Page 10 of Married By Scandal

The barkeep slides the panel shut, and Albert juts out his lower lip in a mock pout. “None for me? I promise to behave.”

“Your promise means nothing.”

“No? Are we not set to make vows very soon, fiancée of mine?”

It takes no small amount of control to keep my voice level. “I’m having second thoughts about whether I want to make those vows at all anymore.”

His smile slips, and his entire body goes taut.

Good. That means threats to our impending marriage have an effect on him. I continue to stare down my betrothed as we wait for the barkeep to return. Until I’ve swallowed at least a glass of wine, I don’t trust myself to keep my cool.

While I’m fighting to maintain my composure, the prince is actively losing his. With every second that ticks by, Albert appears to grow more and more anxious. His leg begins to bounce while he taps his fingers against the backrest of the booth. He keeps his body in a casual slouch, but there’s a tenseness to his carefree posture. His eyes wander about the room, but like a magnet, they snap back to mine again and again. Each time, I meet them with a glare.

When he’s had enough of my staring, he lifts his arm and pulls back the sleeve of his gray jacket. A string of red berries encircles his wrist. “I’m wearing rowan, so if you’re trying to use your fae magic to glamour me with compulsion, it won’t work.”

I blink a few times, caught off guard by his accusation. “That’s…that’s not what I was doing. I would never compel anyone. Not only is it illegal, but it’s…it’s cruel.” I hate the way my voice trembles when I say the last part, but my words are true. As someone who’s been the victim of compulsion, I know just how vile it is. I clear my throat to steady my voice. “Humans are protected from compulsion here. Saint John’s Wort is added to communal drinking water, and almost everyone wears some form of rowan berry. Just…just don’t give anyone your true name.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Is it true everyone has a secret name here, and only discovering this name gives a fae power over a human?”

“No, that’s a myth. It’s far simpler than that. If you outright state to a fae that yougive them your true name, using those exact words, that ignites the magic. That is the only way a fae can forcibly compel you. It overrides all other safeguards that may be in place. So never say those words.”

What I don’t tell him is that I have personal experience with giving away the power of my name. It’s exactly how I was compelled by Prince Cobalt in the first place.

Albert flutters his too-long lashes at me. “Aww. Concerned about my well-being, dearest?”

I bristle at his jesting tone, realizing I momentarily let my guard down with him. Thankfully, I’m saved from coming up with a barbed retort by the return of the barkeep. He opens the panel and sets my glass and bottle on the shelf beneath it, then slides the little door shut.

I collect my libation, pouring as I return to my seat, then down a glass before I’ve fully settled at the table. The Agave Ignitus wine warms my belly at once, satisfying my fire with its pleasantly scalding liquor. I pour another.

When I glance back at the prince, he’s grinning like an idiot. “You seem to have a healthy thirst for spirits. A woman after my own heart.”

“Don’t talk to me about hearts,” I say, gratified that I’m able to keep my tone calm. “I know our union isn’t a love match, and I neither want nor expect it to be.”

He frowns for the briefest instant before donning that flippant grin of his. “I take it you’re upset with me for refusing to attend the engagement tour you planned for us.”

I shake my head and take a drink from my wineglass. “Your refusal is something I could almost understand. It’s your actions I can’t abide by. Do you even want this marriage? To forge peace between Bretton and Faerwyvae?”

“Yes,” he says, and I’m surprised by the conviction in his tone. “It is my utmost priority.”

I bark a laugh. “Priority? Based on what I’ve seen in the scandal sheets, your priority has been making a fool of our upcoming nuptials by drinking yourself into a stupor. Have you no sense of pride? No concern over your reputation or mine?”

He taps his fingers on the backrest, leg bouncing again. The way his lips are pursed tight makes me think he’s fighting against saying something. But as he leans forward and lunges for the bottle of wine, I realize he wasn’t fighting with words but his craving for drink. He spirits it across the table before I can even think of trying to wrest it back.

He presses the bottle to his lips, long enough for several deep pulls, then lets the bottleneck hang between his fingers. “This has nothing to do with you. I’m simply…enjoying myself.”

I pull my head back. “Nothing to do with me? Are you mad? This has everything to do with me. Everyone knows you’re my fiancé. You’ve gotten yourself plastered over the front page of every scandal sheet across the isle. Do you know who they bring up in each article?Me—the very reason you’re drinking so much, according to reporters. I understand if that’s true. Honestly, I do. I remember what it was like the first time I was forced into an arranged pairing. I recall my terror at the thought of marrying a fae—”

I bite off my words. I’ve ventured into personal territory he doesn’t need to know about. I seek a shift in subject that still expresses what I need to convey. “I understand your reservations, your animosity. You’ve probably been told things about faekind that aren’t true. And I realize that being forced to wed me, in particular, can’t be ideal. You may have heard about…my past. A certain recent scandal. It’s false, mind you, and…and…” I catch my breath, realizing I’m rambling. Where did my careful composure go?

I take another long drink from my wineglass, no longer holding his gaze. Instead, my eyes fall on the table between us. “I know I’m much older than you—”

“Old?” he says with a scoff. “You can be however old, darling. You don’t look a day over stunning.”

“Please stop calling me that,” I say, my tone more tired than anything. “Darling, gorgeous. Just save the false flattery. That’s not what I want from you.”

Silence stretches between us. Then, “All right.”

His soft tone has me meeting his eyes again.

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