Page 49 of The Beast King's Bride

“Gods.” I shake my head. “Is it magic? Does he compel you to tell him everything?”

“Oh, no. He’s my liege, I’d do anything for him.”

I stare in disbelief. “That’s some sense of honor.”

“He has been kind to me.”

And he’s not the first one to tell me that. “What did he do?”

“He…” Jassin seems to shrink in on himself. “He saved me once from a lover who liked to beat me. I was too weak to walk away, so Talen… the king came and talked to me, convinced me to leave that man. I’m convinced he’s the reason I’m alive today.”

I stare at Jassin, his delicate face, his lithe body, those pretty green eyes, and try to imagine him covered in bruises. I swallow hard. “That’s good,” I mutter. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

No, I can’t let these Fae influence how I feel about the king. It’s as I told him: only he can change my mind about him, make me like him. He still abducted me, still locks me up any chance he gets.

Speaking of whom… “Did the king send you?”

“Yes, my lady.” Jassin seems to shake off the bad memories, straightening again. “He’s requesting your presence for dinner.”

“Why do you keep calling me lady? You used to call me Ash.”

“His majesty has said that you desire to be called lady, or Princess Elayne, and that only he has the right to call you Ash.”

That bastard. It makes me want to slap him and kiss his cheek at the same time.

Or his mouth.

Oh Gods…

“My lady?”

“Let’s go.”

I’ve gathered up speed and righteous fury by the time we’ve crossed half the palace and reached the dining hall. I sweep inside in the pale green dress I yanked out of the closet and put on this morning, determined to be ready for whatever comes and not cower in a corner in case anything else steps out of the shadows.

“Ash,” the king says, turning away from the fireplace and taking a step toward me before catching himself with a hand on the mantelpiece, his handsome face contorting. “You look upset.”

My fury fades, blown away to nothingness, when I see that. “Are you all right?

Those intense eyes widen a fraction before he can school his face. “Yes.”

I twist my hands in my gown. “You’re limping.”

“It’s nothing. Jassin checked me over.”

Why am I annoyed that Jassin was the one who stayed to check him over and not me? “Good.” I rally to gather my scattering wits. “Shall we eat then? I’m starving.”

“Apologies for making you wait.” I watch him limp over to one end of the table and pull the chair back. “If you please.”

I nod and walk over to sit. Last time he hadn’t done this. Had said that he has no human manners. Then again, last time he was badly hurt by the iron blade. Was that why? I had assumed he just didn’t care.

I narrow my eyes at him as he limps to the other end of the table. “How is the wound in your side?”

He stops, half-turns, looking at me over his shoulder, his eyes glimmering, the same question in them as before. “Better.”

Relief washes through me. It had looked so bad. I drum my fingers on the table as he takes his seat, a world away from me, his face briefly marred by a grimace of pain.

Then he claps his hands and servants rush inside with steaming platters and wine, distracting me. I see more Lesser Fae folk this time, women with insect antennae on their heads, men with goat legs, even the wine bearer has a horse tail. I stare at them, bemused.

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