I can’t take my eyes off him, much less speak. In all my terrified imaginings, I never thought a fae could look so regal, so kind, so…attractive. And he’s—oh for the love of iron, he’s Prince Cobalt. My husband-to-be. I can’t tell if the thought terrifies me or excites me. Shame reigns supreme when I consider it could be the latter. I remind myself he’s fae and recall everything I’ve heard about Faerwyvae. I can’t afford to be flustered by a pair of blue eyes.
I open my mouth to relay a greeting, but Amelie beats me to it. “It’s a pleasure.” Her tone is formal, which I’m grateful for. By the look in her eyes, I can tell she’s as enchanted as I am by his appearance. Still, she’s keeping her composure, which means she has her head on her shoulders. Good.
A dark shadow looms behind the prince. Cobalt turns, bowing his head.
Again, Foxglove and Lorelei sink into bows. This time Amelie and I are quicker to catch on. When we rise from our curtsies, the Autumn King’s eyes are on me.
I know he’s the Autumn King, because never have I seen the season so perfectly embodied in a living being. Not only does he have an elaborate rack of dark brown antlers, but he wears bronze satin from head to toe. The jacket and trousers are a deeper shade of russet, but the waistcoat is closer to the red-bronze of fall treetops and is patterned in gold-stitched maple leaves. He has the same slim build as Cobalt but towers a head taller than the younger fae, not including the height of his antlers. Like his brother, the king has blue-black hair, but his is longer, curling at the nape of his neck. Aspen’s eyes, however, are brown. Unlike Cobalt’s, they don’t glitter when he smiles, they narrow, and his smile is more smug than warm.
His gaze burns into me. “Evelyn,” he says.
I hate how he says my name with such informality. Such scorn. I hate how the corner of his mouth turns up when he says it, like my name is a joke coming from his lips. Most of all, I hate the chill that runs down my spine when I hear it, sparking something familiar.
A dangerous echo.
I’ve heard that voice before. Seen that smirk.
In fact, I’ve told him my name.
Chapter Eleven
I don’t know how King Aspen could be the same fae I met at the wall, but I know it’s him. Even with antlers and fashionable clothing, there’s no mistaking his expression, his voice. He’s the fae whose ire I’ve sparked. He brought me here.
Rage ignites within me, so hot it feels like it will boil over. I want to shout at him, to demand an explanation for why he sought fit to punish me. I almost do, when I remember I never confessed my guilt to my sister. She has no idea I even met a fae at the wall, much less drew enough attention to get us into this mess. I grit my teeth and meet his gaze with a glare.
“Pardon, Your Majesty, but this one is your bride-to-be, not she,” Foxglove says, misreading the exchange between me and the king. He pushes my sister forward a step. “This is Amelie Fairfield, the eldest daughter of Maven Fairfield of Sableton Village.”
King Aspen shifts his gaze to her, and Amelie forces an uncertain smile. His smirk disappears, and something crosses his face, but I can’t read his expression. He almost seems taken aback. With a grunt of either acceptance or displeasure, he turns around. “Let’s eat.”
“You heard him,” Foxglove whispers, waving for us to follow the king to the table.
As I move to obey, Prince Cobalt offers me a gentle smile and falls into step at my side. “That leaves you and me,” he says. “To marry, I mean.”
I don’t say anything in reply.
As we reach the dining table, Cobalt steps in front of me and pulls out a chair. I hesitate before accepting the seat. He leans forward and pushes the chair in as I sit, bringing his face next to mine. He pauses with his lips by my ear and whispers, “I’m sorry for what happened to the girls before you, but I hope you can forgive me for saying…I like you better.”
I’m surprised by this and turn toward him in time to see a blush creep up his cheeks. He catches my eyes and flashes me a smile, then makes his way to the seat at the end opposite his brother.
When I face forward, I meet Amelie’s frown across the table. She turns her scowl to King Aspen, then loudly drags the chair away from the table. She sits, then pulls the chair forward in a few exaggerated scoots until she’s nestled close to the table. The king pays her no heed, his eyes fixed firmly on his dinner plate.
“You can sit,” he barks. I realize then that Foxglove and Lorelei had retreated to the edges of the room. “Both of you.”
The two jump forward like timid pups eager to obey their master, then take seats at the table. Foxglove sits next to me, while Lorelei sits next to Amelie. I try not to meet Lorelei’s eyes across the table.
Several figures enter the dining room—servants, from the look of their stoic expressions and reserved bearing. Most resemble the average, youthful human in stature and physical features, save the telltale ethereal beauty and pointed ears. Some, however, have additional attributes like upturned snout-like noses, whiskers, and even the odd tail. A few smaller fae are present with leathery skin and aged, wrinkled faces, limbs that appear more tree branch than arm or leg. Regardless of appearance, all are dressed in resplendent silks in russets, golds, reds, and browns.
One of the youthful fae, a male, approaches me and fills my goblet with a deep red liquid. Another, female as far as I can tell, with long, white whiskers framing a pink button nose, stands on my opposite side, heaping portions of food onto my plate from the many dishes on the table. The first servant moves on once my glass is full, but the second is still adding more food to my plate.
I manage to find my voice. “That’s enough, thank you.”
The fae steps away, and I look across the table at my sister. She wears an odd expression, somewhere between suspicion and longing, as she studies the items on her plate. With a lick of her lips, she reaches for a pastry.
I scoot forward and aim a kick at her shin. She scowls as my foot meets its mark, then meets my eyes with a questioning glare. I lift the bag of salt from my waist, widening my eyes in silent warning. Salt your food.
She gives me a nod of understanding, then retrieves her pouch. We each sprinkle our plates with a dusting of the pink crystals.
“What is this?” asks a dry, mocking voice. My eyes flash to the head of the table where King Aspen sits. His eyes rove from Amelie to me.
I’m at a loss for words as I seek an explanation that won’t get me killed. Thankfully, Foxglove lifts his hand. “I believe it’s a human folk remedy,” he says. “They believe salt wards against evil.”
“Salt.” The king lets out a bark of cold laughter. His eyes lock on me. “You know we already use salt when cooking, right? And the salt sprays in from the ocean daily. If salt could do fae harm, we’d already be dead.”
I’m still too furious to trust myself to speak. All I’d do is argue anyway. Besides, we don’t salt our food to harm the fae, we do it to protect our digestive tracts. Instead of saying any of this, I deepen my glare, eyes still locked on the king, then dump another heaping pinch of salt on my plate.
He leans back in his chair with a dismissive snort.
“I think it’s smart.” Prince Cobalt’s voice comes from the other side of the table, his gentle tone in contrast to his brother’s. He smiles at Aspen, but his eyes are glowing with mischief beneath a raised brow. “They aren’t the only ones with precautions in mind.”