Page 160 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Then we part ways. Just for a few hours.

Still, it feels as though it will be forever.

Chapter 60

The Prince

Edvear brings a mirrorinto my study for me to get ready with, since apparently a whole army of maids are working on Stella in the washroom. I do not know how women do it—the hours and hours of primping and polishing. I would go utterly mad.

As I comb through my hair, button my tunic, and place my circlet crown atop my head, a heavy weight settles on my shoulders.

I am both afraid and hopeful, nervous and confident. I worked with Oleria to iron out the rest of the details for our plan, and every time I run over each aspect in my head, I grow surer that it will work. Last I heard, three servants had been successfully planted in the kitchens. I tried to anticipate everything that could go wrong. We have fail safes in place for if the servants get discovered, if Oleria cannot get to her hiding spot in time, if the High King detects the poison, and even if she shoots him and misses.

All outcomes end with Faradir dead by the end of the Lulythinar celebration. Even if I must kill him myself.

Because, as much as I do not want to give up my throne, as aware I am of the utter destruction that will ensue if Faerieland is left with no heir, my first priority is protecting my wife. My second is nullifying the bargain I made with Faradir to decimate the human lands, which will only happen if he is dead. Only after those things do I care about my throne.

I am not fearful because I think my plan will fail; I know it can succeed. I think itwillsucceed. What I fear, rather, is what Faradir intends to do tonight.

He will strike. Hewillretaliate.

Blood will flow this Lulythinar.

I buckle my sword to my belt. I wrap my fingers around its familiar hilt, slowly draw the blade out of its sheath. Light catches its lethal tip and flashes in the mirror.

One way or another, this ends tonight.

The sun is settingwhen Edvear comes to my study and tells me that Stella is ready and waiting in the living room.

My heart gives a nervous pitter-patter as I walk through the hallway toward where I hear a swish of skirts. Am I more nervous to see my wife in this moment than I am about this entire night? I might be.

I come around the corner, and there she is.

She smiles shyly at me, her hands clasped behind her—as though she is as nervous as I am. For a moment, I just stand there. Stunned speechless once more by the beauty of this girl I had married without a clue to what she looked like.The difference tonight is that she looks utterly and completelyherself.

Her gown is iridescent purple. It turns blue when the light catches it, making it breathtaking. Her shoulders are bare, but purple and silver filigree bands on her arms are fastened to glossy, transparent sleeves that shine with the same iridescent beauty. The skirt flares out at a flattering angle, emphasizing her waist and the loveliness of her figure. Her hair is left down, to my delight. Its only ornament is the silver and diamond tiara.

I swallow hard. “Hello.”

She pulls out what she was hiding behind her back—and sets it on her face. “It even comes with a mask!”

The mask is the same iridescent purple as the dress, sweeping away from her eyes in elaborate, bejeweled butterfly wings.

My mind immediately goes to the wings tattooed on the back of my hand. Cold rushes down my spine. I try to shove the sensation away as I step forward, catch her hand, and bring it to my lips.

“You truly are an angel,” I murmur.

“Don’t be dramatic! A simpleyou look lovelywill suffice!”

My mouth turns up. “You look lovely.”

“You look lovely too.”

That wrings a chuckle out of me. I roll my eyes and step close enough to tilt her chin up for a kiss.

She stops me with a glare. “I’m not mocking you. You are a very beautiful man. Especially so when you wear your crown.”

“I thought I was supposed to be handsome.”

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