Page 5 of The Beast King's Bride

See, as I said, I’m human and yet not human. A princess and yet not. They let me enter. I can walk the hallways, enter to clean the rooms and suites. I just can’t attend their banquets and balls. I just can’t have the life they have. For all intents and purposes, I’m a servant, indentured here, but they won’t whip me if they find me in here.

At least I hope not.

A few heads turn as I walk through the arched corridors with the raven on my shoulder, but everyone is so busy they don’t seem to have time to question the sight. Maybe they think I’ll be part of the entertainment for the evening.

Just in and out. As quick as I can. Catch a glimpse of a glittering gown, a fine garland, a richly decorated roasted swan. A scent, a color, a melody. All those things denied to me.

I know these corridors, I know where they lead. When I was little, when I still lived here, I used to play with my cousins in these rooms. Until they grew up suddenly—I was always the youngest—and decided they didn’t want me around. They didn’t want the black sheep of the family in the palace at all and I was sent to live with the servants in the basement.

I stop at the door of Princess Lily’s bedroom and swallow a wave of sadness at the memory of that. The feeling of being sent away, being disowned, being told that I wasn’t one of them, that I was lucky to be allowed to stay in the palace. For five-year-old me, it had been a devastating blow.

They were, after all, the only family I had. No mother, no father. And then, nobody at all.

Lily isn’t in the room, but a manservant is and he shoos me away, so I move on to Saimon’s room. He’s one of the older princes. He’s there, his dark head inclined toward prince Jerome, talking to him, and I turn and hurry away before they catch a good glimpse of me. I bet they haven’t noticed me or wondered if I live in many a year, but you never know. They might still recognize me.

I wander down corridors dressed in green and gold wallpaper with bronze sconces in the walls casting tremulous light, portraits of kings and queens long gone hung at intervals. It’s a different world here from where I live, only separated by a few doors and a couple of walls. The chasm between the servants and the royals is deep like an ocean.

Princess Milhelmina’s room is next and when I peek inside, she’s there, standing in front of a free-standing oval mirror, admiring her gown. It’s stitched with tiny crystals that refract the light and make it glow. I stare at it, breathless. This is what I came to see. This sort of beauty that is so sorely lacking in my life.

A glimpse of this and I’ll go back. Accept my place, perhaps, like Pete said. Just a few moments to escape, to daydream and fill my eyes with this radiance.

Milhelmina drapes the gown over a chair and passes a hand over her face, and I wonder why she looks so sad, surrounded by all this opulence and splendor, when I hear voices.

Time to move on again.

I hurry down the corridor, pass outside the rooms of princesses Liona and Karissa, then that of prince Willam. A servant calls out to me, asking what I am doing, and I just walk faster, pretending to be on some errand. The raven on my shoulder, though quiet, doesn’t aid in my disguise anymore. I probably look like a witch, wandering the halls. I should get out, go back to the kitchen before the cook loses the rest of her temper and has me beaten with a stick. It wouldn’t be the first time, either.

Turning around, I start back the way I came. But as I hurry around a corner, I run dab smack into a woman.

“Well, well,” she says, shoving me away from her. It’s Princess Blanche, the cousin closest to me in age. “What have we here?”

“Look what the ravens dragged in,” the woman beside her sneers, and I recognize Princess Rayne. “Doesn’t this ugly face look familiar?”

“The changeling. Elayne.”

It’s a shock, hearing my real name being spoken out loud after such a long time. It robs me of my defenses, steals my breath, my speech. I stare at Rayne and wonder how you can grow to hate a child you used to play with for no real reason.

But the reason for them is real. The fear of the Fae is a solid wall of terror and anything that seems odd and out of place makes people jittery. Any illness, any injury, any babe born out of wedlock, any babe born to unusual circumstances.

Like me.

Lucky little old me.

“I’m running an errand for the cook,” I offer by way of explanation for my presence and hurry away from them before they have a chance to grab me and taunt me more. I remember all too well how it all started—their chubby hands pushing me and slapping me and pointing at the door before they kicked me out and ignored me ever since, except for chances like this to mock me.

They only did it in imitation of their parents, I tell myself because now I’m old enough to understand how such things work. They overheard the adults talking about me and followed their example. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The adults had decided to cast me out of the family from the day I was born.

Now I’m an adult and I need to let go of the anger and sorrow in my heart.

Poe croaks and flies off my shoulder just as I hear steps coming my way. The raven flies down the corridor, and with a quiet curse, I press my back to the wall in a small alcove, hiding in the shadows, holding my breath. The steps belong to two men, each footfall heavy and confident.

Two princes.

I’m in the royal quarters so that’s not strange but it’s the night of a ball. Shouldn’t they be heading to the ballroom already?

“Did you hear?” one of them says. “The Fae have struck again.”

I freeze.

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