Page 10 of The Beast King's Bride

“Only that, huh?”

“Go away, Pete.”

“You could have done like I did. But you really want to be a princess, don’t you? You’re not even a daughter of the king and queen but the illegitimate get of one of their daughters.”

“I am a princess.” I lift my chin, as I have been doing since I put on this dress, and tell myself that this is my right. “And you know it.”

“Come on now…” He grins at me. “Who needs jewels and gowns? Who needs kings and princes? We simple boys are the best. You like me, don’t you?”

“Pete, what’s gotten into you?” I hiss and start to walk away. “Go!”

“Ash, don’t you know how I feel?”

I freeze.

I turn to look at him, crouched like a cute gargoyle in that little alcove, and my mouth flaps, no words coming out. He has a hand over his heart, a tragic expression on his face.

Which crumples into laughter.

“The look on your face.” He snickers. “Gods. You’re like a little sister to me, Ash, and you know it.”

“Pete…” The relief I feel almost sends me to my knees. I grin as I shake my head. “Don’t ever make such horrible jokes again. Now go. Shoo!”

I’m still smiling as I totter among the swanning guests in the uncomfortable slippers that are slightly too big for my feet. I take another glass of wine from a tray and find a quiet corner to observe as the gentlemen go to ask the ladies to dance and an orchestra starts playing on a platform at the other end of the ballroom.

Sipping at my wine, I open my senses, taking it all in—the music, the couples moving toward the center of the room, the king and queen on their thrones, the visiting prince and his retinue moving to the long tables where many guests are already seated, eating and drinking.

More guests are arriving, some staying for a while on the stairs for a better vantage point, watching as the couples start to swirl to the music. More peacocks and swans, I think fuzzily. The wine is making me sluggish, relaxing my limbs as well as my thoughts. And Gods, I’d love to dance like that but I’ve never learned and that would be dangerous. Someone might recognize me. My time is up. It was up from the start.

The cook will kill me.

For some reason, the thought makes me snort. I finish my wine, wipe a hand over my mouth. Yeah, the cook will kill me and Pete is right, I should have done like him, hide in the alcove, in the awnings. I’m not a princess. Pretending time is over.

With a sigh, I set the fluted glass on the floor and straighten to go, brushing my hands over the sparkling gems of the dress, checking that the purse and the folded fan are still hanging on my belt, when someone stands in front of me.

“I can’t believe it,” a voice says, and glancing up, I find one of the last people I wanted to meet face to face right now.

“Princess Blanche.” I press my lips together. There’s no getting out of this one. Can’t lie about running an errand in these borrowed clothes and finery.

“In Milhelmina’s new dress, no less.” She giggles a little, lifting her fan coquettishly to hide her mouth. “Oh, this is delicious. The king should hear about it.”

“Definitely,” Princess Rayne says, trailing after her, nailing me with her gaze. “I wonder what the punishment is for a servant who still thinks she is a princess?”

I flinch, my back fetching up against the wall. I’m not far from the door, but I’m cornered. I’ve been caught. How do I get out of this?

Blanche lowers her fan and opens her mouth to say more, when the music falters and stops.

A hush falls over the ballroom, a different, deeper one, washing over everyone like a great wave.

Blanche snaps her mouth shut.

What is going on? All faces turn up, eyes fixing on the top of the imperial staircase. It’s an eerie silence. Unnatural.

Someone is standing there, I realize, at the top of the stairs, a tall, broad-shouldered figure. A man. His short hair is dark, sucking in the light, and his pale, angular face seems to glow, framed by what looks like big, curved horns.

My stomach curdles.

Fae.

---