His eyes seemed to sparkle a little more brightly with every downcast face they roved over. Was he enjoying the sight of people kneeling, cowering before him from a mixture of fear and awe?
Sephia’s fists clenched at the thought. But then her parents dropped into a bow, and she found herself with no choice but to do the same.
They rose to the sight of the fae king beckoning the prince to his side.
It should have been that king striding forward to meet the rulers of Middlemage; that was the way of things. But to Sephia’s surprise, the prince himself stepped forward—alone— to claim his own bride. The fae king braced a hand against one of the bridge’s golden supports, and he simply watched.
Sephia’s heart pounded a little more fiercely with every step the prince took toward her. Fear was finding cracks in her armor, seeping in despite all the time she had spent fortifying that armor.
Her mother’s boney fingers were suddenly upon her back, caressing in a rough circle before giving a little pinch that made Sephia stiffen and draw her shoulders back. She didn’t have to glance up at her mother’s face to picture the stern expression upon it, and she could hear the unspoken command—
Stand up straight to greet your prince.
And so Sephia did.
Her eyes met his once more. She did not cower. She did not flinch as her mother and father stepped back, and she did not look away from the prince even as he took a golden bracelet from the pocket of his fine coat and motioned for her to give him her hand. Her twin had always had a quiet, stoic bravery about her, and Sephia found herself determined to mimic that bravery now.
The prince did not touch her as he clicked the bracelet into place. For something that looked so delicate, that bracelet felt surprisingly tight and heavy.
Not unlike a shackle.
“Are there any last words you would like to speak over your kingdom and its people?” he asked.
She was surprised by the question—it seemed almost like a polite gesture, and spoken in the tongue of her own kingdom, no less— but she thought it safer not to accept the offer.
Whenever possible, it wasalwayssafer not to accept whatever the fae offered.
“There is no need.” Her eyes drifted toward the royal carriage adorned with her kingdom’s flags. “We can just collect my things and go.”
“Things?”
“Yes. My luggage.”
“Luggage?” The word rolled off the prince’s tongue as though it tasted so foul he’d considered spitting it out.
Sephia’s cheeks burned in the heat of his suddenly furious gaze.
“Were you under the impression that you would not be well provided for once you returned to my palace?” His glare jumped to Sephia’s parents.
The king visibly recoiled.
The queen managed a reply: “The girl has a mind of her own, I’m afraid. She insisted—”
“I see.” Prince Tarron held up a hand. His long, elegant fingers curled into a fist as he continued: “And did you inform her that this mind of hers, along with every other part of her, now belongs tome?”
The queen opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Sephia glared at the prince until he canted his head back toward her. His eyes were an arresting shade of dark green, she noticed—like the moss that grew deep in the damp and fog-wrapped parts of the forest.
Beautiful.
Of course they were.
She briefly considered taking the pin from her hair and impaling one of those beautiful eyes with it, but she refrained.
No need for dramatics, she reminded herself.
“Yes, of course,” said the queen, drawing the prince’s gaze back to her. “We apologize. Leanora has every intention of fulfilling her duties as your bride, of course.”
