Chapter 29
The dress the tailor dropped off for me is . . . well . . . the most scandalous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Never in my wildest dreams would I have even considered wearing something so . . . so . . .!
I stare in the bathing chamber mirror, hardly daring to meet my own embarrassed gaze. I can’t go anywhere like this! It’s not as though I can keep my hands plastered over my exposed chest. Perhaps the lower neckline could be tolerated—it’s not that low, after all—if my legs weren’t exposed to their knees! It doesn’t matter that the dress technically reaches the floor. If it’s translucent material, it’s utterly indecent. I can hardly notice the beauty of the shimmering pearlescent blue gown, the color of a snowflake, with its glittering train. The colored fabric of the bodice and hips gives way to translucent material around my knees and continues all the way to my slippers. Both of my calves are on complete display! And if that wasn’t enough, there is a slit running halfway up the skirt.
Hylath burbles irritably behind me, her eyes bobbling all over the place as she styles my hair in an elaborate updo that makes my neck look long and slender. In a fae mirror, I find myself thinking how very choke-able I look with my hair this way.
Do I really want to get used to this place and all the horrifying thoughts it brings?
“Is she almost ready?” comes a masculine voice from the other side of the door.
Ash’s familiar timbres send a scalding line of panic down the length of my body. I barely restrain myself from hopping up and hiding my scandalous appearance.
Hylath makes a chorus of noises in response. Ash huffs. I brace myself, expecting him to enter at any moment. He doesn’t, which must mean Hylath told him I wasn’t ready yet. She weaves sparkling beads and strands of pearls into my hair. It’s quite lovely, and if I wasn’t so self-conscious about the dress, I might enjoy feeling beautiful.
“Grrrbaurgh!” says Hylath, clapping her hands and stepping back.
I’m done, then?
I swallow, plucking nervously at the neckline. It’s not that low, right? I’m merely not used to having anything on display. I can handle this. No one will look twice at me, or my exposed legs. That’s what they do here—they drape a piece of gauzy fabric around their body that only barely covers the essentials. What I’m wearing is quite demure.
I can’t make myself believe it.
It’s so much leg! How could showing more than an ankle ever be appropriate in a public setting?
Another knock at the door jolts me. “Stella? Are you ready?”
“Oh!” I breathe. He’s going to see how self-conscious I am! After that unexpected shoulder kiss not that long ago, I feel especially exposed. “You can do this,” I mutter softly, hoping Hylath doesn’t have augmented hearing like the high fae. “You can do this. You’re not afraid, remember?”
Funny how a new fear always seems to pop up in the wake of another!
I get to my feet, clench my fists at my side, and force myself to cross the distance to the door. I can do this. I can do this. I can—
The door swings open. And there’s Ash.
He wears a long, midnight blue tunic that reaches his mid-thigh. The throat is open in a deep V, which is heavily embroidered in a thick, shimmering silver thread in the pattern of fauns, fruit trees, and what might be dancing nymphs. A heavy gold medallion with a gleaming sapphire the size of my fist hangs from his neck. He wears tall boots that hug his calves almost up to his knees, and a pair of dark breeches that somehow catch the light with his movement. His long hair is swept back, partially tied at the back of his head, revealing the tips of his pointed ears. He’s got a ring on almost every finger, and a large, gleaming silver crown atop his head.
The sight of him, so tall and majestic, looking so very princely, completely halts my own self-consciousness. I’m once again struck with a sense of awe that I am married to the Prince of the Fae. This is my life.
This is my husband.
His gaze sweeps over me in similar appraisal. Is it just my imagination that they’re a little wider than normal? That a muscle just jerked in his jaw? That’s when the awareness of my almost bare legs hits me so hard I do the only thing I can—I cover my chest.
Ash’s attention returns to my face, his expression shifting as a line creases his brow. “You don’t like the dress?”
There’s disappointment in his tone again. It hits me hard—but not as hard as before. I can better notice it now, how much I am tempted to quickly assure him that I do, indeed, love the dress. But that would be a lie, and I am ready to be honest with him.
“It is b-beautiful,” I say carefully, still covering the bit of exposed chest. “I am simply not c-comfortable with . . . bare legs!”
His gaze sweeps back over me, his brow knit. “Your legs aren’t bare.”
“They practically are!”
He chews the inside of his lip. “I can glamour it, if it would make you more comfortable. Would you perhaps . . .” He gestures at my hands. “Want other adjustments?”
I nod quickly. He gives me a rueful smile. That’s when it clicks: he’s not disappointed in me, but he picked this dress out, didn’t he? He’s disappointed that he didn’t please me.
Oh.
Ash bends down, catches my face in his hands, and presses his forehead to mine. This time, I close my eyes with him, feel the rush of something deep inside me, around me, whirling like the ribbons of a dancer. His skin is warm against mine.
What would happen if he and I had time together?
I think I could love him. I’m halfway there already. And while I don’t want to be presumptuous, he certainly seems to be partial to me as well. But humans and fae are very different. There is always the possibility that I misread him.
Or that everything has been a lie.
Does the truth even matter if I don’t survive the next few days?
Ash lets go of me and pulls away. I glance down, discovering that the low neckline has been replaced with a demure sweetheart neckline, with a sweep of fabric that follows the curves of the dress to join with my sleeves. And beneath the translucent skirt is a layer of glittering ice-blue material.
It’s beautiful.
Now I no longer feel exposed, and instead, I can gape down at the stunning gown. It moves with me like water without the confines and wires of the gowns back home. I’m grinning and I cannot help it. I turn that grin up at Ash to find a warm smile on his face, and a softness in his eyes.
“Smile like that, and no fae glamours can hold a candle to you,” he says.
“What?” I blurt.
He smirks and takes my hand, drawing me out of the bathing chamber toward the door of his suite. Toward whatever awaits us tonight at this banquet. He ducks his head closer to mine, saying in a low tone, “I think you know exactly what I said and exactly what I meant. But if you want another assurance that I find you exquisitely beautiful—”
“Oh no!” I hurry to say, flushing hotter. “That is . . . um, one assurance is enough! Multiple is much too overwhelming.”
He chuckles, his smirk widening. “Perhaps you ought to adjust yourself to being overwhelmed.”
“I couldn’t do such a thing!”
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “You couldn’t?”
“Well,” I say slowly, frowning, “it would seem to me that the very nature of the word is that it cannot be adjusted or prepared for. If you adjusted to overwhelm, then you wouldn’t be overwhelmed. You’d be merely . . . whelmed.”
He throws back his head and laughs, a bright golden burst of sound that sends warmth tingling to my toes. He pauses at the door, that smile still stretched across his face. I stare up at him, much more pleased with myself than I ought to be.
How easy it would be to let myself completely fall under his thrall . . .
He draws a deep breath, and the smile fades. “Stella,” he says quietly, “tonight will be trying for you. I’m not sure what to expect, but you will be seated next to me, and I will keep a careful eye on everything.”
My heart thrums nervously at his words, my palms starting to slick.
“We will be seated near the High King, and I’m not sure whether he will engage you in conversation or ignore you. He likes to catch me off-guard. Princess Listhra will be there, who is from the Solirius Court.”
“The one with the servant girl that man at the Small City was concerned about?”
“The same. Other members of the High King’s court and other courts may be present, but I have not seen the guest list. Stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”
I nod, tightening my grip on his elbow.
He reaches out for the door, pauses. He lets go, turns to me, catches my jaw and tilts my face up. I suck in a quick breath of air. His eyes rove over my face as mine rove over his, trying to read the secrets behind the furrow of his brow.
Then he bends and presses a soft kiss between my eyebrows.
I swallow hard, breathless, as he pulls away and pushes the door open.
He draws me after him as we enter the palace hallways, walking over polished white floors, between arching marble pillars and past multi-storied fountains and waterfalls, with lily pads, lilies, and fish the colors of rainbows. A sweet, floral aroma rises from the lilies, far stronger than anything I’ve smelled back in Aursailles. Ash swiftly takes a left, barely slow enough for me to keep up with.
Guards with long, protruding fangs line this new stretch of hallway, their wings tucked in close to their muscular bodies. My unease rises with every step, with the weight of their gaze heavy on me and each movement I make. It feels like they can see straight into my brain and pick apart my thoughts, fears, memories.
Perhaps they can. I wouldn’t be the wiser.
At long last, we reach a grand pair of solid gold double doors with silver filigree designs portraying an enormous tree, its trunk running straight down the seam between the doors, its great branches, detailed leaves, and massive root network a mesmerizing display of craftmanship.
When I glance up at Ash, he’s not the same person who kissed my forehead and laughed at my words back in his quarters. That glint has entered his eyes, sharper than the great sword he had this morning, and his mouth twists into a sardonic smirk that reminds me of a snake cornering its prey.
The warmth, the sweetness, is utterly gone.
The doors open.
I’m temporarily dazzled. The hall before me is pure gold, with a towering domed ceiling. A gemstone mosaic dances across that dome, portraying life-sized images of silk-swathed, horned fae playing lutes, frolicking with curly-headed fauns, riding centaurs and aiming bows at . . . humans? They run in various directions, mostly unclothed. One unfortunate human bows over himself on the ground, while a seated fae rests her feet on his back. A literal footstool.
Sickness washes over me. I pull my gaze down from gaping at the ceiling, only to be dazzled once more by the brilliant sea of colorful fae seated at the long, ornate table. At the center of the table is a marble statue of a winged woman wearing live greenery. Birds with scarlet plumes nest in that greenery and sit and chirp on the statue’s shoulders or wings. In the statue’s hand, it holds a glowing globe that illuminates the entire room. A miniature sun.
I am a princess. I am accustomed to finery. But this is splendor, the match of which I’ve never seen. I feel like a small little mouse peering from a tiny hole into an entire world where I don’t belong.
“Prince Trenian!” the announcer calls. Then, in a mutter, “Princess Stella.”
The room echoes back a bright, joyful chorus of Ash’s name, and a mumble of my own. As if there is some obligation binding them to acknowledge me, despite how deeply they long to ignore me.
My whispered question is out before I can help it: “Why don’t they ignore me like they clearly want to?”
Ash’s face has paled. Almost in response to my notice, his skin brightens until it is luminescent. His glamour. My stomach drops to the floor. What—?
I follow his gaze back to the table. Realization floods through me, and my stomach drops even more.
The High King isn’t present.
And there isn’t a single man in the entire room.
They’re all women.
It’s a hall full of beautiful young women, more than half of whom wear crowns atop their silky hair. Even though they’re seated, it’s obvious how tall they are, willowy and elegant with effervescent skin, full lips, sparkling eyes. And their clothes . . . to think I was self-conscious in this unaltered gown! It’s almost laughable now. If I felt mousy before, now I feel like a dead mouse.
There is only one open seat, right in the center of the throng.
This is the High King’s first trap for Ash. To assault him with the women he should have married. To tempt him away from me.
Ash’s voice interrupts my realization. “They address you because they must. It is the law in Valehaven that all fae must address those with titles upon entering a room.”
That sounds wildly impractical, but the vanity of it doesn’t surprise me one bit.
My husband’s arm loosens in my grip as his attention shifts to the problem before us. A slow grin spreads across his face. He may hate his father, but is there part of him that thrills in these games? These unexpected maneuvers? Or is it just a front?
It’s impossible to tell.
“Prince Trenian,” Ash calls, announcing himself again in a voice that booms through the room, louder than the announcer’s. “And his wife, Princess Stella.”
Then he strides straight toward the table, coolly confident and unflinching with that devilish grin as I cling to his arm and follow. The women rise from their seats, some smiling so beautifully it makes my heart ache. Some lift their chins in a regal display of majesty.
Before we’re halfway to the table, several women have already made it to us. Or, to Ash, rather. They don’t spare me a passing glance as they approach my husband. He greets them all by name and title, including the ones still seated.
“Trenian,” one of them says in a lovely, sing-song voice. “It’s been so long!” She steps right into his personal space, letting her gaze fall to his mouth. Her hair is long, white, but her eyes are black as ebony. “I’ve quite missed you.”
Ash returns a steel-edged gleam of teeth. “A hundred years haven’t brought enough lovers into your embrace to make you stop pining for me? I suppose they do say that women only want the men they can’t have.”
She blinks, fluttering her lashes, and gives a bell-like chuckle. “Oh Trenian. I should have known a century couldn’t change you.”
“A hundred years cannot mar perfection, now can it?” he replies with such haughty arrogance I never would have thought him capable of being disappointed that I didn’t love the dress he picked out for me. “Have you met my wife? My love, meet Princess Pelarusa from the Nothril Court. She’s one of Rahk’s sisters, if you can believe it. Pelarusa, my wife, Princess Stella.”
Now that he’s pointed it out, the resemblance is in the striking hair color, the cleft chin, the wide cheekbones. Where Rahk is built like a boulder, this princess is formed as though from the most delicate strokes of a painter’s brush.
Am I to curtsy to her? I opt for a nod. She doesn’t look at me.
“You named your pet?” she replies archly, even though hers was almost certainly among the voices that welcomed me by name into the banquet hall. “How quaint.”
“I’ve done much more than name her,” says Ash with a roguish grin, drawing me closer and wrapping a large hand around my waist. He positions me slightly in front of him, which makes my breath come a little faster as I stare up at the three fae women crowding around Ash, and the one that distinctly won’t look at me. “Come, let us eat! I’m utterly famished!” he says before the other women can shove the first aside and make their moves on him.
They sit back down, leaving that one empty chair in the middle of the women. I swallow nervously, glancing up at Ash. He takes me straight there, grabs the back of it, drawing it out so that its back legs scrape on the floor, and then drops into it.
“Your pet can go stand with the other humans along the wall,” says the beautiful woman to his left, gesturing to the line of waiting servants. A pair of shining silver wings flutter from her bare back. Her long black hair is mounded elegantly atop her head, and her eyes are the most arresting shade of brilliant gold.
“I don’t think I could bear to be parted from my wife for so long, Princess Listhra,” Ash replies with a wink, catching my wrist—and pulling me down into his lap. He tugs me back until I lean against his chest, one of his arms wrapping tightly around my ribcage. I can barely breathe, and my hands have gone wet and clammy. My feet dangle above the ground, my skirts pooling on the floor.
Ash snaps his finger, and the servants—human servants—bring out the first course. A sudden bolt of fear replaces the last. They’re going to serve fae food! What if I cannot choke it down?
Perhaps as Ash’s pet, I’m not intended to eat at all.
Gleaming golden liquid in a crystal goblet is set on the plate before Ash. He picks it up, holds it high. “A toast!”
The rest of the women lift their goblets. The fairy-winged one says, “To the beauty of love.”
“To the High King’s throne!” another calls.
Ash gives a quiet snort at that as another chimes, “To hope of new things to come.”
His grip tightens on my waist. “Hear, hear,” he whispers under his breath, near my ear.
“To Prince Trenian and the thousands he has slain!”
I stop breathing. What?
“Hear, hear!” call half a dozen women, bright smiles on their faces.
It’s not a lie.
I cannot help the way my body goes stiff. Or the way my mind returns to the mosaic on the ceiling above me, of the fae hunting humans and using them as their footstools.
Ash’s voice rumbles through his chest into my back. “To wedded love, and the joy it brings.”
Glasses clink around us, but Ash merely leans back in his chair and takes a sip. Then he tilts his head toward mine, and his thumb gives my ribcage a subtle stroke. “Care for a sip, love?”
I shake my head. My stomach is much too unsettled to brave something new.
“That is a lovely dress, Princess Stella,” a bright voice says directly across from us.
I look up, startled, to find an unexpectedly kind pair of silver eyes fixed on mine. The woman has a radiant pair of electric blue wings, which only brings out the shimmering streaks in her silver hair. A delicate circlet crown drips a diamond between her brows.
“You have been some time from Valehaven, Princess Oleria,” Ash says from behind me, removing any obligation for me to reply. Is that a note of curiosity in his tone? “I am surprised you have come.”
“My father doesn’t like it when I am gone, but he could hardly refuse the High King’s particular invitation,” she replies.
“He probably should have,” Ash says darkly with a chuckle.
Oleria glances at me, as if searching for an explanation to this comment, but I’m no less confused than she is. A servant slips in to my left, and I turn to look as he sets down a new goblet, this one much smaller than Ash’s. It bears the same golden liquid.
“For the pet,” says Listhra with a magnanimous smile, as though bestowing a gift.
They truly don’t think of me as Ash’s wife, do they? I’m his passing fancy, a mere heartbeat in his life. One to tire of.
Well, I’m tired of them. “I may be his pet,” I say, “but at least he likes me.”
For the first time, the fae woman’s golden eyes snap to mine. Startled disgust overtakes her beautiful features.
Ash sets down his goblet with a roar of laughter. His arm cinches around me, bringing me closer to him in a way that isn’t to protect me, but to banish every last shred of distance between us. His voice is low, meant mostly for me—and yet every fae in that room can hear exactly what he says. “It is true, indeed: I like her better with each passing moment.” To my surprise, he picks up the smaller goblet, holds it up to the light so it sparkles, and adds, “How lovely of you, Listhra.”
Then he downs the entire glass in one gulp.
Listhra gasps, her face turning ashen before her glamour quickly masks it. “Prince Trenian! You shouldn’t drink that!”
He sets the goblet down with a clink, leaning forward suddenly as his hand splays tightly over my waist, his gaze fixed on the princess. “Why?” he demands, eyes glinting and mouth twisting dangerously. “What might be in Stella’s goblet that wouldn’t be in mine?”
She plasters a demure smile on her face. “You should be careful. Not many are happy you’ve taken a human wife.”
“Ah. So you think I ought to be worried about poison?”
Poison?
“It wouldn’t do to be careless,” she replies, turning her attention back to her goblet as she lifts it to her lips and takes a delicate sip. “Without you, the High King’s throne will fall.”
“What a shame that would be.”
He leans back against the chair, and a tiny part of me is relieved to not be the one thing between him and this conniving woman. I relax slightly against him, trying to measure my breath to calm my raging heart.
Ash brings his mouth to my neck, just below my ear, making me shiver. “If I were you, I’d jump up and run behind my chair. Otherwise, your dress might get soiled.”
My dress? Soiled?
When I don’t move, he gives a little snort. “Perhaps I should be clearer. Get out of my lap, Stella, before I throw up on you.”
My eyes widen, and I barely have time to scramble to my feet and get out of the way before Ash scoots his chair back, bends double, and vomits all over the floor. I cover my mouth and nose with my sleeve as screams erupt around the table.
“He’s been poisoned!” someone shrieks. “Get a healer! Find the antidote!”
My blood freezes for one hazy moment. Horror descends upon me like a wet blanket. It’s hardly a second before my husband is swarmed. I lose sight of him, and I stare at the rainbow of dresses and barely-dresses clumping around the chair where Ash had sat only a minute ago.
I toss aside my horror and throw myself bodily into the sudden swarm of women. “Get away from him!” I shout fiercely, rage bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. “Get away from my husband!”
My nails rake across bare fae skin as I try to tear my way to Ash. I earn an elbow to the gut and hardly notice it in my fury. He is my husband. I need to get him back to his quarters. Edvear will know what to do. But poison can move quickly. His fae blood and enormous body had better give me enough time to get help to him.
If these stupid fae princesses would just get out of my way.
“Move aside!” I bellow, grabbing a handful of gauzy fabric and yanking with all my might. As if that will give me enough leverage against their greater strength.
It’s Pelarusa who sees me first, hears me first, and the look in her eye makes me realize how vulnerable I am. Most of these women, if not all, want me dead. And I just—
With one swipe of her delicate but shockingly strong arm, I go flying backward and hit the ground hard. I push up on my elbows, expecting her to pursue me, to slice into me, but before she gets a chance, Oleria steps between us. Pelarusa bares her teeth at her, but returns to the fray.
Oleria’s silver eyes flash, her brow grim. “You need to get out of here. Fast. I’m not going to be much protection.”
Why is she helping me? No, there’s no time for that. She’s right. I’m practically defenseless, and if everyone suddenly decided they wanted me dead, I’m sure they can accomplish it easily enough. But Ash—
Something shatters. A roar follows the shattered glass. “Who tried to poison my wife?”
Ash’s head is suddenly visible above the women, and they back away as he flings his arm wide. Fury burns in the gaze he levels on Listhra. She has half-risen, staring with wide eyes at him. He grabs the armrest of her chair and yanks it toward him so hard she falls back into it, and lifts an ashen face to his.
“Who gave you that poison?” he demands, his voice lowering to something much more terrifying than his shouting. “Who?”
A hand clamps down on my wrist. I nearly scream, whirling as another hand clamps down over my mouth.
“It’s me,” comes Rahk’s deep voice. “Come with me quickly, Princess Stella.”
“But Ash has been poisoned!”
“He will be fine, my lady. Have no fear. It’s more important to get you to safety.”
I want to protest, but he’s right, and at that moment, Oleria shouts over the din: “Go with him!”
There are at least half a dozen angry fae women between me and Ash. Rahk lets go of me, and just for a split second, I can almost make out the shimmering edges of a pair of wings behind him. They vanish too quickly, and I have barely a heartbeat of hesitation before I latch hold of his proffered arm and let him whisk me out of the hall.
The door shuts behind us, cutting off the cacophony with a firm thud.