Page 148 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Ash guides me down the steps, supporting me so I don’t accidentally trip over my gown. It always surprises me when I look down and find locks of silver hair falling over my shoulder.As though hearing my thoughts, he says, “The silver is lovely, but I confess I prefer the natural color of your hair.”

“Oh, I do too, but this color suits the overall look much better. I never would have thought of it if Dottie hadn’t suggested it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He shrugs, smiling softly. “Maybe. I still like your natural color more.”

And then he looks at me, and perhaps it’s just how breathtakingly handsome he is, or his expression, or the knowledge that after tonight is over—assuming nothing goes wrong—I will slip under the covers of his bed and fall asleep in his arms, but for several heartbeats, I cannot breathe.

“What is Lulythinar celebrating again?” I ask, breaking our gaze to take in the trees strung with lumiral globes, the rings of dancing horned fae, the half-eaten faerie fruit scattering the green grass, the High King sitting on a throne amid the throng, his sad wife standing with bowed head and folded hands beside him.

“Magic across all the worlds waxes and wanes with the moon.” Ash’s gaze follows mine to where Faradir drains a goblet and trades it for a full one, sloshing the liquid in his impatience. “In the human world, a moon’s cycle is a month. Here, it cycles every hundred years. Even those beyond the Veil feel the shift in the magic. The human world feels it too, just to a lesser degree with its lack of magic.”

With that, he signals a human servant over and takes two flutes full of sparkling gold liquid off his tray. My heart starts pounding when he dumps one of them in the grass and, just like last night, refills it with apple juice. Everyone knows he won’t be taking chances now that it’s rumored I’ve been poisoned once already.

But just as I am accepting the glass, a voice I never like to hear calls: “Prince Trenian!”

Ash turns, taking my elbow with his free hand and drawing me halfway behind his back. The moment Princess Listhra stumbles up to him, almost knocking into his shoulder, I’m glad for it. Her eyes shine too brightly, like twin suns at noon. She catches hold of the front of Ash’s tunic, trying to drag his face down to hers. He doesn’t move an inch, but his grip on me tightens.

“I don’t know what you did,” she snarls. “But I am going to—”

“Oh dear, it looks like someone isn’t quite in their right mind,” a new, sweet voice interrupts. I turn just as Princess Oleria appears out of nowhere, takes Listhra by the shoulder, and somehow manages to pull her off Ash without seeming at all graceless. Perhaps it’s because she does it with a laugh, catches Listhra as she stumbles again, and turns to wink at us. “Do forgive her. A few dunks in the waterfall should be just the thing to sober her up.”

She flutters her beautiful wings lightly and prances off with Listhra, who is quick to turn her snarl on her rescuer.

I hold my flute of apple juice with a sweat-slicked hand, unsure if I should drink now, or wait. I don’t want to be nervous, but I cannot help it. Ash told me what to expect, so it’s not as though I will be blindsided. Still, it won’t be fun or easy.

But when I look up at Ash, his gaze follows Oleria and Listhra as they disappear, a new glint in his eye. That cunning gaze shifts to me and my flute of apple juice.

He looks like he’s just found the last piece to a puzzle I didn’t know he was building.

Then he takes my arm and purposefully draws me into the thickest crowd of celebrating fae. Someone shrieks in delight far too close to my ear, others whirling past me in some strange dance, and more so drunk they’d put Prince Brochfael to shame. I stick a little closer to Ash and cling to my flute of juice, making sure it stays far away from anyone who couldactuallytry to slip something into it.

When Ash grips my waist and gives me a sudden twirl, I force a laugh—just as he’s forcing a wicked grin. He drags me in for a kiss, and the surrounding people explode in a cacophony, some approving, others disapproving. At that, both of our smiles widen in genuine amusement.

Then he holds out his glass, clinks it on mine with a laugh. “It’s Lulythinar’s Eve! Let’s celebrate!”

Only I notice the darkness in his eyes when I clink my glass against his . . . and drink.

Chapter 55

The Prince

The poison doesn’t affecther immediately. I can barely breathe in fear that this might go wrong somehow, but I must pretend that we are having the time of our lives. So I take her by the waist and lift her straight off her feet, twirling her in the air and laughing. All the while closely watching her face for signs the teeny-tiny dose of poison I gave her is taking its toll.

It’s fast acting, but not especially painful. It’s one of the poisons I take daily, one of the poisons that, since the blood transfusion when she was ill, she should have some immunity to.

Someimmunity.

I didn’t give her much. Not enough to kill her, but enough to make the next few hours unpleasant. Enough that my test for Faradir should go undetected.

Stella, still holding on to her glass, smiles at me and lets me whirl her around the crowd as music dances through the air. Nerves edge her smile, but I can only tell because I know her so well. She’s a good little actress, a surprisingly good oneconsidering that her temperament doesn’t naturally lend itself to it.

“Don’t make me dance until my feet bleed like those other fae,” she says abruptly, as though feeling the intoxicating pull of the music, the waiting entrapment for unsuspecting humans.

I pull her a little closer at the mention of that night, when Rahk and I found her in Listhra’s chambers. “I will keep you from the enchantments,” I promise her. “If you dance with me, you will be safe.”

That’s when she suddenly staggers.

“Stella!” I cry, and the alarm in my voice is completely real, completely raw. Even causing it, expecting it, I cannot help how it hits me when she falls against my chest.

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