Page 73 of Bride of the Fae Prince

A manservant comes to take the cloak from Ash’s shoulders, and the hood from mine. He’s human, and he works with efficiency. Did he make a bargain with Ash like that man back at the Small City? That Milton Andrews? Or a bargain like what I think Ash’s former manservant made with him regarding Mama Bagogs?

“Where is Edvear?” Ash asks the manservant.

“He went out, but he should be back soon.” He whisks away the garments, and I’m about to make a beeline to my own room when warm fingers touch my forehead, slide down my temple, and tuck a stray hair behind my ear. I glance up, startled.

Ash regards me with a solemn expression. “Are you alright?”

Something about the question halts me in my steps, makes my lips part as though I have something to say—but I have nothing to say, right? My hands still shake, but that’s to be expected when one was just shot at multiple times.

I purse my mouth, attempt a nod. My neck remains upright, unmoving. It’s been a few seconds before I realize I’m just gaping at him.

His own mouth tightens into a line. Then he drops his hand from my face and leans back against the doorframe, eyeing me with that startlingly intense expression of his. “When I married you, I promised to be good to you.”

I’m not sure what promise he’s referring to, if that was the gist he got from the vows he pledged me at our ceremony. My throat goes dry anyway.

“But I fear I may be overwhelming you.”

It’s nothim, so much as everything being new. And his father trying to kill me. Sure, Ash can be larger than life when he wants to be, but he’s given me far more attention in the span of the last two days than I’ve ever had in my life.

His attention is probably clouding my judgement. It would be better if I slipped into the background somewhere, out of his way. Then I’ll think more clearly.

“Stella?”

I blink. “Pardon?”

“Where did you just go?” He slowly wags a finger in front of my face, and I go cross-eyed following it. “You left the room a moment ago. Where’d you go?”

My eyes lift from his finger to his face. I cannot read his expression. There’s a perceptive gleam to his vibrant irises, a gleam that studies me intently. How much has my face revealed? “F-forgive me. I am merely tired. There is much for me to pr-process.”

“What troubles you?”

“Pardon?”

“Something is troubling you. Are you afraid?”

The question almost makes me snort. I restrain the undignified sound and only allow a small smile. “Of course not, my lord.”

He blinks at me, as he always does when I lie straight to his face. Usually, a grin is quick to follow it, but this time it doesn’t come. Instead, he takes another step toward me, narrowing the distance between us. My heart picks up a staccato rhythm as he slips a finger beneath my jaw, lifting my chin so our eyes meet. “You are my wife, Stella. It is true that my father wants your life and will take it when given the chance. But you aremy wife,and I will fight with everything I have for you. I will—”

“You hardly know me!” I burst before I can help myself. “We’re practically strangers!”

Strangers married to each other, attempting to forge some semblance of a life together in a hostile world. Our situation is so insane, so ridiculous, it could be comical!

His eyelids lower. “I don’t want to be strangers, Stella. I wanttoknowyou. And I want you to know me. I don’t want this to be a mere political alliance, a transaction where I purchased you from your spineless father.”

My lips part. He cannot know what that means to me. Or maybe he does, and that’s why he’s saying it. Because he knows I’ll fall for it. Confusion roils in my gut. For a world of people who supposedly cannot lie, I feel as though I swim blind and deaf through a sea of falsehoods and half-truths.

His hand slides from my jaw for his fingers to curl around the back of my head, as he comes closer, closer, until I can hardly breathe. “I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Not knowing what else to say, I merely nod. He can wish all he wants, but that won’t change anything. We stay like this for some time, until my eyes drop, and then he lets me go.

“I sh-should like to take a rest, my lord,” I mumble.

His jaw flexes. He nods.

I turn and make my escape, fleeing to the refuge of my room. I shut the door behind me and breathe deeply. The knot in my throat thickens, sharpens, until I cannot hold back the tears anymore. I flop onto my bed, stuff my face into a pillow so no one can hear me, and let the dam loose.

I thought if I just approached this with simple practicality and acceptance, everything would be fine. But I’mso confused.I don’t know up from down in this world, left from right. At least if I’d been married off to Prince Brochfael, I would know exactly my place in the world. I would be the quiet Isabelle Louise who submitted to the whims of her husband, just as I submitted to the whims of my father. I knew my role: to take whatever was given to me, to give whatever was asked of me, and to do so without complaint.

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