautiful peacock. Or how the curtains waft as though they’re made of gossamer silk. Or how—

“Does he care about you?”

“Oh no, Prince Brochfael just wanted another wife to add to his—”

“Prince Trenian, you imbecile,” the beautiful princess snaps. “Does Prince Trenian love you? What does he think of you, feel for you?”

I shrink a little lower at her tone. I don’t want her to be angry, especially not at me. And how am I to answer her question? It’s much too confusing. Behind the confusion is a sad, pricking pain. A growing ache. I forget about the peacock. “He broke my heart,” I say softly. “He pretends to love me, but I don’t think he does. I don’t think he can. He’s too sad after his mother was killed. Do you know that the High King killed his mother?”

She ignores my question, waving it away with bright eyes that focus like twin beams of starlight on me. “He doesn’t love you? Does he just use you?”

I nod, licking my lips. No matter how bright and happy I feel, that ache just keeps growing.

One of the other women leans forward. Her hair reaches almost to the floor, thick and silky and so black it’s almost blue. She’s so beautiful, I cannot help but stare and smile at her. Her voice is so melodic, like a sweet song that matches the tranquil ocean of her eyes. I could listen to it forever.

Then her words register in my mind.

“How many times has Prince Trenian slept with you?”

Finally! A question I can easily answer. “Twice,” I reply promptly. Then I frown, trying to recollect my sickness. “Or maybe three? It probably depends on how you count.”

The women exchange looks, as if this is unexpected. One has a decidedly dubious expression written across her face. Princess Listhra looks at me, her brow narrowing. It’s much too shrewd of a look for my comfort, and it makes her less beautiful. It frightens me.

But I don’t have anything to fear. Not from someone so good and kind as her!

“Has Prince Trenian consummated your . . .marriage?” the princess asks.

That’s the easiest question of them all. It gives me a burst of happiness to answer. “Nope!”

The women glance at each other again. Grins spread across faces, and it makes me so very happy to see them happy! I grin back, barely restraining a giggle. Princess Listhra’s eyes glitter so prettily.

“He kisses me a lot,” I say, and the giggle finally slips free. “Alot. I love his kisses.”

Those grins vanish in a flash. I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth. What did I say to make them so upset? I need to fix this.

“Well,” I quickly amend, “he didn’t kiss my lips until today. Today was the first time. The rest of the time, he just kissed me elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” says one of the women, flashing another concerned and dubious expression.

I nod. “My forehead usually. Or my shoulder. Cheek. And so forth.”

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