Page 29 of The Cursed Crown

Rissa placed her hand on the trunk and smiled.

She was a wild thing. When they murmured the words as she passed them by, the gentry meant it as an insult. But to her, it was beautiful. None of them could hear, sense, and feel nature as well as she. The high fae of the courts were all refinement, pampered, jeweled, and perfumed. They’d long ago lost their connection with the earth under their feet.

Not she. She was the daughter of a beast who lived in the deepest part of the darkest kingdom. A wildling.

“You’re barely wounded. Just a little bruised. No less beautiful.”

The tree was proud, she could feel it. It adored being flattered, like all creatures. Rissa grinned before sending through some of her energy, eyes closed.

“Let me help.”

The tree accepted it. By the time she opened her eyes again, there were no more burns. It stood taller, with more branches.

She climbed up, to watch the world from a little higher.

This forest was still so pure. She wished she could remain here for a little longer. Another week, another month, perhaps a year.

But her father would soon be back from the high seelie queen’s ball, and they’d move to the dreary, tame world she loathed.

“Impressive.”

She froze in place, recognizing that voice and feeling his sharp gaze fixed on her.

The man from last night—Rydekar Bane, the unseelie high prince.

Rissa had never met such a stunning man. Not in any court, not in any dream. He was a god among fairies, perfect beyond imagining. She couldn’t even bear to look at him, certain he could read her fascination on her flushing skin.

It was only fitting that a man as gorgeous as he would be a prince—theunseelie prince, likely to inherit the throne after his grandmother and father had their turn.

Rissa didn’t turn to face him. “That’s actually just basic energy exchange. Most folk could do it.”

Theycould, but it wasn’t in the court fae’s nature to give something without expecting anything in return.

“Many a great folk wouldn’t have enough strength to share that much energy without keeling over,” the prince pointed out.

She couldn’t help it; her chest puffed with pride. She didn’t hear praises often, and while she’d hate to admit it, she craved them, feeding on sweet nothings like a bee on a flower. Her few compliments came from her father, and they didn’t count at all.

“Or enough youth, perhaps. In time, you’ll learn to never give without cause.”

She should have seen a jab coming. Finally, she spun on her heels, meeting his gaze head on.

She hadn’t imagined the brightness of his purple eyes. Or his sharp bone structure. The defined jaw. She hadn’t imagined anything.

Rydekar Bane wasn’t like the boys she was expected to dance with at revelries—the boys who only asked her because protocol dictated they must, and rushed to pinch her feathers when her father couldn’t see it. He wasn’t like any boy at all. All man, too manly for any fae, he felt like a dangerous creature to stand too near to.

Rissa found that she didn’t mind a little danger after all.

“What makes you think I don’t have a pertinent reason to heal the tree?” She didn’t. He couldn’t know that, right?

Smirking with a mixture of amusement and contempt, Rydekar looked around. “Where’s the reward of your labor?”

“Right here,” she shot back. “You’re paying attention to me, a lowly fairy child. I’d wager that doesn’t happen every day.”

Rydekar laughed with unreserved exuberance, like someone who wasn’t used to it. “Not every day,” he conceded. “How old are you, then, fairy child?”

She sighed. “Fifteen.” Too old to be a child, too young for everything else. The high folk with a dose of original fairy blood could live hundreds, if not thousands of years. Rissa, granddaughter of Mab, might live forever if no one stabbed her in her back some day. “How about you?”

“Over ten times that.” Rydekar grimaced. Strange. Once they were past their twenty-first year, the official majority, the folk rarely seemed to care about age. The first hundredth year was considered a rite of passage, but after that, why would age matter? They ceased to grow older as soon as their body was at its strongest form. “Two hundred and fifteen next summer.”

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