Fey Empire Sneak Peek

On the other side of the doors, footsteps drift away. The bedding party has left. They have returned to the feast.
Now I truly am all alone with Prince Selwyn.

I can’t look at him, I can’t. All I can do is stand here and stare at the polished floorboards. The air feels thick and heavy. The hiss of the candles as they burn, sounds far too loud. The smell of beeswax is strong. Time has slowed. Each breath takes a hundred years.

I am supposed to say, How may I please you, my lord husband? But my tongue is firmly stuck to the roof of my mouth.

If I had been married to a duke, there would have been a tea served to me at dinner. An aphrodisiac and sedative. Maybe I would have been served one tonight if Prince Selwyn had not whisked me away so very early in the evening.

But that’s fine. Being drugged and addled would be awful. At least this way I have my wits about me. It makes me a little less vulnerable.

“Laurie,” Prince Selwyn whispers softly.

I look up.

His mahogany eyes look so sad, and confused. “Why are you so scared?”

“S… sorry,” I stammer.

He stares at me for a long moment. Then, he picks up my hand. The one that is still tied to him with red ribbons, and will remain so until the druid cuts them in the morning.

He places my hand on his ‌firm chest, over where his heart would be if he were human. He places his hand on my chest, and the heat of him seeps through all my layers of silk.

“Can you not feel it?” he says.

I can’t feel anything, save for the intricate embroidery of his outer robe. He has far too many layers on for me to be able to feel his heart beating, if that is what he means. He even has a layer of soft leather, unlike me. He can probably feel the racing of my heart, but I cannot feel a thing.

I stare up at him and bite my bottom lip.

He stares back at me. Searching for something. Sadness swirls and grows in his eyes the more he looks at me.
Eventually he sighs and drops his hand. I allow my hand to fall away too. Now we are no longer touching each other. The ribbon is the only thing connecting us.

The weight of his gaze continues to bore into me.

“The wedding needs to be consummated tonight in order to be binding. Healers will come in the morning and examine you.”

I nod my understanding. I know he has to take me. Fey wedding customs aside, I am his vessel now. If he doesn’t untap my magic, it will be clear to everyone.

“Yes,” I manage to say. “I understand. I have been trained for this. I know all the sixty-nine positions.”

One of his elegant eyebrows lifts. “Sixty-nine positions?”

Despite everything, my lips twitch. “Yes. It is a source of a great many crude jokes.”

“I can imagine.”

He stares at me for a moment longer. Then he walks away, over to a cabinet. He pours a golden liquid into a beautifully carved wooden goblet. He returns to me and hands me the goblet.

I take it and gulp down the sweet liquid. Mead. Fermented honey. I can’t taste any drugs in it, but that means nothing.
I look back up at him and wait to see what he wants me to do next.

Selwyn frowns. “Getting you drunk will not help, will it?”

It might. If he got me so drunk I passed out. He could simply arrange me on the bed in whatever way he saw fit. But my trainer said some men don’t like that. They want their consort to be conscious and aware.

He takes the goblet from my lax fingers and sets it down on the floor. All while his eyes never leave mine.

“May I see you?” he says softly.

My heart slams against my ribcage. My body belongs to him now. He doesn’t need to ask.

I nod weakly.

He takes my wrists and guides me over to the bed. Gently, he sits me down on the edge. I swallow and stare unseeing straight ahead.

His nimble fingers go to the laces at my neck. He tugs for a moment. Then he slides the soft silk of my robes off one shoulder. I shiver even though the room is not cold.

His hand moves over my other shoulder. He pulls the silk lower until it slips off.

Both of my shoulders are exposed. Out of the corner of my eye, my skin looks pale. Soft and smooth thanks to fey lotions. 

His finger runs down the curve of my neck and continues down, over the slope of my shoulder. The echo of his touch lingers all over my skin.

He traces along my collarbone until he finds the thin silver chain of my brace. He pauses and pulls the brace out of the silks pooled at the top of my chest.

“What is this?”

I lick my lips. Surely it is obvious? Strips of leather wrapped around a three inch long piece of wood.

“It is my brace.”

Silence.

I swallow. “It is… um… for biting on. Clenching between your teeth so you can remain silent and um… brace yourself.”

All vessels have them. Or so I have always been told. A good vessel is a quiet vessel.

His fingers move to the clasp. He undoes it and lifts the chain off ‌my neck. The brace thuds on the floor.

“I want to hear you sing for me.”