Page 51 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“Humans and their fragrances,” he mutters.

When we reach the grand archway, several guards emerge from the nearby guardhouse and approach me. I step out of the line of humans in their finery heading inside and meet the guards. Edvear trails behind me.

“You are the fae?” one of them with forked facial hair asks. They all wear armor that immediately snags my interest. The recently shined plates of metal fit closely together, leaving hardly an inch of exposed skin anywhere—and yet if I had a blade longer than three inches, I could slip that blade right beneath the shoulder plates. Every step they take announces their movement and location.

I’d sooner go into battle in the ensemble I’m wearing now than one of those suits. How do they move fast enough to counter or avoid blows?

I drag my attention back to the guard. He is the oldest of the group, but I would guess he is barely thirty years old. “I am indeed. I come as the queen requested. My steward here will not enter with me.”

The guard jerks his chin. “Dismiss him at once.”

I nod at Edvear. He withdraws.

“I come without weapons. Do you wish to search me to verify?” I ask.

“I am afraid we must. Please, this way.”

I follow them into the guardhouse, aware of the way they surround me and how two of them touch the hilts of their swords. I watch for threats, but there is no sign of a potential ambush—only fear.

I stand there, just inside the guardhouse, as three guards check me for weapons. They clearly intend to be thorough, and after several minutes, I grow impatient, but I let them do their work. This is about making the queen comfortable in my presence. I will tolerate what is necessary.

At last, they pronounce me clean. Then the fork-bearded one motions that I can follow him back to the entrance of the palace. Several other guards accompany me. I keep my movements casual and light—a contrast to their loud, hulking steps.

The hall they escort me into is grander than I expect. A vast ceiling soars above us, painted with a mural of . . . winged babies in clouds? Interesting. A red carpet unfurls across shining white tile. Guests walk ahead of us. Several of them peer back at me as though I am some strange spectacle.

Natdidmake it clear that despite everything, I still look distinctly fae. Even without my wings.

The ballroom itself is smaller than I expect, but I watch as some partygoers drift through doorways into adjoining rooms. Even through myollea,I can smell the thick stench ofhumanas I step into the throng of colorful gowns. The men do wear decorative knives at their hip, and the concept amuses me more than anything else I’ve encountered tonight.

Everyone gives me a wide berth. One young woman whose back is turned when I approach openly flinches when she sees me, her mouth falling open as she drags her gaze up to mine. She immediately steps out of my way, her skin pale. Most stare openly and do not bother hiding their whispered comments to one another. A few try to be more dignified about it.

I exhale slowly and try to arrange my features in as least threatening of a mask as I can.

If Nat were here, she would likely say I have failed.

Why do humans fear so deeply anything that does not closely resemble them?

The queen sits on a throne at the far end of the ballroom. She seems tall for a woman, her back erect and her dark hair piled in a towering updo and dripping with jewels. On a smaller chair beside her is a young boy, about seven or eight, with soft curls a shade lighter than his mother’s.

Queen Vivienne and her heir, Prince Lionel.

Her gaze meets mine across the ballroom, and her chin lifts. An invitation.

“Will you escort me to the queen?” I ask my guards.

“We will take you close enough to speak with her, but no further.”

I end up parked twenty feet from the queen’s dais, still surrounded by the guards. I shift my weight to one leg. “Queen Vivienne. Prince Lionel.”

“You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you,” says the queen, speaking loudly to cross the distance over the hum of the orchestra. “You look exactly as you did when you escorted my sister away.”

I nod once. Stella and her sisters all wore veils when Ash and I came to find a bride for him, so I cannot return the compliment. Still, I say, “You look well.”

The queen is a handsome woman who makes the subtle lines of aging look regal. I search her face for resemblance to Stella, and find less than I expect. Her eyes, however, give her away. While darker than Stella’s, they are the same rounded, overlarge shape.

She inclines her head in acknowledgement of my compliment. “What brings you to my kingdom, Prince Rahk?”

“It is as I wrote to you. Faerieland’s border has begun receding, returning the land stolen by our last High King. I am here as emissary of the new High King and Queen to serve you during a challenging transition.”

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