Page 96 of Bride of the Fae Prince

At some point, that child decided this was for her own good, and she hated herself for screaming, for crying. This was a normal part of being a princess. All her sisters had done it before her, and Amelia would do it after her.

The bar is cold in my hand. Bowing my head against it, I close my eyes and let those last reserves of tears pour free.

I’d never been the same after that night. I learned that staying beneath notice was the safest course of action. I learned it was better to swallow my tears, to submit, to not show a shred of defiance. To not make a sound.

That was when I’d started stuttering.

Perhaps it served me throughout my childhood and early adulthood. But it serves me no more. I grip the bars in either hand, and I do something I’m not sure I’ve ever done before in my entire life.

I scream with every fiber of my being—the loudest sound I’ve ever made. Again and again, I scream, until my throat is raw and my body shakes.

My fists clench around the bars, not flinching from the cold. Not flinching fromanything.From this memory, from the dreaded nightmares that followed in its wake, from the smallness I’d made my own.

I’m not afraid anymore.

Not afraid of what others can do to me. Not afraid of the sound of my own voice.

“I am Isabelle Louise Stella Ashrift Solavirth,” I growl. “And I will claim my birthright.”

With that, I throw open the cell door. There, in the center of matted straw and piles of foul excrement, floating above the ground, is a small glowing orb the size of my fist.

I don’t know what it is, only that it ismine.

And it is what I have been looking for all this time.

I reach out and take hold of that deeper, fuller part of myself I’ve been so afraid of for so long. It’s warm, and touching it is like sinking into a hot bath during the frigid winter.

Throat scraped raw, my cheeks stiff from the salt of my dried tears, I smile.

Chapter 34

The Princess

Voices.

Andwarmth.The warmth of a body pressed against mine. I draw a deep breath through my nose. Everything feels nice. He’s here with me, isn’t he?

My eyes won’t open. My limbs won’t move. A bolt of panic replaces my sense of calm. My mind is fogged and sluggish. If only I could open my eyes, then maybe I could think better—

The voice behind me speaks. His words don’t register in my mind, but the tone is resigned, irritated. Then the body shifts away from me, and panic floods. He’s leaving me? Where is he going? But I worked so hard to get back to him! I’m exhausted, and all I want to do is lie in his arms. He can’t leave me! Not yet!

The world turns colder and the mattress shifts. He’s gotten up. Maybe he’ll come back soon.

The door opens, shuts.

Quiet fills my awareness.

I open my mouth, try to call for him. No sound comes out. My lips form his name.Ash.

Well, I’m not about to wait around for him to come back! If I can just get my limbs to work . . .

It’s a painful process, but each new movement comes a little easier, until I’ve managed to scoot to the edge of the bed. The covers are much too heavy for me to lift, and I cannot find the strength to sit up.

So I just roll myself off the bed.

My fall is cushioned by the quilts I unfortunately bring with me. I land in an ungainly heap, breathing hard. My eyes barely crack open, revealing a blurry world of bright color. I’ve got to move fast before Ash gets too far ahead.

With a grunt, I push to my hands and knees—and promptly fall back on my face. A whimper escapes my lips. But by the Great Kings, I’m going to find my husband if it’s the last thing I do.

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