Page 79 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“Well,” I say slowly, frowning, “it would seem to me that the very nature of the word is that it cannot be adjusted or prepared for. If you adjusted to overwhelm, then you wouldn’t be overwhelmed. You’d be merely . . . whelmed.”

He throws back his head and laughs, a bright golden burst of sound that sends warmth tingling to my toes. He pauses at the door, that smile still stretched across his face. I stare up at him, much more pleased with myself than I ought to be.

How easy it would be to let myself completely fall under his thrall . . .

He draws a deep breath, and the smile fades. “Stella,” he says quietly, “tonight will be trying for you. I’m not sure what toexpect, but you will be seated next to me, and I will keep a careful eye on everything.”

My heart thrums nervously at his words, my palms starting to slick.

“We will be seated near the High King, and I’m not sure whether he will engage you in conversation or ignore you. He likes to catch me off-guard. Princess Listhra will be there, who is from the Solirius Court.”

“The one with the servant girl that man at the Small City was concerned about?”

“The same. Other members of the High King’s court and other courts may be present, but I have not seen the guest list. Stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”

I nod, tightening my grip on his elbow.

He reaches out for the door, pauses. He lets go, turns to me, catches my jaw and tilts my face up. I suck in a quick breath of air. His eyes rove over my face as mine rove over his, trying to read the secrets behind the furrow of his brow.

Then he bends and presses a soft kiss between my eyebrows.

I swallow hard, breathless, as he pulls away and pushes the door open.

He draws me after him as we enter the palace hallways, walking over polished white floors, between arching marble pillars and past multi-storied fountains and waterfalls, with lily pads, lilies, and fish the colors of rainbows. A sweet, floral aroma rises from the lilies, far stronger than anything I’ve smelled back in Aursailles. Ash swiftly takes a left, barely slow enough for me to keep up with.

Guards with long, protruding fangs line this new stretch of hallway, their wings tucked in close to their muscular bodies. My unease rises with every step, with the weight of their gaze heavy on me and each movement I make. It feels like they cansee straight into my brain and pick apart my thoughts, fears, memories.

Perhaps they can. I wouldn’t be the wiser.

At long last, we reach a grand pair of solid gold double doors with silver filigree designs portraying an enormous tree, its trunk running straight down the seam between the doors, its great branches, detailed leaves, and massive root network a mesmerizing display of craftmanship.

When I glance up at Ash, he’s not the same person who kissed my forehead and laughed at my words back in his quarters. That glint has entered his eyes, sharper than the great sword he had this morning, and his mouth twists into a sardonic smirk that reminds me of a snake cornering its prey.

The warmth, the sweetness, is utterly gone.

The doors open.

I’m temporarily dazzled. The hall before me is pure gold, with a towering domed ceiling. A gemstone mosaic dances across that dome, portraying life-sized images of silk-swathed, horned fae playing lutes, frolicking with curly-headed fauns, riding centaurs and aiming bows at . . .humans? They run in various directions, mostly unclothed. One unfortunate human bows over himself on the ground, while a seated fae rests her feet on his back. A literal footstool.

Sickness washes over me. I pull my gaze down from gaping at the ceiling, only to be dazzled once more by the brilliant sea of colorful fae seated at the long, ornate table. At the center of the table is a marble statue of a winged woman wearing live greenery. Birds with scarlet plumes nest in that greenery and sit and chirp on the statue’s shoulders or wings. In the statue’s hand, it holds a glowing globe that illuminates the entire room. A miniature sun.

I am a princess. I am accustomed to finery. But this is splendor, the match of which I’ve never seen. I feel like a smalllittle mouse peering from a tiny hole into an entire world where I don’t belong.

“Prince Trenian!” the announcer calls. Then, in a mutter, “Princess Stella.”

The room echoes back a bright, joyful chorus of Ash’s name, and a mumble of my own. As if there is some obligation binding them to acknowledge me, despite how deeply they long to ignore me.

My whispered question is out before I can help it: “Why don’t they ignore me like they clearly want to?”

Ash’s face has paled. Almost in response to my notice, his skin brightens until it is luminescent.His glamour.My stomach drops to the floor. What—?

I follow his gaze back to the table. Realization floods through me, and my stomach drops even more.

The High King isn’t present.

And there isn’t a single man in the entire room.

They’re all women.

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