Page 6 of The Beast King's Bride

“What are you talking about?”

“Milhelmina won’t make it to the ball. She’s coughing blood. The physician fears it’s contagious and he’s keeping her in the sickroom in the tower tonight.”

“Those damned Fae and their fae-shots and fae-diseases. You know there have been sightings of Greater Fae these past few days. The king has already dispatched soldiers for a border check.”

“You mean check the gates? You never know where a new opening may appear. Rumor has it that the Greater Fae are planning on coming back to attack us. The Last War wasn’t really the last, after all, and the Sundering of the Worlds isn’t enough to keep them out of this one.”

“All the more reason why Minnie should have been more careful.” He lifts the pendant hanging around his neck—a Faerie arrowhead used as an amulet for protection. “And she wasn’t. I hear she walked through the woods and met Faeries there, that she opened her windows and didn’t put iron over her bed, inviting the accursed Fae in, that—”

“That’s hearsay,” I find myself saying, stepping out of the shadows. “Stop making up stories just to shun her. She’s sick. It’s not her fault.”

They stop.

I know them. Of course I do. I know all my cousins. I remember them even if they chose to forget me. Princes Alfred and Ralph. They are among the eldest, candidates for the throne.

“And look who’s here,” Ralph says, pushing red hair out of his eyes. “The changeling.”

“I’m not a changeling,” I whisper, “and you have no imagination or originality.”

“Ah, apologies. I meant the halfling.”

“I’m not a halfling, Ralph.”

“She’s not a halfling, Ralph,” Alfred says in a high voice that’s supposed to sound like mine, cracking a malicious grin. He elbows his cousin in the ribs, obviously pleased to torment me. “Your mom spread her legs for a Fae abomination, so what shall we call you if not a halfling? A whore’s tainted get? A half-Fae retard? An oaf? A half-wit?”

“Stop it.” Familiar, old pain seizes me, makes my chest ache. “Stop it, you’re my cousin—”

“Your cousin?” He laughs. “You’re a monster, a Fae’s seed. You have no relation to me. And why should I stop? What will happen to me if I don’t? You’re the one who will be punished. Bursting in here, talking to us. How dare you.”

“You’re not allowed inside the palace, half-wit,” Prince Ralph says. “Get out before we set the guards on you.”

“No, you can’t—”

“You’re not allowed here on any given night, much less on this one when we’re expecting royal guests.”

I push my shoulders back, angry. “I’m not leaving. I have every right to be here, same as you—”

“Guards!” Alfred lifts a hand and turning, I see two guards approaching. “Grab her. She deserves a good lashing for this.”

“No, no…” I try to brush by the two princes but Alfred grabs my arm. I twist and yank my arm away. Miraculously, his grip slips, freeing me. With a gasp, I duck under Ralph’s arm and run.

I run down corridors and more corridors, some familiar and some not. It’s a maze inside the palace. I’m not sure whether I’m heading toward an exit or running in circles.

Did Poe get out? I wish I remembered in which direction he flew. I don’t know where I’m going. The guards are close on my heels, their echoing steps and their shouts for me to stop sending ice through my veins.

A lashing. I bet it will hurt a whole lot more than a beating with a stick. I can’t let them grab me.

As I race outside a half-open door, a feeling of recognition hits me. I know that door. I passed outside earlier. It’s Milhelmina’s room. It looks like I’ve doubled back.

With mere moments to make a decision, with the guards’ pounding steps heading right in my direction, I step back, duck inside and glance around. The room looks empty.

All right.

I carefully close the door, latch it, and put my ear against it. For a long time, it seems, all I hear is the rushing of blood in my ears, my panting breaths. Sweat is rolling, hot, down my temples and my back, sticking my dress to my skin, plastering strands of my hair to my neck.

Closing my eyes, I struggle for calm. If they realize I’m here, then I’m trapped like a bird in a cage with no way out.

But eventually the guards thunder by, yelling for me to stop—“Stop, ye half-wit! Stop, may the Gods damn you!”—and then it grows quiet.

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