Rattled by nerves but resolved after the day’s bloodshed to do whatever necessary, I’d hidden in the antechamber of the great hall to listen to their stilted greetings and small talk until my mother sang my name, summoning me.
I’d expected disdain, disinterest at the very least. I hadn’t expected the prince to have grown more handsome than the last time I’d seen him three years ago. His rich brown hair curled around his hairline, whispered over a sharp chin, his eyes aglow beneath thick brows.
Full lips parted, those soil-dark eyes flicking over me once, then again with a slowness that seemed deliberate. He inclined his head. “Princess, how lovely you have grown.”
I’d matured years ago, but I didn’t bother reminding him of that. He’d been too busy tending to his female companions to notice a faerie princess within his midst.
Now, walking alongside him in the gardens, listening to him regale me with tales of their tense journey here and the delightful bakers in Tulane who’d offered him the most scrumptious scones he’d ever tasted, I half wondered if he was even aware that we’d met before.
“You’d best not eat them in future.” I finally formed words, though they were quiet. “Or anything else from strangers in Sinshell.”
His feet, clad in gleaming brown boots that matched his eyes, slowed as we rounded the fourth circle of greenery and color. The shrubbery climbed higher here, the castle courtyard at our backs and only the rooms in the towers visible.
“I’d thought food spells and faerie poisons to be nothing but grotesque bedtime stories.”
I contained a snort of laughter. “There is nothing grotesque about it,” I said, stopping before a cluster of roses and brushing my fingers over a small bud. “Your scones back in Errin will now taste of soot is all.”
“Right,” he clipped. “And what of other meals?” He shifted, the warmth of him nearing my arm. “Surely, I can eat something without worry of it ruining me for all else.”
The way he’d said those words, uttered the last few with a lower, deeper cadence, drew my eyes his way. “We will likely feed you a meal you cannot find in your kingdom.”
“Indeed,” Bron rumbled in a way that pulled at my brows. His gaze drifted from my face to my hand, my fingers cupping and encouraging the unfurling rose. His lips parted, then closed as he swallowed. “God, you truly are a faerie princess.”
I raised a brow, making to leave when he grasped my hand. His touch was gentle and warm as he pulled me close. He was tall for a human, but Fae, especially nobility, were taller than most any humans, so our noses were nearly perfectly aligned when his fingers rose, awaiting my permission.
Curious, I lifted my lips into an agreeing smile. They broke open with a ragged breath when his fingers shifted my hair behind my ear. Gentle and almost reverent, they traced the arch, the near point that, if not for anything else, made it so plainly obvious we were different.
“Soft,” he whispered, as if to himself, while furrowing his brows. “You wear no jewels in your ears.”
“I used to but too often forgot, and we heal fast.” My voice was breathy, and I swallowed when his finger slipped over the small lobe to trail down my neck, nearing the fine silk strap of my heavy apricot gown. “Bron,” I said, more of a warning, but for whom, I didn’t know as my stomach filled with tickling moths.
Seeming to catch himself, he removed his touch, smiling as though he’d been caught stealing a treat and he wasn’t sorry. “You are beautiful.”
“As are you,” I said, to which he released a shocked laugh. “What are you doing here, Prince?”
A brow rose, and he took one step back, tiny gold flecks in his eyes exploding under the sun. “Your father wrote us, as you already know.”
“You cannot mean to marry me.” Unable to meet his burning gaze, I fastened my eyes on his velvet bronze tunic and cloak. “We both know that.”
He was silent for long moments, lashes dipping as he turned on one foot and peered around the garden. We weren’t alone, but I didn’t bother telling him. Turning back, he pursed his lips, studying me, and a rip sounded when he dared to take a step closer.
It was quiet enough that I didn’t think he’d even heard it, but with my hearing, I did, and I used the distraction to prolong whatever excuse he’d been about to give me. “Your cloak,” I said, forlorn and lowering, reaching for the hem. Gazing at my roses, I hissed, “I apologize. They’re usually much better behaved.”
“The flowers?” he asked, puzzled.
I hummed, rubbing my fingers over and along the broken velvet and stitching. The tear was too ragged, stubborn. It didn’t work. With a sigh, I rose and suggested, “Leave it with me, and I’ll mend it after dinner.”
Bron removed the cloak and gathered the heavy material, but before he could place it in my outstretched hands, he leaned forward, his lips brushing my cheek. “Kind and beautiful.”
I watched him leave, my cheeks warm, one more so than the other, the wind kicking leaves around his fast steps. He’d left to avoid answering me, and I was too distracted by the softness of his full mouth upon my skin to care.
Over dinner, news arrived that some of the prince’s men had been attacked in the Spring Forest.
Up until that point, it’d been a quiet, tense affair. My father studiously ignored my mother’s warning looks whenever he’d spoken of a marriage contract, not needing to hint at the reasons but doing so all the same.
I’d sat and stared at my full plate of roasted bear and spiced turnips, pushing some of the meat into the puddle of white cream upon its side.
The prince hadn’t eaten either, though he did drink the wine.
Fool, I’d thought, being that I’d warned him of the food, and he’d not thought it would extend to drink as well. Our wines were crafted the same way most wines were, but with a faerie’s hand. The passion for their task and their lifeblood seeped into each batch.
Already, Bron’s cheeks were ruddy, his eyes struggling to focus on my father. Laughter fell from his lips over nothing as my mother kindly suggested, “Dear prince, perhaps you shouldn’t drink—”
That was when the two soldiers had arrived, Bron’s and my father’s highest in command, their expressions mirroring grave concern. “Your majesty,” Elhn said with a swift bow. “We’ve just received word of bodies strung up in the trees of the Spring Forest, limbs torn apart, blood in the river…” He trailed off when my mother lifted a hand and glanced at me. “Apologies.”
Grateful I hadn’t eaten, I offered a tiny smile, my chest squeezing tight.
“My men?” the prince cried, the merriment fading from his face like an incoming storm clouding the sun. Standing, he wobbled on his feet, blinking harshly. “Good grief, what did you make me drink?”
My mother’s lips pinched between her teeth. No one had made him drink anything. He’d poured the wine before any of us were even aware of what he was doing.
“Survivors?” my father asked, his thick fingers sailing around the rim of his goblet, unseeing eyes upon the table.
“No reports of any.”
My father rose from his seat, the flora-shrouded snakes encircling the back of his gold and silver chair appearing watchful. “Let us talk outside.”