Page 3 of The Fae Kings' Bargain

“Naturally.”

Ria’s throat constricted until she knew she wouldn’t be able to get another word out, but her father was done talking anyway. He wouldn’t risk being overheard as they eased into the wealthier crowd heading up toward the inner palace. If they knew she had human blood from her mother’s side, her father could lose business.

Not that the fae nobles were as pure as they claimed. Human lovers were more likely to produce offspring, so no small number of desperate lords or ladies sought out mixed children from amongst the minor nobility or wealthier merchant classes. The sin wasn’t in the doing—it was in the revealing. Even high-placed nobles whoknewthey had human blood would refuse to do business with someone open about it.

Her basket grew heavy on her arm as they passed through two sets of gates and around to the keep’s secondary entrance. Though her father stiffened at being directed through here instead of the main doors, he didn’t dare argue. He hadn’t been sent to the servants’ entrance, so he had to know better than to claim a slight.

He would no doubt save his temper for her later.

That thought weighed down her feet as they passed through elaborate hallways and up finely carved stairs. A few times, her steps began to slow, but she was fairly certain she caught herself before her father noticed. He’d already criticized the fine dress she’d donned and the simple braid of her long brown hair. No need to give him anything else.

Finally, a guard led them to a carved and embossed door, and the import of who she was about to meet truly hit her. The kings of the realm. High King Toren and his husband, King Mehl. She’d created clothing for a few amongst the nobility, but never royalty. Either of these men could send her to the dungeon with the slightest gesture.

Stop it, Ria. Donotthink of that.

Before she had time to agree or argue with her mental admonishment, the door opened, and a servant gestured them inside. Ria drew the basket tight against her belly and followed her father across the threshold. Magic tingled around her, and the servant stiffened to attention beside her.

Then she could see nothing but the two men standing tall in the center of a massive sitting room. Gods above. She’d had cause to wave at the kings as they’d paraded by during festivals, but she had never been close. From afar, they hadn’t seemed as handsome as legend claimed, but not even the ballads were near the truth. Not even close.

One had lustrous, silver-white hair that curled lovingly around a sculpted form draped in nothing but a dressing robe. Ria didn’t dare look long enough to discern the color of his eyes, but his high cheekbones and firm jaw must have been created by the gods. Same for the man beside him, though his hair was as black as obsidian dye, and his shoulders were wider, more like a soldier’s.

Ria must have curtsied when her father bowed, but she honestly couldn’t have said. She was too busy trying to figure out the proper place to rest her eyes. One king’s robe had parted enough that she could count the ridges of muscles leading down to—

A sudden, painful pinch on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts, and before she could process what was happening, someone shoved her to her knees. And it wasn’t her father. He was still in front of her, just now turning to see the source of the commotion—which was apparently her.

“We have an assassin, Your Majesties.”

Ria peered up at the servant pinching her shoulder, the same man who’d welcomed them at the door. “An assassin?”

The servant didn’t even look down.

“Explain, Feref,” one of the kings snapped.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the spell detected poison,” Feref said, his fingers digging harder into her flesh. “And this woman carries it.”

Chapter2

At the Kings' Feet

Mehl locked his gaze on the woman trembling at Feref’s feet. In appearance, she looked nothing like an assassin—which was, of course, the point. She wore a fine gown in a fabric and style favored by the more prosperous merchant class, and her light brown hair was deftly braided into a simple but acceptable style. The type of basket she carried could be seen all through the castle and surrounding villages. Furthermore, she had spoken to Feref in apparent surprise.

Also typical of assassin and innocent both.

But Mehl had protected Toren long before they’d fallen in love, and he had seen more than a few ill-intentioned people over the last couple of centuries. He would swear she wasn’t one of them. It was in the way that awareness had crept across her face after Feref had shoved her down, a shift from neutral, to shock, and finally to a fear that was difficult to feign.

Belak, the tailor she’d accompanied, had spun to stare at her, and no small part of the woman’s terror seemed directed at him as much as Feref, the guards, or even Mehl and Toren. Was she the man’s wife? Mehl narrowed his gaze on her face. No, he didn’t think so. She shared Belak’s coloring, and there was a similarity around their eyes that suggested a familial connection.

“Explain yourself, Ria,” Belak demanded.

Toren’s arm stiffened against Mehl’s. “Do not forget your place. It is for I or King Mehl to question here.”

Mehl almost smiled, both at Toren’s adherence to formality while standing in his dressing robe and Belak’s splotchy, stricken face as he turned to bow to his kings. The man’s eyes, though. There was calculation there. He might appear contrite, but he would exert control as soon as he could.

“Address my servant’s claim,” Toren said, and the woman flinched as though he’d hit her.

That reaction erased Mehl’s humor. Never in their reign had he or Toren struck one of their subjects, barring self-defense. Was their reputation more wretched than they knew, or did she have something to hide?

“Your Majesty, I don’t…” Her eyes went wide. “The dye! Our supplier gave us a bundle of royal green on the way here, and that could be to blame. Some of the herbs used are no doubt caustic. Perhaps the spell detected that?”

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