Page 80 of Bride of the Fae Prince

It’s a hall full of beautiful young women, more than half of whom wear crowns atop their silky hair. Even though they’re seated, it’s obvious how tall they are, willowy and elegant with effervescent skin, full lips, sparkling eyes. And theirclothes. . . to think I was self-conscious in this unaltered gown! It’s almost laughable now. If I felt mousy before, now I feel like a dead mouse.

There is only one open seat, right in the center of the throng.

This is the High King’s first trap for Ash. To assault him with the women he should have married. To tempt him away from me.

Ash’s voice interrupts my realization. “They address you because they must. It is the law in Valehaven that all fae must address those with titles upon entering a room.”

That sounds wildly impractical, but the vanity of it doesn’t surprise me one bit.

My husband’s arm loosens in my grip as his attention shifts to the problem before us. A slow grin spreads across his face. He may hate his father, but is there part of him that thrills in these games? These unexpected maneuvers? Or is it just a front?

It’s impossible to tell.

“Prince Trenian,” Ash calls, announcing himself again in a voice that booms through the room, louder than the announcer’s. “And hiswife,Princess Stella.”

Then he strides straight toward the table, coolly confident and unflinching with that devilish grin as I cling to his arm and follow. The women rise from their seats, some smiling so beautifully it makes my heart ache. Some lift their chins in a regal display of majesty.

Before we’re halfway to the table, several women have already made it to us. Or, to Ash, rather. They don’t spare me a passing glance as they approach my husband. He greets them all by name and title, including the ones still seated.

“Trenian,” one of them says in a lovely, sing-song voice. “It’s been so long!” She steps right into his personal space, letting her gaze fall to his mouth. Her hair is long, white, but her eyes are black as ebony. “I’ve quite missed you.”

Ash returns a steel-edged gleam of teeth. “A hundred years haven’t brought enough lovers into your embrace to make you stop pining for me? I suppose theydosay that women only want the men they can’t have.”

She blinks, fluttering her lashes, and gives a bell-like chuckle. “Oh Trenian. I should have known a century couldn’t change you.”

“A hundred years cannot mar perfection, now can it?” he replies with such haughty arrogance I never would have thought him capable of being disappointed that I didn’t love the dresshe picked out for me. “Have you met my wife? My love, meet Princess Pelarusa from the Nothril Court. She’s one of Rahk’s sisters, if you can believe it. Pelarusa, my wife, Princess Stella.”

Now that he’s pointed it out, the resemblance is in the striking hair color, the cleft chin, the wide cheekbones. Where Rahk is built like a boulder, this princess is formed as though from the most delicate strokes of a painter’s brush.

Am I to curtsy to her? I opt for a nod. She doesn’t look at me.

“You named your pet?” she replies archly, even though hers was almost certainly among the voices that welcomed me by name into the banquet hall. “How quaint.”

“I’ve done much more than name her,” says Ash with a roguish grin, drawing me closer and wrapping a large hand around my waist. He positions me slightly in front of him, which makes my breath come a little faster as I stare up at the three fae women crowding around Ash, and the one that distinctlywon’tlook at me. “Come, let us eat! I’m utterly famished!” he says before the other women can shove the first aside and make their moves on him.

They sit back down, leaving that one empty chair in the middle of the women. I swallow nervously, glancing up at Ash. He takes me straight there, grabs the back of it, drawing it out so that its back legs scrape on the floor, and then drops into it.

“Your pet can go stand with the other humans along the wall,” says the beautiful woman to his left, gesturing to the line of waiting servants. A pair of shining silver wings flutter from her bare back. Her long black hair is mounded elegantly atop her head, and her eyes are the most arresting shade of brilliant gold.

“I don’t think I could bear to be parted from my wife for so long, Princess Listhra,” Ash replies with a wink, catching my wrist—and pulling me down into his lap. He tugs me back until I lean against his chest, one of his arms wrapping tightly around my ribcage. I can barely breathe, and my hands have gone wetand clammy. My feet dangle above the ground, my skirts pooling on the floor.

Ash snaps his finger, and the servants—humanservants—bring out the first course. A sudden bolt of fear replaces the last. They’re going to serve fae food! What if I cannot choke it down?

Perhaps as Ash’spet, I’m not intended to eat at all.

Gleaming golden liquid in a crystal goblet is set on the plate before Ash. He picks it up, holds it high. “A toast!”

The rest of the women lift their goblets. The fairy-winged one says, “To the beauty of love.”

“To the High King’s throne!” another calls.

Ash gives a quiet snort at that as another chimes, “To hope of new things to come.”

His grip tightens on my waist. “Hear, hear,” he whispers under his breath, near my ear.

“To Prince Trenian and the thousands he has slain!”

I stop breathing. What?

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