Page 66 of The Fae Girl 1

“Oh I think you do.” He said taking another step nearer to me.

I shook my head slightly. That old panic beginning to coil once more. Even now, even with all this supposed power I was meant to have, I was still stuck being tormented by men like him.

“Excuse me.” I said trying to walk away.

“Not so fast my pretty little Fae.” Rillon moved to push me further into the corner and further from view. My stomach twisted as I realised it.

“I’m not your Fae.” I snapped clenching my fists. I wasn’t anyone’s damn Fae. Not even the High King’s despite what all these people said. What they all believed.

“You have some spirit too. I heard that. I heard you gave Fain a good fight before he caught you. That’s what the soldiers said.”

“What do you want?” I asked ignoring the silky way he spoke and the way it was setting my teeth on edge.

“I like a girl with spirit.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And?”

Rillon moved nearer as though he was trying to engulf me entirely.

I took a deep breath. Steeling myself. “Does that actually work? Any of that?” I asked, pushing him back slightly.

His hands latched onto mine. Keeping them on his chest as though we were in some lover’s embrace.

“Does what work?” He asked, still with that silky charming tone to his voice. “I’m a Prince. A High Prince. Most girls would kill to get my attention.”

“Then I guess I’m not most girls.” I snapped.

He really did believe he was something. This High Prince Rillon.

“No you most certainly are not.” Rillon replied quietly, intimately, as he moved his hand to brush my face.

“Don’t touch me.” I said jerking back.

“Don’t you realise that together you and I could really be something?” He said ignoring my reaction, stroking my cheek anyway. As though my words meant nothing. As though his wants superseded mine.

“Get away from me.” I said pushing him back harder this time. He stumbled only slightly and I saw the anger flash in his eyes before it vanished.

Around us all the candles flickered. I could feel it, the quiet murmur of magic. The reaction to the anger flaring in me.

Rillon opened his mouth to say something.

But someone else was there, stepping in, calling me away. I took his hand, didn’t even hesitate.

But only as I was leaving the hall did it sink in who I was with. Who was leading me away.

High Prince Fain.

Balls. I’d happily shovel pig shit all day than attend this, that is if I didn’t have a damn good reason to be here.

I scanned the hall, noting the fleeting looks I got, noting the buzz of noise from all the heavily made up ladies, no doubt eager to catch the eye of a Prince, even if it was the bastard one.

Indyra was holding court, in a dress that ensured maximum attention was on her. It’s deep blue fabric highlighted every one of her curves and a heavy ruby necklace that dipped right into her cleavage, in case you’d somehow missed it. She was laughing, glass of wine in one hand, and a fan in the other as some Lord or other chatted her up. That was always her forte, her skillset, charming those around her, ensuring she kept building a support network of allies so Uther would be hard-pressed to kick her out without significant push back.

Whatever game she was up to, whatever intention she had in throwing this ball, I wanted to figure it out.

Because Indyra didn’t do this, didn’t share attention.

Didn’t share the spotlight.

---