Page 9 of Faking with the Fae King

Hannah’s pink tongue swirls over her lips in the most fascinating way.

My shadows writhe under my skin, eager to snatch her to me. My magic’s never felt this out of control before. Then again, this is the first time I’ve formed this type of bond with anyone. It must be the ancient betrothal magic affecting me so.

Or perhaps it’s her honest appreciation for my garden. I created it as soon as I brought my palace to Earth, enthralled with all the potential for life this realm holds. It’s my very first such creation, but its layout is one I spent years designing within the depths of my mind, in a small space I kept free from the Dark God’s thrall.

Whatever the reason for this unusual sensation, I don’t like feeling out of control. A shadow tendril slips out andsnaps the hair strands holding our hands together, so I can take a step away. Away from those big brown eyes, away from the alluring candor of Hannah’s unguarded expressions, away from the scent of her skin, sweeter than any flower.

“That’s it? We’re engaged?” she asks. “When will we get married?”

“We’ll have the official ceremony after you win one of the bride trials.”

“Trials? What trials?” She pulls her hand back, a frown pinching her brow. “You didn’t say anything about any trials!”

“It’s an ancient tradition.” I scowl. “One I wish I could do away with, yet I cannot.” Everything about this marriage must be beyond reproach if I’m to win the approval of the other fae rulers and convince them I no longer serve the Dark God. How better than to have a human wife? The fae kings of old would never take such a queen, considering humans weak. Keeping one alive for a year will surely prove I’m reformed.

“It’s not a hunger games fight to the death or something?” Her lips pull down in an exaggerated grimace. “’Cause I gotta say, I’m not a fighting type of girl.”

“There will be no deaths, and you will not be starved in any way,” I growl. Goddess. Did humans still do such things for entertainment? And to think people called me a villain. Yes, I waged war and conquered thousands, but those under my rule ate. There was certainly always decent bread.

“So whatwillthe trials be?” she asks.

“Tests of magical ability as befit a ruler of the fae.”

Hannah fiddles with the peony, adjusting it behind herear in a nervous gesture.

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” I ask. She’s a witch—I can feel her magic.

“Nope!” she says, her voice artificially bright. “Not a problem at all.”

Is she so uncomfortable because she knows nothing of our ways? I attempt to put her at ease. “There will be three trials, and you only need to win one of them to be a finalist. I pick my bride from the winners, and as per our agreement, I will choose you.”

“What will the trials be? Are they dangerous?”

“They won’t be dangerous, but I don’t know what they’ll be. The trials are created by ancient magic, and historically, they’ve been competitions designed to test grace, strength, and discernment.”

“Who will I be competing against?”

“Eligible contestants from the other fae realms.”

Her fingers twirl the flower stem, making the bloom spin as she bites her lower lip. “How many?”

“I don’t yet know.” I’m torn about what to hope for. If the Faerie realms send no contestants, my marriage to Hannah can begin immediately, which is what I want. Yet if the other fae send no one, it will indicate that they’re truly ready to cut all ties to the shadow fae, which will be disastrous for me and my people.

I send my shadows racing toward the palace. They return carrying folded pieces of parchment.

One by one, the prepared invitations touch my open palm, and I send a pulse of magic into them, activating the port charm embedded in their wax seals. They wink out ofexistence, each one sent to the rulers of the various Faerie realms. When the last piece of parchment falls onto my hand, I hold it out to Hannah. “Your formal invitation.”

She breaks the seal and unfolds the declaration, frowning down at the paper. “I can’t read it.”

I flick my fingers against the parchment, adding a simple translation spell.

“This says the first trial is in two days.” Her eyes widen as she waves the paper at me. “And the other two trials will follow over the coming weeks.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Ferndale Falls can’t wait that long! We need help now.” Her voice hits a high note, and she pauses to take a deep breath. She blows a lock of brown hair off her face and starts again, her voice calmer as she quickly collects herself. “With all the new magical people coming to town”—she waves a hand at me—“and things happening like the tulips running around, we need the protectionnow.”

“I will ensure your town’s protection throughout the duration of the trials, and as a show of good faith, I will also arrange what new businesses I can.” After all, even if the humans have a bakery, it’s unlikely it will match the amazing bread a brownie can bake using hearth magic, and I refuse to go two weeks without good bread.

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