It’s fine, it is all fine. Mother and her entourage are all very happy to be talking to the fey. Nobody is expecting anything of me. I can just stand here and concentrate on not looking petrified.
Prince Selwyn is at the other end of the room. Awareness of him is burning into me. I swear I can feel his magic dancing along my skin, teasing, seeking, exploring. Trying to taste my magic that is sleeping deep within me.
I must be imagining things. The Prince greeted me and has ignored me since. I cannot pick out his voice amongst the two dozen in here. He is not looking at me. There is no reason I should be aware of him at all.
I take a sip of my drink. I’m thankful that he is ignoring me. He is terrifying, and the thought of trying to stumble through excruciating small talk is enough to make me faint.
This unexpected reprieve is a blessing. Mother seems happy enough. I don’t think she is going to berate me later for failing to hold the Prince’s attention. Everything is good.
There is no reason to feel slighted. Feeling annoyed and bitter… is not like me at all. It must be stress getting to me. I am not the sort of person who wants a terrifying fey prince to give them attention. I much prefer to be left alone.
I risk another quick peek at the crowd around me. Prince Selwyn is still deep in conversation with three of Mother’s followers.
The large room is stuffed full of similar groups of people. Fey and human mages talking. My impending marriage truly is bringing people together.
I think all of Selwyn’s brothers are here. He has four older brothers, and Mother was very disappointed that the eldest, the Crown Prince, would not give me to anyone higher up the chain.
At least I wasn’t given to the youngest, Prince Dyfri. I give him a quick glance out of the corner of my eye. His long, dark hair is striking. His magic is strange, even for a fey.
Right now, he is standing in the opposite corner from me. A bored and haughty expression on his incredibly beautiful face. But I can tell his night-dark eyes are missing nothing. He is taking it all in. He is definitely a keeper of secrets. He probably trades in them too.
I was told his mother was an unseelie princess. I don’t fully understand the difference between seelie and unseelie. All I know is that they are mortal enemies and that the unseelie are supposed to be even more terrifying than the seelie who have invaded us.
I shiver and turn my attention to my drink. I don’t want him to catch me looking.
If I had been given a choice, I definitely would have chosen Prince Selwyn.
Hastily, I bring my glass to my lips. What a startling thought to cross my mind. Where on earth did it come from?
If I had been given a choice, I would choose to be far, far away from the fey. I’d be at home. With Monty and his friends. Maybe with time, some of them would deign to be my friends too.
I gulp down cold champagne.
I’m not a child anymore. I shouldn’t have childish dreams. A good vessel does not have friends. They are toodevoted to their husband to have time for distractions. I know this. I have been trained all my life to be a perfect vessel.
My Mother’s dreams of the fey returning to Earth seemed far-fetched, but I always knew I was going to be given to someone. I paid attention to my lessons.
I know damn well vessels never have a choice.
My fingers tighten around the delicate glass in my hand. I need to force my muscles to relax before I shatter it. Across the room, I feel Prince Selwyn’s eyes on me, suddenly paying attention even though I’m sure my body language is not giving my thoughts away.
Movement from five steps to my right, startles me. Lord Coxley, Mother’s most devoted hanger-on, is moving swiftly. He is reaching into his jacket and striding away from his group.
His hand pulls out from his jacket, and points straight ahead of him. Straight towards one of the fey princes. I blink. Lord Coxley has a gun in his hand.
The bang is deafening. The flash is blinding.
As both clear, I see one of the princes on the floor. Cradled in the arms of a handsome human. It’s not the prince Lord Coxley was aiming for, I’m sure. He wasn’t aiming for Selwyn either. But maybe he doesn’t care which fey prince he murders.
Gold is blossoming all over the fallen prince’s white silk robes.
Fey bleed gold?
Shouting. Screaming. Running. Everything is motion and chaos.
Through the swirling crowd, I see Selwyn drop down to his knees beside his fallen brother.
Fey care for others? They feel emotions?
