Chapter 20
When we’ve stayed long enough at the revelry, I guide Stella through the rowdy crowd, grinning and laughing at the jokes tossed at us that are at best questionable, and at worse, outright ribald.
Stella says nothing.
She doesn’t even cling to me like she did earlier. She merely follows, and there’s a vacancy about her expression that I’ve never seen before. I want to block her out so I do not lose focus or face, so I can completely immerse myself in this role.
Try as hard as I might, I can’t help but be anxious at that expression on her face. Fear, frustration, anger—all of that I can deal with. But she acts like she isn’t even here. Like she’s somewhere else.
I need to get her somewhere safe before I lose her entirely.
We finally make our way out of the crowd, through the palace. I move swiftly, not because I want to make her struggle to keep up, but because my composure is starting to fracture, and I cannot let a single pair of eyes witness it.
Don’t think about any of it. Don’t think. Don’t break.
Thankfully, the palace corridors are mostly empty, and we arrive at the familiar arch of my own doorway quickly enough.
“Here we are!” I say with far more cheer than I feel, pushing open the door to my suite of rooms. Then, when she doesn’t respond, I shut the door and say, “It’s your new home, Stella.” My voice almost cracks on those words. I sniff—and find nothing suspicious in the air. The individual rooms might be suspect, but out here is fine. Not much can get through my wards.
She blinks—not at me. She pulls her hand out of my elbow and scoots away from me, standing still with her head bowed and hands clasped.
My gut drops.
Something is wrong.
Is she ill? Did someone hurt her? That is impossible—I haven’t taken my eyes off her this entire time. I didn’t dare give her anything to eat or drink out there, and no one touched her except for me. No one could have hurt her, right?
I take a step toward her. “Stella?”
She flinches.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, coming toward her again. “Stella?”
She throws out her hand, eyes wide but not meeting mine. “D-d-don’t—”
Don’t touch me. Her movements speak clearer than her words. I swallow the rock in my throat and quickly lift both hands. “I won’t touch you.”
Her eyes finally meet mine then, and my whole being falls. They’re wild with terror, with hurt. She looks like a doe terrified for her life.
I did this. I did this.
Not the High King. Not anyone from the revelry. Me.
I shouldn’t have been so warm with her earlier, last night. I should have kept my distance, helped her understand that there can be nothing between us.
Stella breathes hard, wrapping her arms around her middle. I don’t know what to do. Helplessness washes over me. I want to take her in my arms and comfort her, but if I so much as move, she reacts.
“Y-y-y-you-you-you—” she gasps. “You . . . you . . . you—you—” Those words come faster, more desperate. The same sound, over and over and over again, like she’s actually choking on the effort it takes to speak. Each syllable is like a serrated knife sawing in and out of my heart. “You—”
My mouth opens. Everything in me falls.
She can’t speak. She’s so scared, she can’t speak. Last night, she was terrified, yet she barely stuttered. But this?
Ash, you wretched fool.
She gasps, pressing a hand to her throat as her chest and shoulders heave. “You—you—y-y-you—”
“Stella, breathe,” I plead, taking two steps closer. She jerks back and throws up her hand again, still choking on her own air. I stop where I am. “Breathe, girl, breathe! Stop talking!”
Mercifully, she listens, focusing on breathing hard in and out. It’s like the wind is knocked out of her. I stay where I am, my heart in my throat, as she breathes, and breathes, and breathes again.
I could use magic to make her breathe, but I’d have to touch her. That is clearly the last thing she wants.
I hate myself for bringing her here, for scaring her. For being rough and callous with her. For making her face the prospect of her own death multiple times this evening.
I’m such a cad.
Once she’s finally breathing again, her hands pressed to her chest, I venture another tentative, “Stella?”
She looks up at me, those white-ringed brown eyes arresting me as they fill with tears. Then the sobs break loose, and she is bending over, arms wrapped around herself as she cries her heart out.
The sight of her like this is physically painful.
I can’t bear it any longer.
I take a step toward her. She doesn’t flinch or move away, so I close the distance between us. I hesitate, then lay my hand on her back. When she accepts the touch, I pull her into my arms and wrap her up in a tight embrace as she sobs.
You swore to be good to her, the furious part of me shouts. Now look at what you’ve done! You’ve hurt one of the few good and beautiful things in this world.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair, almost desperately. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
We stay like that for some time, until she starts trembling, her knees knocking against mine. I bend and scoop her up, carrying her to the couch and arranging her in my lap. She curls in close, her tears slowing to little stutters as she folds herself into a ball. I hold her close, trying to keep my own emotions in check.
She trusts me enough to allow the touch. It’s the lifeline of hope I need to keep from believing I’ve already lost her.
At long last, she is calm, her head lying on my shoulder.
“You betrayed me,” she whispers.
This woman can slice a man in half with her words. I close my eyes and bow my head.
“You didn’t warn me. Or explain anything to me.”
“I didn’t want to frighten you.”
She pushes back on my chest enough to glare at me, and there’s that spirit she buries so deep. “You thought I would be less frightened to walk into something completely unfamiliar and find out this wasn’t the political alliance you said, but some kind of trick against the High King of the Fae? You thought I would be less frightened to discover via a spear hurtling toward my face than simply telling me that my new father wants me dead?”
With those words, she scoots off my lap and gets to her feet. She moves several steps away, arms crossed over her chest as she glares at me.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I didn’t think you would follow me into that throne room if you knew what awaited you.”
“Because you think I have no courage?” she shoots back. “Because you think so little of me?”
I reel back. “What?”
“You cared about me. You were good to me last night and this morning. I was supposed to become the sixth wife of a drunkard—my father was going to give me to someone who would beat me, Ash. And I was going to take it. I wasn’t going to run away or complain. Because I understand how important these alliances are to our people. I know my duty as a princess of Aursailles.”
Her words pummel me into silence. I stare, open-mouthed. Beneath my shock, rage simmers. Roland was going to give Stella to whom? Even more terrifying is that I know she’s telling the truth. She would have endured it. She would have endured it at his hand, and she would have endured it at mine.
I never liked Roland. Not for a second. But right now?
I hate him.
“And then you entered that chamber, and you were good to me. You listened to me. Comforted me. Cared for me. You wanted to know what I was thinking. Do you know when a man has ever cared about my thoughts? Or anyone, for that matter, except my youngest sister? Don’t you understand that I trusted you? Did you see me hesitate to walk into that forest with you? No, because I trusted you. Because, for once in my life, I felt like I was something of value. And then you act like I’m some brainless prize to tout around your people? With no respect for my dignity?”
So it’s not just fear. It’s humiliation. I remain in silence, waiting and watching for her to continue.
But she doesn’t. She stops herself, flushing, and angrily swipes a piece of hair behind her ears. She’s embarrassed by her outburst. Has she ever been this forthright in her entire life?
There are many things I ought to be feeling right now. Shame, chagrin, perhaps a little defensiveness for the things she doesn’t understand about my people, about the situation at hand. Still, the foolish part of me cannot help but admire this burst of passion.
I knew that passion simmered beneath her delicately demure fa?ade. A strange sense of honor radiates through me that I am one of the few people—possibly even the only person—to have witnessed Stella being herself.
Why do I feel so proud of her for standing up to me? I know I scare her. I don’t want to, but we’re so different, she and I.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She blinks at me, as if hesitantly relieved.
“You’re right. I should have trusted you enough to tell you. I am not used to entrusting my plans to people. When you live as the son of one of the wickedest High Kings in history, you learn not to trust anyone. I’ve been betrayed more times than I can count, and I have paid steep prices every time.”
“Betrayed?”
I clench my jaw. “Loyalty is easily bought and swayed among the fae. Rahk is my only true friend—and the only reason I can be close to him is because the Nothril Court is too powerful for the High King to risk angering.”
She nods. A stray sniffle.
I gesture to the couch next to me. “Would you consider a seat? I can explain whatever you’d like answers to.”
It’s an enormous risk to trust her with this sort of information. If someone got ahold of her, decided to torture her to get information—I shudder at the thought—I would lose everything.
But strangely, it’s a risk I want to take. I want to explain to her, to talk to her, to help her understand I intended no disrespect to her.
Most of all, I don’t want to lose her trust.
She hesitates, then comes and sits on the opposite side of the couch. She draws her knees up and wraps her arms around them, saying nothing.
I feel as though I’ve won a little victory.
Perhaps this tentative something between us isn’t completely lost.
I stare at her. She stares at me.
“What would you like to know?” I ask.
“Why does your father want me dead?”
She goes straight for it. Very well, then. I finger the lines of the tattoo peeking out beneath my sleeve. “A number of reasons. I made a fool of him by tricking him into allowing me to choose a wife for myself. He didn’t imagine I’d marry a human. It puts him in a predicament.”
“What predicament?”
I draw a deep breath. “He wants me to have an heir.”
Stella’s face goes bright pink. I give a short chuckle. “Not a half-human heir.” That doesn’t make her blush go down at all. “I tricked him because he has been attempting to maneuver me into a marriage and siring an heir so that . . . well . . .”
It’s oddly painful to say the words aloud. I barely maintain my neutral expression from slipping into a wince. “He wants me dead.”
Her eyes go wide. “What? But you’re his son!”
A wry huff escapes me. “His rebellious son. He is unable to harm me directly because of the spell on his throne. There are several laws he must abide by or else the throne will reject him as High King and he will lose his position. One of them is not killing the only living heir to the throne. If he kills me now, there will be no one to rule.”
“Why doesn’t he just have another son of his own?”
“He is unable to have more sons. Whoever sits on that throne is cursed to only sire one son in their lifetime. Thus, he must rely on me to have a son.”
She considers this, frowning. “So . . . you tricked him by making him think he was getting what he wants—you siring an heir—but you married me instead. The throne won’t accept a half-human heir.”
“My father won’t accept a half-human heir.”
“So now your father wants me dead too, because I am a hindrance to you siring an acceptable heir.”
“That . . . would be my least favorite part of this plan.”
She gives me an arch look. “So, will I die?”
“That is not the plan.”
“But there will be people actively trying to kill me?”
I nod grimly. “As long as my father sits on his throne, you’re in danger.”
“And you are . . .” She trails off, tilting her head, as though searching for the most diplomatic way to express her question. “You are trying to stop him?”
This is the terrifying part to entrust her. I lean forward, clasping my hands together. When I open my mouth, the words don’t want to come. It’s like dragging stones up a hill to say aloud the secret I’ve been keeping for so long. “I am working to overthrow my father from his throne.”
She stares at me, utterly dumbstruck.
“It’s a delicate matter,” I say. “The throne is more like its own sentient entity, forged by the last of the Great Kings to only accept a ruler with his blood who has never broken a law of Faerie. There are other curses on the throne besides the aforementioned one; any fae who kills the High King will die. Except for me—I will instead forfeit my throne. Thus, I am trying to trick the High King into breaking a law of Faerie, and you are bait for that.”
“Why?” she asks, eventually. “Why are you trying to trick the High King off his throne?”
“Because he’ll kill me the first chance he gets.”
“That’s not why.”
I glare at her. What I said was true . . . if not the entire truth. “No one in Faerieland is safe until he is gone.”
Also true—also not the entire truth.
Her keen eyes narrow, but she doesn’t push the subject, shifting the topic instead. “When we arrived, you . . . changed.”
I clench my jaw. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Of a cavalier, rebellious prince?”
“Indeed.”
She nods, running her nail down the curved, polished arm of the settee, following the engraved designs. She doesn’t say anything for so long, I tear my eyes away from her and focus my gaze instead upon the embroidered hem of my tunic.
“I want to make a request of you,” says Stella, sitting up straight and fixing me with an intent stare.
I find myself straightening too, leaning just a fraction closer to her as I nod too quickly. “Whatever it is, if it is within my power to grant, I will do it.”
“I’m not asking that you tell me all your secrets. But I want to know each day what I am walking into. I want to be prepared for whatever we face.”
We. Does this mean she will help me? What if she doesn’t need to be my pawn, my tool, or my trophy? What if she could be my true companion and friend?
No, no, my heart says immediately. It will only hurt more when she dies.
But maybe she doesn’t have to die. Maybe, with her help, I can make my moves so that she doesn’t have to be my collateral.
“And,” she continues, “I will offer any aid I can in exchange for you ensuring that when you become High King, you will end the fae invasion of my lands.” My brain is already spinning as I take this in, but she interrupts my thought process when I don’t answer quickly enough. “Ash?”
I blink and glance at her. “I’m sorry?”
Her lips twitch. “Where’d you go? Will you honor my requests?”
I nod, perhaps just a touch too eagerly as a weight falls off my chest. “Yes, of course. I will do what I can to not blindside you in the future. I also give you my word that I will do whatever is in my power to save your people from my father’s conquest. That was no idle promise of mine that I gave King Roland.”
“Thank you,” she says, and makes to get up, signaling that her interrogation is over. I am so relieved that we’ve worked through this issue that when she goes to walk past me, I catch her hand. She gives a surprised bleat as I press my lips in a brief kiss to her knuckles.
“You, my darling, are going to be the spark that sets this whole world ablaze.”