Page 156 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I stay still, listening.

“I wouldn’t describe us as a happy family. That isn’t how things are among us fae usually. But we were together. Father, my mother, me. He didn’t love my mother, and he didn’t love me. Still, he thought my mother was beautiful, and he was proud when I defied her, or when I smart-mouthed members of his court as a child. In case you haven’t gathered, I was not well-behaved. I was, to put it frankly, a terror. But I loved my mother, no matter how difficult I made life for her. And I loved my father—held him in deep reverence.”

“Did it change when he . . . when he killed your mother?”

“The change happened long before that, actually. We have this board game called Fool’s Circle—I should teach you to play some time—and while you can learn the rules in a matter of minutes, it can take thousands of years to perfect strategy. Faradir taught me how to play when I was very young and took tremendous pleasure in regularly beating me in front of his court. He would pat me on the head and say, ‘Maybe next time, my boy.’ I was mostly happy to have his attention, even if he made sport of me. At some point, however, I decided I wanted to win for once. So, for an entire year, I searched high and low for clever opponents in the game, and played with them in secret. When Faradir called me to play him, I would lose on purpose, so he wouldn’t suspect anything until I was ready.

“Then, one day, I suddenly knew it was time. I waited until he called me. I played my usual role of the witless, enthusiastic son.” He lets out a long exhale, one made of sorrow. “I believed he would be so proud of me. But, as you can imagine, with so many subjects watching, Faradir did not want to lose. When I began winning, his demeanor changed. I remember looking atthe way his brows pinched together and the sudden dread that filled me. I had messed up. He played with me because he enjoyed winning, and I realized I would rather still be able to play with him than win the game. So quickly, I pulled back. I maneuvered the game back in his favor. He won. But he still looked upset—even angry. He patted me on the head like always, said, ‘Maybe next time,’ and left.”

“Was there another time?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not once. Things changed between us after that. He never wanted to see me anymore, and when he did, it was always to criticize me. The more publicly he could humiliate me, the better.”

“You stopped being his son,” I say softly. “You became a threat. Someone who could outwit and outsmart him.”

Faradir never loved Ash. Ash was the prince, the tool, the heir to be molded into what served Faradir’s agenda the most. And when he stopped serving that agenda, he became a liability.

Ash shrugs, as if he doesn’t care, even though we both know the truth. “Your turn.”

I know what my next secret is, but the thought of it brings a flush of something like shame to my cheeks. I don’t want to admit to having lied to my husband, but things were different between us, and I was trying to survive in a world of people who wanted me dead. The shame vanishes like dew.

“I can smell lies,” I say without preamble. “I didn’t tell you before because—well, at first, I didn’t even know, and it caught me so off-guard I wasn’t sure what to do. Especially since it wasyouwho lied to me. At the time, I decided not to tell you because I wasn’t sure if I could trust you.”

“Ithoughtyou could! I simply convinced myself I was making things up. You had that coughing fit, and I was nearly so excited—”

“Excited?” I demand, gaping at him. “Why would you be excited? You had just lied to me!”

“Because it meant you had magic! And Iwantyou to know when people are lying to you. Even if it’s me—which, please forgive me for that lie. I only wanted to ease your fears, though I should not have lied to do so. But Great Kings, does this mean you can smell our lies but yours have no stench, no taste of their own?”

I nod.

“That is going to be an immense asset when you’re quee—” He cuts off abruptly. Swallows. I feel the sudden vulnerable flash of his gaze on me.

Queen.

He doesn’t have to say what we’re both thinking:

If we survive tomorrow.

If we win Ash’s throne tomorrow.

“I suppose . . . if we’re sharing secrets . . .” Ash trails off at first. He takes two knuckles, touches my ear, then traces a line down my neck to my shoulder, across my arm to my fingers. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch, listening to his voice as he speaks again. “I’m haunted by the fear of losing you. It has dogged my steps from the beginning, and in some ways, it is worse now—even with a plan. Even with the pieces carefully placed. What if we survive but fail to dethrone Faradir, and I am bound by blood to destroy the human lands? How could our relationship continue with that between us? How could you ever forgive me? And possibly the greater question: how could I forgive myself?

“But what if something goes wrong and I lose you? What if I cannot protect you from all who wish you harm? What then? In either case, how do we—or I—keep on living?” His voice breaks. He holds me to his chest, as though he can keep me here forever. Tucked away in his little corner of this dark world. “You are my life. So how could I live without you?”

I close my eyes, let the weight of his question—a question that clearly has plagued him for some time—fall over me like a blanket. Part of me wants to bask in the sweetness of what he is implying, or to reassure him that everything will go as planned tomorrow.

But I cannot do either. Because his question is one for the ages.

How can you go on living after tragedy?

I think carefully before I open my mouth. “Living with my family was very stressful. Marrying you was terrifying. It would have been easier, in that moment, to not have married you. I would have chosen that, if I’d had a choice. But marrying you was the best thing I’ve ever done. I discovered what it was to be loved. Even if this ends horribly, I will have no regrets. I would always choose to have weeks as your bride instead of decades as the wife of someone like Prince Brochfael.”

“You don’t mean that,” he murmurs against my hair, and the cheek he presses to my forehead is wet.

“I think you need to stop believing that I would have been better off if you’d never entered my life,” I reply firmly. “Because it’s not true. Do you remember who I was when you first met me? Do you remember how I could barely talk—much less about my own thoughts and ideas? Do you remember how I struggled to look you in the eye? When you showed up at my father’s doorstep, I was living a miserable life. Isabelle Louise never could have done the things I did today and yesterday. She was too afraid. I am better for having known you, Ash. Can you believe that? For me?”

He presses a teary kiss to my brow. The sound of his heavy breathing fills the silence between us. I lean into him, letting him feel my closeness, the honesty of my words. With my fingers, I trace his face, his long hair, his sensitive ears—making him shiver.

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