Page 15 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“Ah, there it is! What a gentle voice you have. Once we are wed, you must sing me to sleep with lullabies.”

My face flushes hot. If I express my confusion, will he take it as aversion? I resort to ducking my head in a nod.Lullabies?Is this a fae tradition?

His hand slips to my waist as the music starts. A large, strong hand. Its warmth seeps through my bodice to my skin. I look up at him, obscured by my veil, and suddenly I hate that I wear it. I want to see him clearly, and I don’t want him to be disappointed when he sees me for the first time. I’d rather show him my face and stand before him as I am, so he knows what he is marrying.

We start dancing, and I’m not sure what else I was expecting, but he guides me into the dance with strength and confidence, moving gracefully. My shoulders ease just a fraction. Tonight will be easier if he is skilled at our dances. It’s hard to imagine the fae wouldn’t have their own, very different dances. He sends me out into a spin, then draws me back.

“I must ask you a question.”

I blink, then nod and manage a clear, “Yes, Your Highness?”

He gives me a shrewd look. “Would you be alright with never seeing your family again?”

My thoughts come to a startled halt. I tilt my head, turning his question over in my mind. He must mean that if he marries me, he won’t bring me back to visit my family or my kingdom. I truly will be lost to Faerieland. My chest tightens. But I cannot say no, right? Such a thing might upset him, and that could ruin our kingdom’s chance for peace.

I glance over my shoulder at my father, my sisters. They stand where I left them, watching me and Prince Trenian as we dance alone in the midst of the ballroom. A courtier engages Father in a conversation, but Father is only partially listening. His gaze is glued to me.

My eye finds Amelia, so unusually still and solemn.

I would miss her.

But I must not say anything to indicate I don’t want to marry him. “Y-yes.”

“And what are your thoughts on dying?”

I keep thinking I’m past the surprises and the inclination to sputter. Alas, I’m not. What sort of question is that? He’s hardly said four sentences to me, and he’s asking about dying? A sudden fear seizes me, one that makes me blurt, “Do you intend to kill me, Your Highness?”

His eyebrows lift, and something brightens across his face. Has my question pleased him somehow? It seems an unusual thing to be happy about.

“Of course not,” he says, spinning me again. “I would never hurt you.”

“Then I confess, I do not know what your question means.” It takes everything not to sag in relief when the words come out clearly.

He gives me another shrewd look. “I’m four hundred and seventy-three years old. I’ve seen many humans come and go in Faerieland. I have seen many, many die.”

Oh.He’s asking if I am alarmed that my lifespan will be much shorter than his.

Then, belatedly, his age registers in my mind.

I nearly choke on my own air. I knew he’d be much older than I, but he looks like he could hardly pass for thirty. To think that he was alive long before our kingdom gained its independence . . .

I give my head a tiny shake.Snap it together, Isabelle.I cannot afford to show shock to the prince. “I’m a-alright with that.”

Now it’s his turn to look surprised, but then his face shifts, like he’s impressed or pleased. Have I passed his tests? Have I successfully not scared him away?

“Then you are not afraid to marry me?” he asks, as we dance past the statue of a hunter drawing his bow.

Afraid to marry him? Of course I am! But I cannot let him know that. “It would be my h-honor, Highness.”

He looks at me as though he wants to say something else, his jaw flexing once or twice. I wait, but he only spins me out again before drawing me back.

The music ends. I curtsy as the prince bows. He doesn’t ask me for another dance, but instead offers his arm to escort me off the dance floor. I slip my hand in the crook of his elbow and try not to notice how thick and solid his arm is.

My effort is noble, but I fail utterly. Most of the kings and princes I’ve met aren’t exactly . . .muscular.Perhaps his handsomeness will be my consolation, since I’m very possibly marrying a monster.

The prince hands me off to my father and says, “You have a lovely daughter, King Roland.”

My eyes go wide, and I look up at him. He cannot mean that—he cannot see me. What, then? It’s not as though I said anything clever. Maybe he likes quiet women who will do as they’re told.

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