Chapter 49
Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined I would allow Stella to march—completely unprotected—out of my quarters into the dangers of the High King’s palace.
But a lot has changed in a short amount of time.
I stand, heart raging like an untamed beast in my chest, with Edvear’s little mirror. We added Stella’s blood to it before she left. Through it, I can watch my terrifyingly fragile little wife march in disguise with a tray of tea straight to Listhra’s doors.
We spent hours perfecting her glamours, her scents, her tone of voice, and her mannerisms. The afternoon was half gone by the time she set out, disguised as one of our own servants. I kept my gaze glued to the mirror, watching with so much anxiety I could barely breathe, as she made her way to the main kitchens of the palace, switched her glamour for Listhra’s sad human slave, and picked up a tray of tea to deliver.
What worries me most are her scents. I had to glamour each scent into a piece of cloth, and Stella had to breathe it in deeply for a while before she was able to get the glamours right. Even then, I’m not sure she can fool someone with as strong of a sense of smell as Rahk. And what if she gets confused and switches the servants’ scents with each other? What if Listhra realizes she’s not the right servant?
I will have given her my bride—right after blackmailing her because she hadn’t used the opportunity she had to kill Stella.
“I know she can do this,” I whisper to myself, reminding my stupidly anxious brain that I never would have sent her to do something so dangerous if I didn’t fully believe she could do it. And I am ready the second anything goes wrong.
“She reached Listhra’s door,” I call to Edvear, who hasn’t been hiding his disapproval of my plan as well as he usually does.
“Did they accept the tea?”
I watch the mirror, barely breathing, as Stella, in the form of that sad, hunched slave girl, bows when the door is opened. She enters, and I nearly lose her small form in the sudden onslaught of brilliant blue and half a dozen colorful fae women sitting and laughing with Listhra. Just as I made Listhra promise to do.
Stella’s movements slow slightly.
“Don’t stop. Don’t get scared,” I whisper. “You’re doing wonderful, darling.”
One of the fae women plays a harp in the corner, and she glances at Stella and frowns.
“Did they accept the tea?” Edvear demands, his voice pitching high.
Stella places the tray on the center table, bows, and as other servants serve the princesses and ladies, the woman on the harp goes back to playing, and Stella slips back out of the room.
I let out a gusting sigh of relief. “She made it out. They accepted the tea.”
Edvear’s shoulders relax, and he goes back to polishing a silver teapot he’d been neglecting the last few minutes.
What I see next in the mirror does something thrilling to my gut. When Stella steps back into the hallway, now empty of her tray, she isn’t in the form of a lowly human maid anymore.
She is tall, with silver wings, glowing gold eyes, and a delicate saunter that is completely convincing.
My wife has become Princess Listhra.
I let out a loud, celebratory holler, then bite down on my fist to contain the pride bubbling over inside me.
I love this incredible girl I married.