Page 30 of Faking with the Fae King

I even waved around a magic wand of Kayla’s, almost putting out my eye.

“You’ve got me.” Finn paws at my pants leg. “I’m not nothing.”

“You’re right.” I reach down and rub his soft ears. Then I wrap an arm around Naomi in a sideways hug. “I’m lucky tohave both of you.”

“I believe in you.” My friend hugs me back, and I want to stay right here forever, where everything is safe and warm.

The huge silver doors swing inward to show an unfamiliar fae. He’s almost as handsome as Severin, which means he’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep-tan skin and long silver hair and tattoos. A midnight blue shirt clings to his broad torso, and his black leather pants look painted on.

“Do all shadow fae look this good?” I whisper to Naomi out of the corner of my mouth. Severin said dozens of his fae would be shopping and eating out in Ferndale Falls on any given day, and if they all look like this, there will be riots.

“Yep,” she says in a normal volume, her tone dry. “And they have superior hearing, too.”

Whoops! My cheeks heat.

“Indeed, we do, Queen Naomi.” He bows.

A tiny jolt of shock goes through me. I know Naomi’s now queen of the orcs of Avalon, but since there are no more orcs in that realm, I keep forgetting. Also, she’s the friend I’ve known since elementary school who still helps run the family bookshop. She’s warm and friendly and as unpretentious as they come.

“Mayor Hannah Wylde.” He tips his head to me. “I am Varyn, your humble servant.”

Humble my ass! This guy oozes so much self-confidence you could bottle and sell it.

“King Severin and the other contestants await you.” He beckons us inside.

I pull out my invitation and double check the time. Yesterday evening, the parchment let out a notificationchime, and as I watched, a new line of text appeared below the date, specifying six o’clock. “I’m not late.”

“You are not. You are simply the last scheduled to arrive.”

Okay, good. I hate being late—it always makes me feel like I started on the back foot.

The foyer looks just as grand as it did before, but there are other fae around this time, walking from one room to the other. Even though I can’t catch any of them looking, I feel the press of eyes all around me.

“They’re staring,” I lean over and whisper to Naomi, trying to be even quieter than before.

“They’re checking out their new queen.” She pats my arm.

Uncertainty shivers through me. I thought all those public speaking classes in college got me past feeling like this. That once I’d spoken in front of an auditorium of five hundred people, I could do anything.

Ugh, wrong. This is sweaty-palms, give-a-speech-in-front-of-your-high-school-crush levels of nerves.

Chin up, Hannah, I tell myself. You’ve got this.

Varyn instructs Naomi on how to announce me, and my friend marches beside me down the long throne room. The sunlit stained-glass windows throw patterns of color across the white marble floor, dazzling in their beauty.

But nothing can distract me from the man seated on the throne. Severin’s eyes catch mine even from a distance, and I can’t look away, like metal pulled to a magnet. He once again wears his crown, its silver branches curling upward from his head, catching the light and standing out against his inky-black hair. The same silver branches decorate hisdeep-green waistcoat like a shimmering, magical forest. An air of command surrounds him. Yesterday, I relaxed in his presence enough to forget that he’s a king. I can’t today, and it’s not the crown. It’shim.

He’s breathtaking.

“King Severin,” Naomi says, her tone formal. “The witches of Ferndale Falls present to you Mayor Hannah Wylde.”

“My betrothed,” he growls. In a flash of fluid movement, he stands and gathers my hand in his, kissing my knuckles right below my engagement ring while continuing to hold my gaze.

It’s just my hand, but the way Severin kisses it—his eyes wicked and knowing as they meet mine—makes me imagine him kissing meeverywhere. My butterflies take flight, and I try not to squirm. If we were really engaged I’d be totally comfortable with his kisses, not blushing like a school girl.

“You cannot be serious, Severin,” a woman says. “Her?”

My butterflies die, poisoned by the disdain dripping from her voice. Yanked from Severin’s sexy magnetism, I spin, finally noticing the other people in the room.

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