Page 13 of Destined for the Fae King

I nearly snort. As if that’s the only way to develop intimacy. Not that I’ve had a lot of experience on the matter but still.

“Surely relational compatibility is important in a marriage,” Cora adds, putting a better spin on it.

“You will have time to get to know one another. Some little intimacies would not be amiss, but nothing that could compromise the future of the royal line, however unlikely. If you find that you—”

The words become a muted droning as my senses focus in on a new and strange sensation, almost like the soft pressure on my back of someone staring at me. I glance both ways, but no one else seems to notice. Or if they do, they give nothing away. I can’t very well just twist around without it being noticed, but paying attention under the weight of this feeling is impossible.

My attention snags on the notebook open in my lap and an idea jumps to life. Iaccidentallylet my pen roll off, and as I’d hoped, it slides down a silken pillow and onto the soft rug to my left. As I move to gather it up, I glance behind me and freeze.

A figure leans against the curved back wall, arms crossed and one booted foot braced against the curvature. With the dark auburn hair falling past his shoulders and strong physique, I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing things correctly. It’s not the king, who I’ve half expected to make an appearance at any moment, but Lysandir. His gaze slides to me, and I whip my head back toward the front, cheeks blazing.

Of course he would show up. I squeeze the pen so hard it almost snaps. Does he plan to try to embarrass me again somehow? I’ve thought about that moment more over the last few hours than I care to admit. It should be his brother occupying my thoughts, not him, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what I did to make him try to stop me from competing for his brother’s hand. I’d never even met him before, for goodness sake!

The weight of his stare leans on me like a tangible force. I’m tempted to turn back around just to scowl at him when the pressure lifts and his voice rings out.

“These ladies,” he says, “are attempting to become his wife, Mother, not a mildly friendly companion.”

A few women gasp and turn as he stalks around the outside of the circular room, snatching some kind of fruit off a table on his way by before tossing it into his mouth. Others break into smiles or simply sit up a little more. In fact, of everyone I can see, I’m the only one frowning.

“Lysandir.” The queen’s stony expression breaks to from that of a stern school teacher into beaming motherly affection. He’s her only child by birth, and her youngest, though he’s still sixty years old. The age is boggling when I think about the number, especially since he looks around thirty at the absolute most, but fae ages are like that. In youth, we age the same, but once a fae reaches maturity, their aging slows down considerably in relation to their power. The stronger the fae, the longer the life.

“I thought I’d see if you needed me.” He comes to stand at the side of her chair.

The queen dolefully gazes up at him. “Everything is well in hand.”

He nods once then turns toward us. “Ladies. I wish you good luck in earning my brother’s affections—and those of my mother.” I’d swear he stretches the words out, taking time to meet everyone’s gaze but mine. “Her happiness is quite important to me, as you can imagine.” Lysandir places a kiss on the top of her head, and she gives him a playful swat. “Since you do not need me, I shall see you later.”

He exits not through the door he came into but walking out into the courtyard and disappearing from view. We’re quiet enough inthe wake of his departure that I swear I hear Gabriella give a wistful sigh.

“Well now,” Elaine says, her stoic expression returning. “Where were we? Oh yes—”

But I’m still staring after Lysandir, waiting for him to come back and finish whatever he was there for. It can’t have been just that. I keep my attention half pinned to the spot where he vanished beyond the wall. Some advisors come and go, making their introduction. But Lysandir doesn’t return, and neither do we receive a visit from the king.

Chapter 6

We spend the afternoontaking turns with the fae tailors who will be designing our wardrobe for the duration of the competition…and hopefully after. It’s a weird feeling being measured this way, but pointing out colors and styles I like? Having someone suggest shapes, styles, and fabrics that would best suit my body type? That’s amazing. A bubble of giddy excitement lodges itself in my chest and doesn’t abate. It probably won’t until I get to see what they come up with, and it may not even then. Perfectly tailored clothes—fae clothes with their impossibly soft yet sturdy and vibrant materials—are a luxury I’ve never had.

When we’re not with the tailors, we all hang out in a large and luxurious parlor of sorts. Fine furnishings like something out of a French castle provide numerous seating options. A table is set with snacks and drinks. There are even a few fae board games and pleasant fae music performed by a trio of musicians in the corner. Still, the lack of windows makes the room a bit stifling—that, and the lack of any kind of direction. This rooms is ours to enjoy, but we’re supposed to just…what? Hang out?

Each time the door opens, everyone stops and looks. But thus far, it hasn’t been the person I’d guess we’re all waiting on. Theking. And the longer the evening wears on, the more certain I am he’s not going to show.

“It’s got to be close to dinner,” Grace laments with a pout. “Do you think we’ll dine with the king?” she asks no one in particular. She’s stretched out on the sofa, her bare feet nearly brushing Alexis’s leg where she sits on the other end, though Alexis—or Alex as she likes to be called—doesn’t seem to mind. The two are friends and have been for years from what I’ve gathered. Grace’s discarded flats sit side by side next to her end of the sofa.

“I doubt it,” I grumble. If so, I’m sure they would have ushered us off to be dressed and primped or something, but that hasn’t happened.

Adeline occupies the chair next to mine and across from the sofa that Grace and Alex take up. “Well, let’s see,” she says. She closes the book she was reading and pulls something from her pocket. It’s not until she flips open the little brass cover that I realize what it is, a pocket watch. Her lips draw thin before she frowns. “It’s later than I thought.”

“That thing works here?” I lean over my armrest to get a closer look.

“It does.” She pushes a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear before leaning closer, her often shy countenance bright with excitement. “It’s been in my family for generations and is purely mechanical, not like the electric ones made today.”

“That’s clever.” Grace sits up and leans toward us.

“It is.” Adeline nods. “I wish I could take credit, but it was my grandmother’s idea. She used it when she visited Faerie in her younger days. She said it helped her retain a sense of normalcy.”

Grace gives a wistful sigh and flops back onto the cushions. “I do already miss my phone.I feel so…detached.”

I nod along in echo of her sentiment. I keep finding myself searching for my phone and having a moment of panic before I realize it’s not lost, simply not here at all. I tried to wean myself off of it before the competition, but it was just so dang convenient. And addictive, let’s not forget that.

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