Page 175 of Bride of the Fae Prince

Ash shoves to the front of the crowd. He picks up his fallen sword on the way, and my heart triples its rhythm as it becomes clear what he intends to do.

Rahk stops him, grabbing him by the arm and hissing under his breath: “You lost your throne? This was the one thing you werenot supposed to do! What have you done to our people?”

Suddenly, something tugs at me. I turn, looking for who touched me. But no one is close enough. Despite the madness, the fae give Ash and I a wide berth. They view the two of us with a mingle of horror, curiosity, shock, and awe.

The tugging returns.

I frown. It’s not physical. It’s . . .

I lift my eyes. Tilt my head to one side. The cacophony around me fades to a soft hum. My awareness focuses on the source of that tugging: the throne itself.

I step away from Ash. All I see is that large, golden throne, the discarded crown beside it. It strikes me suddenly how lonely that throne and crown are by themselves. My heart twists in my chest, wringing at their pain of separation. Of loss.

Certainty builds inside me as I keep approaching. I can ease that pain, that loss. Because Iamwhat is lost. Something in my blood calls to the throne before me.

I bend to pick up the crown. Immediately, it glows, as though with joy.Wear me,the crown seems to beg.Please, you must bring harmony to me again.

So I do. I place the crown on my head. It adjusts to fit me, and a rush of rightness, of joy and . . . andpowercourses through me in a torrent.

The throne pulses, aching, calling me to sit in it. Begging me to make all of us one again.

So I sit.

And it is like a symphony plays in perfect harmony. Like birdsong and forest rain, the beauty of flowers and the flap of hummingbird wings. A golden well opens up from the throne, rushing into me, but not overwhelming. I am merely a channel,one that can reach into this tremendous well and spread it to all the worlds.

Now I understand why they say humans are nothing but a cycle of death. There is such abundant life in this flood of magic.

What a heartbreaking shame it is that Faradir wasted all this life and goodness.

Faradir.

Ash!

I open my eyes. Before me is a throne room full of slack-jawed, utterly silent fae. There is Lord and Lady Nothril, looking like they were just blasted in the face by Faradir’s magic. Beside them, still with that knife in his shoulder, is Prince Rahk, who for once cannot disguise the shock on his face. Faradir has gone white as a sheet, restrained by Ash—as though he tried to attack me.

Wait.

Am I . . . sitting on the throne of all Faerieland? Did I just put this crown on my head? What am I even doing?

Oh Mountains of Ildrid.

I nearly slide off the throne in my shock. But all around me, there is a brilliant, almost blinding light. Vines shoot from the floor, from the throne, from the ceiling, from the walls, twisting around the marble pillars, bursting into an overwhelming rainbow of iridescent blossoms. They wrap around the throne until I am sitting amid a chorus of sweet fragrance and hundreds of flowers.

The water in the stream around the throne shoots high into the air as flocks of doves appear out of nowhere and fill the throne room, their wings a beating choir of magnificence. At once, the water spirals in a mesmerizing dance, rising to the ceiling and then splashing back down in a shower of thousands of tiny droplets.

A loud, ear-splitting holler of triumph slices through the silence left behind after the water and the doves.

It’s Ash. He wears the most dazzling grin I have ever seen and throws punches into empty air—as if he is made of pure elation and cannot contain it. He hollers again, his crystalline voice carrying through the vast chamber. “All hail High Queen Stella!”

High what?

“But how?” Faradir, still pale, clutches the stump of his arm. “She is not of the bloodline!”

A slow, triumphant grin spreads across Ash’s face as he climbs over the absoluteforestof vines surrounding the throne, until he reaches the steps. “She carries my blood. My blood frombeforeI broke a law and disqualified myself from the throne.”

I think I’m going to pass out. And yet, the moment I have that thought, strength surges into me from the throne, fortifying my limbs, clearing my vision, until I am not sure where the magic ends and where I begin.

“All hail High Queen Stella!” Ash cries once more. He drops where he is on the steps, kneeling before me.

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