Page 174 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“That’s just it, Father.” Now that we’re so close, so near destroying each other, I don’t have to shout. I can speak quietly, and he will hear. But the words don’t matter so much as the distraction. “You hate me because I am too much like you. Because I am a threat to you. You never wanted a son you could be proud of. You wanted a son you could control.”

Faradir’s good hand darts out. Searing heat grips my throat. I choke. Panic surges in my blood. I nearly retaliate, nearly react and summon my own magic.

“I know what you’re trying to do,Prince Trenian,” Faradir hisses just as I lift my heel. “But if you’re so determined to steal my throne, then I will steal yours.”

It’s only a split second. A split second for him to shove me aside as he throws himself across the threshold into the next room. A split second to realize that he intends to trick me exactly like I am trying to trick him. My mouth opens in sudden hope, the title bursting from my mouth in one last effort to save my throne: “High King!”

But it’s already too late. He’s already in the next room.

Immediately, I feel a well brimming with latent magic inside me—a well I wasn’t even aware of—wash away completely. I didn’t realize I would sense the loss so keenly. But I do. There’s no question now.

I broke a law of Valehaven. I did not address the High King upon entering a new room.

And now, I can never be High King.

I stagger to regain my balance, pulling myself into a defensive position. Except, it’s not necessary.

Faradir is on his hand and knees, eyes wide and bulging in their sockets, his usually silken hair wild and tangled.He feels it too.Blood stains his golden robes. Slowly, he lifts his face to me. “What did you do?”

A smile twists my lips as I reach into my pocket, and pull out the forgotten globe where Stella is busy kicking the glass to break it. “It seems you forgot I wasn’t the only person in the room. You failed to address my wife by her title. Congratulations: you are no longer the High King of Faerieland.”

I counter the blast of magic that comes flying my way, and the bolts collide in a blinding explosion between us. Stella doubles over, covering her eyes from the brightness. I hold her close to my breast, about to slip her back into my pocket so I can end Faradir once and for all.

But when the light clears, Faradir is gone. I’ll bet on my mother’s grave he’s going back to the throne room. That scene is going to be hideous.

First, I pull the globe out. I cover it with my other hand, growl a string of spells, and the glass vanishes like a puff of smoke. Light bursts from the tiny Stella, almost as blinding as the magic blast from a few seconds ago. Then she’s on her knees before me, back to her normal size, coughing and heaving.

Chapter 66

The Princess

My head spins, mybody trembles, but all I can think is:

He gave up his throne.

“Are you alright?” Ash’s hands are running over me, pulling my tangled hair back from my face as I dry heave. Tears fill his voice. “I thought I’d lost you!”

I want a sappy reunion as much as he does, but there’s no time. The moment my brain stops whirling, I push to my feet, saying, “I’m fine! My head just hurts from that spell.” And my neck hurts from being choked, my whole body from being tossed around and banged into the walls of my temporary prison over and over again. That’s not important, though. Ash grabs my arm to steady me, and distantly, I realize I lost a sleeve at some point. That’s also not important. “Ash! You gave up your throne! Faradir might be going to reclaim it even now!”

I dive toward the burned remains of Listhra’s door, only for Ash to catch me around the waist and haul me back. He sticks his own head out first, checks to ensure there’s no one ready to blastus to pieces, and then the moment he turns his face to tell me it’s safe, I’m bolting out again.

“Faradir cannot reclaim the throne, not unless he intends to conquer all twelve of the Courts, which he will certainly try to—”

I stop, turn toward him, grab him by the front of his shirt, and yank him into a fierce kiss. He seems stunned at first, not reacting except in shock. Then his arms are around me, his hand in my hair, his mouth moving even fiercer against mine.

“I will sacrifice a hundred thrones, a thousand crowns for you,” Ash whispers. “And I won’t regret it for an instant.”

I let myself enjoy those pretty words, let myself bask in the warmth of his affection, the sincerity of his earlier apology for sending me away, the brilliance of his maneuvers.

Then it’s time to face the throne room, and the chaos that has broken loose with a rogue former king and a throne that no one can sit in. Ash and I quickly pick our way through the rubble of the smashed door and enter a room full of turmoil.

Faradir hunkers like a cornered animal at the steps of his throne, a spear in one hand and a crossbow in the other. His fangs break through his glamours as he snarls at the last people I hoped to see right now: Lord and Lady Nothril. They stand at the front of the shrieking crowd, shouting at Faradir.

“Give me the crown,” Lady Nothril demands.

“It will not accept you!” Faradir snarls back. The crown lies on the second stair beside the throne. When Lord Nothril reaches for it while Lady Nothril argues with Faradir, it sparks an angry red, and he pulls back with a sharp hiss.

“I told you!” shrieks Faradir.

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