Page 24 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“Have you eaten today, Highness?” asks the maid, her voice threaded with urgency.

I shake my head as my vision swims.

“Then drink this. I brought it for you.” She pushes a cup into my hand.

It seems the servants pity my fate, too. I shake my head, pressing a hand to my stomach. “I d-don’t think I can k-keep anything down right n-n-now.”

Her mouth pulls into a grim line. “Try a little, Highness. See if you can take it. Here is a stool to sit on while I unlace your dress.”

With my skirts poofing around me, I sit gratefully, accept the cup, and take a tentative sip. It’s warm milk, spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, sweetened with honey. Before I know it, I’ve guzzled it down greedily. The maid takes the cup and gives me a plate of cheese, cold cuts, and buttered toast. When I have finished that, she gives me a bowl of stewed apples with cream.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so famished in my entire life.

My limbs are trembling less when I’ve finished eating, and a weight falls from my shoulders with every layer of gown that the maid peels off me. She works quickly, quietly, and I find solace in her presence.

Too fast, I stand in nothing but my shift. I wrap my arms around myself, half afraid the maid will declare her work done and leave me like this for the prince.

She doesn’t.

She withdraws a long, pure white dressing gown from the wardrobe. It is simple, much too unstructured and thin to be considered modest, but it covers me from my throat to my ankles. Who chose this for me? Someone who wants me to feel less vulnerable and exposed. Amelia, maybe? Whoever it was, I’m grateful.

As her last step, the maid bids me sit on the bed, unwinds my hair from its complicated updo, removing dozens of pins until my hair falls to my waist, and brushes the blonde locks until they shine.

“Would you prefer your hair down or in a braid, my lady?” It’s as if she knows I don’t have the mental capacity to sort through dozens of hairstyles for my wedding night.

Down feels too . . . intimate. Which, I suppose, means I ought to leave it down.

“A b-braid,” I say, and swallow. My stomach is less tumultuous after the food, but it still flutters and flips as my hands tremble. At least my legs are steadier now. I try to focus on the soothing hands of my maid as she braids my hair into one long braid and arranges it over my shoulder. Then she straightens my veil—still the blue silk—and steps back.

“Are you ready, my lady?”

No.“I-I-I am.” The prince had better not want me to talk tonight, because with each passing minute, I trust myself less and less to get a full sentence out.

The girl hesitates.

“Y-yes?” I ask.

She hesitates another minute, then folds her hands and ducks her head, whispering quietly. “Thank you. For doing this. For us.”

I attempt a smile, but the veil conceals my efforts.

“My uncle was lost to the Long Lost Wood,” she continues, her voice barely discernable. “Because of the encroachment. You will save the rest of us.”

The words fall like a blow, knocking the wind from my chest. Father never said anything about fatalities because of the slow invasion! I manage a nod, and then a faint, “You’re w-welcome,” even though I feel like I ought to be thanking her for the unexpected care and kindness she has shown me tonight.

She bobs a curtsy and, with one last glance at me sitting on the bed, she goes to the main door of the chamber and slips out. Her soft voice echoes through the crack in the door just before it shuts. “Your bride awaits, Your Highness.”

Chapter 11

The Prince

I pace in thehallway outside of the bridal chamber. Rahk leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me. “You’re prowling again.”

I stifle my urge to growl at him. That would only prove his point.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you.”

I glare at him.

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