Page 7 of Bride of the Fae Prince

The moment I have a son, however . . .

Nothing will stop him from killing me.

And I do want love. I’m just not stupid enough to risk such a thing. There will be no love in the marriage I’m about to begin.

My steward, Edvear, another lowborn fae about half my age with yellow cat eyes and nubby horns protruding from his curly brown hair, hurries to my side once we’re far enough from the throne room. I twist my fingers by habit, throwing a quick illusion spell around us to conceal his voice.

“Master Ash!” he says quickly. “Calver—”

“Is dead,” I reply briskly. “Tell Sanak there is an opening available if he wants it. I’m going to need a small unit of warriors, and if you could find some lowborn fae to dress up as dignitaries, that would be just fabulous.”

“Lowborn fae? My lord?”

“Yes, just anyone the High King doesn’t care about. Ones that won’t care about humans.” I glance sidelong at him, at the shellshocked expression he’s trying to hide, and I find myself softening. “You look crestfallen. What is wrong, my friend?”

“It’s just . . . Calver is dead. He was your manservant for over thirty years. Were you not . . . Are you not . . .?”

My jaw clenches, and I pick up our pace. “He knew what he was getting into. He accepted the position, knowing the risks, just as you did. I will fulfill my vow to him, as I will fulfill my vow to you should anything happen. My father won’t relinquish the idea that I’m attached to my staff, so he fancies executing them whenever he disapproves of me.”

Edvear looks ahead, toward the door of my quarters that we swiftly approach. His nostrils flare as he avoids my gaze. He says nothing, but he’s served me long enough that I recognize the expression.

I lower my voice. “The High King killed my mother when I disrespected him once. Was I glad when that happened? No. Neither am I glad for Calver’s loss. Or any loss. That doesn’t mean I am foolish enough to risk forming attachments. Truly, Princess Listhra ought to be relieved I rejected her instead of pouting like a pixie without a book to nibble on.”

Edvear nods once, back to his composed self as he bows his horned head and opens the door for me. “Which court are we going to first, then? I’ll have our servants pack us.”

“No need to pack. We’re not staying at any of them.”

He stops short. “What? But the bargain—”

“We’ll travel to a few of them—shouldn’t take but an hour to go through the portals and come back. We will stop at the Nothril Court and enlist Prince Rahk to come with us.”

Edvear closes his eyes. “I should have known. Where are weactuallygoing?”

I pause in the doorway of my study, my hand gripping the lintel as I turn and flash a wicked grin at my steward. “We are going to the human world.”

Chapter 3

The Princess

King Ilbert of Enslingtonsolicits Amelia’s hand in marriage in the week following the ball. It soothes a great deal of my anxiety to see her on his arm, laughing while he smiles down at her.

Though I’ve hardly spoken two words to him since our dance, I’ve observed them together from across a ballroom, or from my window overlooking the palace gardens. There seems to be an unusual and utterly delightful warmth between them. He has been nothing but cordial and gentle with her.

I’m not sure if I dare hope for something akin to true affection for my youngest sister’s marriage. It is a foolhardy wish, one that asks for nothing but disappointment. And yet, I cannot quell it. Perhaps shewillbe happy after all.

I look down at the little potted plants I keep on the sill. My rosemary isn’t doing so well, but the lavender has a small purple bloom that gives me a burst of happiness every time I see it. “It seems everything has turned out as well as could be hoped for. For Amelia,” I tell my plants. I give one of the tiny leaves of mythyme a gentle stroke. Yvonne always teases me that it’s not my job to grow food for the kitchen, but I ignore her. These aren’t for the kitchen. They’re mine, and tending to them brings me great satisfaction.

Maybe if I get married someday, I’ll be allowed a full garden of my own to care for.

When King Ilbert’s party departs at the end of negotiations, and wedding preparations begin in earnest, the hopeful optimism I have for Amelia’s future is replaced with a sick knot of dread for my own.

At breakfast that morning, I don’t manage a single bite. I keep my gaze on my full plate, pushing food around with my fork to hide how close I am to throwing up. The smell of roasted chestnuts and steamed porridge cloy in my nostrils, making me sicker.

Finally, Father sets down his teacup.

I brace myself. Here it is.

I’m doing this for my people. I’m doing this for my people. I will fulfill my duty. We need this alliance. And I will be grateful that it is me, and not Amelia, who faces this fate.

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