Chapter 19
We stand in a throne room. A stream is cut into the marble floor before the dais, crystal water flowing in a circle around the throne, which is lined with pillars carved in elaborate designs of flowers and waves. At its center, in a dazzling glow, must be the High King. The fae who has slowly been swallowing up our land with his forest. He is the most beautiful person I have ever seen, man or woman, fae or human, and his golden radiance would put even beautiful Vivienne to shame. It makes me thoroughly uncomfortable to be in the presence of one so transcendent.
A transformation has been working over Ash since he left our bridal chamber this morning. But in that last minute, before the door of the throne room, there was a complete shift. His eyes have darkened, narrowed, even as that sardonic eyebrow quirks up and a poisonous grin spreads across his face.
Now I stand on the arm of a complete stranger.
I cannot help but wonder if the true Ash was the one who held me while I cried last night, or the one that prowls toward the High King of Faerie, dragging me alongside him despite my unyielding footsteps and the heavy train of my dress.
“She’s a human!” comes a high-pitched female shriek.
The High King shoots to his feet. “What have you done, Prince Trenian?” he bellows, his tone a kindling fire before it bursts into a blaze. “This goes against the terms of our bargain!”
Ice floods me from head to toe.
Something is very, very, very wrong.
My instinct is to clutch Ash’s arm a little tighter, but suddenly . . . I’m unsure of everything. Why is the High King so furious? Hadn’t he sent Ash to marry me?
Will Ash even protect me?
My husband gives a dark, humorless chuckle. “If it did, I’d be dead, dear Father, my High King. But alas, there was no stipulation that my choice bride must be fae.”
“She was to be from one of the Courts!” Even as the High King says it, a paleness comes over his face, as if realization has sunken in. Realization of what? He reaches back toward his throne, grabs the armrest, and sits down heavily.
“You meant the fae courts?” asks Ash innocently, tsking his tongue. “You should have specified. I thought a human court satisfied that requirement completely.”
What is happening?
I curl into Ash, my mind reeling, my heart thundering in my chest. He offers no comfort, however, and it’s like seeking refuge in one of the marble pillars surrounding the dais.
The High King stares at Ash, not moving a muscle, not reacting. Then, suddenly, he leaps to his feet, grabs something near his throne, and hurls it.
Straight at me.
I can’t even scream as I try to duck behind Ash, but his hand shoots out and grabs my upper arm with enough force to break it. Does he want me to die?
But then I look up, and the gleaming point of a spear winks at my face. Halted mere inches from me. I go cross-eyed looking at it.
I’m either going to faint or vomit.
Ash has snatched the spear right out of the air, stopping it from killing me on the spot. I swivel my gaze from the tip to him as he grins viciously down at me. He turns that grin up to the High King.
“Get rid of it!” demands the High King. “I command you!”
Ash tosses away the spear, his fingers still digging into my upper arm. With a quick jerk, he pulls me to his side, wraps an arm around my waist, and splays his hand possessively over my stomach. His pinky hooks around the gold chain draping my hips. I go rigid.
“Sorry, Father. She’s my wife now. I’m a little attached.” He bends down, nuzzling his nose against my hair. “I couldn’t bear to be parted from her so soon.”
I don’t dare breathe. Especially as Ash’s thumb swipes over my ribs—not a sweet gesture, but a claiming. My whole body shudders.
Who have I married? And what have I done by coming here?
Something has shifted in the air since I arrived. Something deadly. I counted my blessings too quickly. I didn’t marry the best man of my sisters, did I?
I married my own destruction.
This is why he was asking my thoughts of death. He wasn’t asking about life span—he was asking because he knew the High King of Faerieland would try to kill me. And if the High King wants me dead, then who can stand in the way of it?
My hands tremble.
“Since the time of my return comes as a surprise and no one could have expected you to prepare a wedding feast for my new bride, I have made the arrangements myself.” Ash spreads his free arm wide—the one that isn’t wrapped tightly around me—gesturing to the courtiers who hang on his every word. “All the wine, the dance, the feasting, the merriment you can dream of. It has already been prepared on the palace grounds. Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends.”
A cheer goes up, and the crowd rushes to the doors. I want to curl closer to Ash, to bury my face in his chest as if that will keep me safe. One look at him is deterrent enough, and I keep my rigid posture at his side.
The High King stays on his throne, eyes locked on Ash’s as the throne room empties. His spear gleams on the floor by my foot. Only one person remains after the crowd leaves: a tall woman draped in silver, with black hair down to her knees and a downcast face, hunched shoulders. She stands to the right of the throne, eyes fixed on the ground. She wears a crown, but it looks ready to tip off her head at any moment.
Is that the Queen of Faerieland?
The High King stands, and with the grace of a prowling lion, walks down the steps from the dais, approaching us swiftly. With a flick of his hand, he dismisses the one remaining woman. “Be gone, wife.”
She bows and scurries away like a wounded animal. I swallow as the High King shifts his attention fully to Ash, his smile growing. “Well played, my son. Sometimes I fear you are a lost cause. Then you pull a little stunt out of your pocket . . .” He stops a pace before us, and his eyes fall to me.
He is so beautiful, I can hardly think. He is like a sun molded into the image of a man, but with a towering height that exceeds even Ash’s. His skin and his hair is luminescent glory. No part of him resembles Ash—except the piercing blue eyes that study me now, like a cat thrilling to torture its prey.
“Welcome to Valehaven Court, Princess,” he says to me. And then reaches out with ring-studded fingers toward my throat. My airways close and my vision tunnels.
Ash snatches his wrist just in time. He chuckles. “My wife’s neck belongs to me. I have no intention of sharing.”
The High King withdraws, but his eyes don’t leave my face and the fear that must be written plain across it. “You must be exhausted from your travels. I bid you sweet dreams and peaceful slumber.”
“You think we would skip our own wedding feast?” asks Ash, his thumb swiping over my ribs again. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
With that, he bends slightly, loosening his grip on my waist so he can instead . . . scoop up my legs? I’m too confused to understand what is happening until he’s slung me straight over his shoulder, kicked aside the king’s spear, and marched out the door. Blood pounds in my temples as I struggle to take a full breath. I try to push up on his back—and only succeed in finding my gaze locked in the High King’s until the door closes behind us.
Once we’re back in the hallway, Ash striding down the tiles like he is High King, I twist and give a little kick. “Ash!”
He hoists me back farther, so I lose my grip and fall against him. “Be a good little wife and behave yourself, hmm?”
“Ash.” It comes out like a half-hearted plea. How do I ask for a smidge of dignity? Does he even care? Is this who the Prince of the Fae truly is? This callous, devious man who parades me around over his shoulder like some prize he’s bought? My gut burns.
“My lord might be a little more respectful, don’t you think?”
Isabelle Louise would have cowed, slumped in submission, and stuttered an apology. But I’m Stella now, and I was prepared to tolerate this sort of treatment when I wed, but after last night, when I saw how Ash could treat me, I don’t like this. Not at all.
I consider my options. Throwing a tantrum will hardly win back my dignity. Making demands will only make me seem weaker when he scoffs at them. I’m no match for him in strength, and I’m only reminded of that when he gives me a little toss and pats the back of my leg, saying to some passerby: “Doesn’t my wife have the cutest little feet?”
Through the curtain of my hair, I see the hilt of his knife in his belt. The one that he used to prick my finger, that he helped me use on him. Memories of last night only fuel my anger more, and without hesitating, I wrap my fingers around the hilt and yank it out of the scabbard. I don’t know what I intend to do with it beyond threatening him.
“Ho now!” cries Ash in surprise, snatching my wrist and prying away his knife from my grip. “I have a mutinous bride on my hands!”
“Put me down, Ash,” I growl.
To my shock, he does. I almost topple over when I’m on my own two feet. I twist my gold belt back into place, straighten my skirts and comb my hair out of my face, about to spit an irritated thanks, when he grabs my upper arm and drags me into a dark corner behind a winding staircase.
With a twist of his wrist, he cuts off the sounds of the palace, leaving us in quiet. Has he wrapped us in some spell? Something to conceal us from listening ears and prying eyes?
I don”t have time to consider it, because Ash presses himself very close to me, leaning down so his face is only a few inches from mine. I suck in a gasp—and then another when his large hand slides up to my neck. His fingers dance along my skin, lightly wrapping around my throat. Threatening pressure.
I don’t dare breathe. My hands, moving on instinct, grab hold of his wrist as if I can pull him away from me.
It’s the wrong move. His other hand pries my grip off him—and pins both my wrists to the wall above my head. My head goes dizzy, my heart pounding desperately in my chest. I give a little twist and pull on my hands, but his grip doesn’t give. I feel like a songbird trapped in a cage while a predator sticks its claws between the bars.
“You are going to listen to me very closely,” says Ash, his voice low and sharp enough to be the edge of a blade as he brings his mouth close to my ear. “If you have any interest in seeing another dawn, you will do exactly as I say. Do I make myself clear?”
I can’t move. Can’t respond. Dread flows liquid through my veins.
His grip tightens on my hands, his thumb stroking my chin. “Do I make myself clear, Stella?”
I manage a nod.
He smiles against my ear. “Good girl.”
He lets go of me, and I sag against the wall. Pressing a hand to my heaving chest, I don’t look at him. I won’t. He made me trust him. He made me like him. I was glad to be his wife.
All of that is gone now.
I am his pawn, his little wife. He did not choose me because he liked me. He did not seek me out or hold me because he was drawn to me. No, this was his plan from the beginning.
He married me to spite his father.
He offers me his hand. The feral urge to bite it almost overcomes me. But I heed Ash’s warning, and take it without protest. Beneath the compliance, fear and anger simmer like molten lava in my gut.
Ash draws me out of the corner, back into the hallway, and with a flick of his wrist, the sounds of clicking footsteps, rushing water, birdsong, and distant chatter flood my senses. He takes my hand and settles it on his arm with a detached smirk playing across his features.
He doesn’t throw me back over his shoulder.
A win is a win, I guess?
The sound of feasting and revelry, of raucous laughter and ribald shouting, reaches my ears before anything else. The smell hits me next, of steaming food that curls my stomach and the heady thread of alcohol. Am I about to experience the debaucheries the fae are known for?
I don’t want to. I don’t want to see it, to become lost in it.
But Ash doesn’t slow his pace, and nothing will soften the set of his jaw.
I can handle this. I’ve handled everything else so far.
Later, I’ll be watching for my opportunity. My opportunity to get back at my husband, to punish him somehow. To make him regret his deception.
It occurs to me in a sudden shade of brilliant crimson that there is no possible way Ash can fulfill the promises he made to my father about halting the conquest of the human lands. He is at odds with the High King, who holds the true power over the invasion.
Don’t think about that, I tell myself swiftly when my lungs cave in on themselves. You didn’t marry a fae for nothing. You didn’t. Even if it seems like you did.
We come to a wide set of double doors flanked by armed, winged fae. Beyond it, the shouting and laughter increases. I wet my lips and try to keep my hands from shaking.
The doors open, and an entire scene unfurls before me as the crowd shouts, “Prince Trenian!”
It’s a large stretch of green lawn, packed to the brim with all manner of strange people. Creatures great and small, some with wings and others with fins, bodies of all vibrant colors, both humble and majestic in one place. The edge of the lawn dissolves into a lush garden, with tall trees like weeping willows, creatures hanging from their languid boughs and others dancing in circles around their trunks. Living vines curl like snakes around the arms of some fae, taking empty goblets and flinging them against a stone walkway until they shatter into thousands of diamond-sharp pieces.
Drink flows like a river, and there is an alarming amount of indecency—both in dress and action. I try to avert my eyes, but wherever I avert my gaze to, there’s more.
I don’t want to go. I want to hide, to run away. Ash brings me forward, his pace never flagging as he grins and enters the throng. I inch closer to him. He waves at a fae he passes. “How is it?”
The fae—a male, with skin the color of rich blue ink and curved horns protruding from his brow—sits cross-legged on top of a table. “The best since the last Lulythinar!” he cries, lifting his goblet and then pouring it into his mouth. It spills over his lips, dribbling down his chin.
I try not to gape. The fae has liquid money dribbling down his chin, and he doesn’t care.
“I picked it out with you in mind.” Ash winks, and everyone cheers. As he continues into the throng, he calls out to more fae, and they respond with enthusiasm.
They love him, my mind registers dully. Of course they do—he just surprised everyone with this extravagant celebration.
Not everyone is happy, however. As we move deeper into the masses, I catch more glimpses of frowns, glowers. A winged guard here and there glaring. A shiver races down my spine.
Before I know it, we’re at the center. Ash’s grin shifts, a tell I’ve come to recognize. I have just enough time to brace myself before he scoops one arm around my legs and lifts me up to his shoulder. I squeak and reach for something to anchor me—and find myself grabbing hold of his ears.
“Not the ears, not the ears!” he hisses quickly, flinching. It’s the only genuine reaction I’ve seen from him since we left the carriage back in my world. I wind up with my arms around his neck. Probably not the most dignified position for the Fae Prince’s bride, but at this point, I care more about not falling.
He clearly wants to make a spectacle of me. My eyes widen as I take in how high I am, how far I can see across the masses, and how hundreds upon hundreds of eyes are fixed on me.
Fainting would be a welcome respite.
Come on, Stella. Faint! Do it!
I remain stupidly conscious.
“Introducing Princess Stella, my beautiful human bride!” calls Ash to the crowd.
A cheer goes up, echoing my name back to me. When I glance down, my hands are sheet-white.
“Smile, wife,” says Ash.
I muster a distant cousin of a smile. There’s no missing the glowers on the guards’ faces, on many other faes’. One face in particular snags my interest like a fly landing on a spider’s web.
A woman more beautiful than any I’ve seen before, with dark curls piled to a great height above her head, stares at me with piercing golden eyes. That gaze sweeps me up and down, her lip curling in disgust. It’s as though she sees past Ash’s glamours, past every protection I wrap myself in, straight to every inadequacy and insecurity.
I want to curl away from her scrutiny.
Ash bends and sets me on my own two feet, but before I have time to collect myself, a flute sings out, and his hand slides around my waist. He lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “Dance with me, my darling.”
I want to beg him to slow down, to give me space to breathe and adjust. By now, I should know that is a foolish hope. I comply, and when I discover this dance isn’t even a dance I know, I shuffle my feet back and forth and hope my long dress hides the fumbling steps.
The dance picks up speed, and soon I’m nearly tripping over my hem, and almost skipping to keep up. When the music surges, he lets go of my hand, catches me around the waist, and lifts me straight off my feet. I give a quiet little scream, but the music and the sound of fae dancing, laughing, and fighting around us drown the noise.
That is when a knife comes out of nowhere, and I barely see the glint of it before it slices straight for my side. Ash twirls me out of the way in a flash, then dips me. I cling to his arms, my eyes wide as he pauses, our noses nearly touching.
“Someone just tried to kill me,” I gasp.
That dark, sardonic look twists his mouth. Cunning sparks in his eyes. I hardly recognize him. “Survive the wedding feast—great fun, really.” He winks, and I gasp when he ducks to press a kiss to the hollow of my throat.
Then he pulls me back to my feet. I look to the side, just in time to watch a blade from someone—not one of the guard’s—slice straight through the fae’s neck who tried to kill me.
I’m going to be sick. All down the front of our wedding raiment.
“How much longer?” I gasp, stumbling after Ash’s steps, trying to keep up with the dance.
Something in that mask-like face slips. Softens—just slightly. His eyebrow twitches, and he looks away from me. I’m not sure what that means. Then he pulls me so close I’m pressed to his chest. “Not much longer. You’re doing beautifully.”
That is all the encouragement I need to sink into myself, to block out the rest of the world. In the silence left behind in my mind, I hear that voice from the forest again.
Fly away little bird, before his jaws snap your wings.