Page 8 of Bride of the Fae Prince

The assurances only barely take the edge off the dread flooding me from head to toe.

My sisters set down their utensils, pulling their hands demurely into their laps. We await Father’s words. I stare at the painted gold edges of the china set before me.

“Now that we celebrate the successful negotiation of our dear Amelia to King Ilbert,” Father begins, smiling at us, “tomorrow will begin negotiations with Prince Brochfael for Isabelle Louise’s hand.”

“PrinceBrochfael?” Amelia chokes. “OfAlgravia?”

“The same,” replies Father curtly, shooting her a reprimanding look for her outburst. “Algravia has the militarystrength we’ve needed for some time, to present a force against the fae.”

Amelia’s horrified gaze burns into my forehead, but I continue staring down at my plate. At the patterned, royal blue tablecloth. At my spoon still resting above the scalloped edges of my plate. She’ll be furious if she finds out I knew about this.

“Yes, F-Father,” I say, just as I said when he announced that King Ilbert was coming for a wife. Though my eyes remain downcast, I lift my chin slightly. My fate is all but sealed. I might as well approach it with dignity.

The door swings open and a runner comes straight for the head of the table. Father straightens, his brows drawing together with alarm as he pats his mouth with a napkin and stands. “What is it?”

The runner, a boy who barely looks fifteen with his gangly limbs, fumbles to pull something from his pocket. “Your Majesty. It’s a missive from—from—”

“Don’t stutter! There’s already enough stuttering in this court. What is the matter?”

“It’s from Prince Trenian of the Fae!”

Father’s face turns ashen. He crosses the narrow room, snatches the note from the boy’s hand. With a quick snap, he breaks the seal and reads it. His eyes scan over the paper, running in fast zig-zags. His lips part as he reads. Sunlight from the open window turns the black hairs of his beard a silvery gray.

“Well, it seems we are in luck,” he says abruptly, folding the note back up and slipping it into his pocket. He keeps his composure mostly, but there’s a fissure in it: a tick in the sagging skin beneath his lower lashes. “I’m glad we didn’t rush into arrangements with Prince Brochfael.”

“Father?” asks Vivienne, patting her full red lips with her napkin. “Whatever do you mean?”

I make the mistake of watching Father instead of keeping my attention on my plate. His gaze snaps to mine, searing my brain with an intensity that makes me want to crawl into a ball and die. I slip my hands beneath the table and fist them in my skirts.

“It seems the Prince of the Fae fancies a human bride. And I have one remaining unpledged daughter.”

My sisters gasp and turn to look at me. I grab the arms of my chair with white knuckles to steady myself.

“You cannotmess this up like last time,” says Yvonne to me, with a meaningful look. “If you scare him off like you scared off King Ilbert . . .”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. If I don’t win over the Prince of the Fae, then I’ll have to marry Prince Brochfael. But is Prince Brochfael actually worse than a fae?

I am some kind of sacrifice, aren’t I?

“What . . . does he m-mean?” I find myself asking. “Why does the P-Prince of the F-Fae want a human bride?”

“It’s not your place to ask questions,” says Vivienne.

“Can a fae even mate with a human?” asks Jacquelle with a crinkled brow.

“Enough,” says Father, waving his hands. “This prattle grows tiresome. We haven’t a moment to spare. Prince Trenian is coming this evening.”

“Thisevening?” bursts Amelia.

“We cannot possibly prepare a reception for him on such short notice!” cries Vivienne.

“We will have to, now, won’t we?” snaps Father with no lack of ire. “And we will have to do something about Isabelle Louise’s face.”

“My face?” I reach up to touch my jaw self-consciously.

“What is there to be done?” asks Jacquelle. “She is what she is! It’s not as though you can change her face!”

“You keep talking as if she’s ugly!” says Amelia, who shoots to her feet and runs to my side, kneeling beside my chair and wrapping her arms around mine. Utterly heedless of the dozen protocols she breaks. “She is very lovely! I heard King Ilbert say so!”

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