EMBER
The nine o’clock bells have come and gone and still, the shop hasn’t opened. I know this because my stepfamily remains outside the door when I return from my errand. Not daring to pause at the end of the street for fear of my stepmother’s wrath, I head straight for the alley to wait. Then I return to check. Then again. And again. Each time, they are still by the door. Not only that, but a line of people—particularly young women around my age—has grown behind them. Can they truly all be here to buy a glamour for the ball? Surely half the ladies of Evanston can’t have been invited. Royal events are far too exclusive.
I return to the alley after what is probably my sixth time checking the front of the shop. It incenses me that I have to wait in an alley at all. What’s the harm of bringing me inside so long as I act as a maid?
I lean against the back wall of the building and release a groan of frustration.
Two more weeks, two more weeks,I repeat to myself, thinking of my train ticket tucked safely inside my coat pocket. That’s all I have to tolerate. Then I’ll be free.
My fingers flinch at my sides, begging for piano keys. It’s been too long since I’ve played. Too long since I’ve been able to release my bottled angst through song. Closing my eyes, I lower my head, resisting the temptation to tear off my bonnet. Then I let my fingers tap against the sides of my thighs, following sheet music in my mind—
A sound to my right startles me from my imaginary song. I whirl to the side as a door swings outward, and two voices come from behind it. I bring a hand reflexively to my locket as I take a step back, then another. Finally, the door closes, revealing a tall, slim figure dressed in fine, dark clothing, and carrying a pair of small boxes. He’s fae, as evidenced by the pointed tips of his ears. Face averted, he looks down the opposite end of the alley and releases a sigh, then turns on his heel toward me.
For a split second, a dazzling, contented smile warms his face, his lips parted to reveal the delicate tips of two pointed canines. I’m unable to move, stunned by his striking beauty. Most fae males are gorgeous in their seelie forms, but this one, with that breathtaking smile…
His silvery blue eyes meet mine and the expression dissolves in an instant, leaving a scowl in its place. I feel cold at the sudden shift, as if a cloud has covered the sun. That’s when an even more chilling realization dawns on me.
Silver hair.
Pointed teeth.
Showing way too much skin above his carelessly unbuttoned shirt collar.
I know who this is. It’s Prince Franco. While I may not have seen him in person before, I’ve heard both him and his sister described. And not just in physical appearance.
Fearsome.
Powerful.
Vampire.
It doesn’t even matter that hesupposedlydoesn’t drink blood. It doesn’t matter that he’s spoken of as a highly sought-after bachelor. The disdain in his glowering, silver stare is enough to make my knees quake.
“This is a bit much, don’t you think?” he says, his voice a lazy, disinterested drawl.
I blink a few times. When I find my words, they come out with a tremor. “Pardon me?”
With a roll of his eyes, he looks away from me and shakes his head. His gaze remains averted as if I’m no longer worth looking at. “Clever, I must admit. What’s your next move? Pretend to have a fit of the vapors in hopes that I’ll lift you into my arms and fall desperately in love? Or are you the kind to simply throw yourself on me without pretense? Let me guess. You aren’t wearing undergarments.”
His condescending tone has me bristling, my fear blown away like a leaf in a storm and taking my idiotic short-lived attraction with it. On second glance, I see not his lean frame and sensuous lips but his arrogant posture, his domineering sneer. He’s just like every other stuck-up aristocrat I’ve met through my stepfamily. In fact, he’s likethem. Like Imogen, Clara, and Mrs. Coleman. My knees cease their trembling, and my fingers curl into fists. I know I should keep my mouth shut. I’m practiced at it. It’s what I do every single day at home. This man being the prince makes it even more imperative that I play the meek and humble servant. I should bow low, move to the side, and pretend I never saw him at all.
Ishould.
But there’s something about him that sparks a tempest inside me, one that explodes from my lips before I can stop it. “What are you talking about?”
He scoffs. “Playing coy, I see. That tactic is familiar to me as well. Congratulations, you aren’t special.”
My mouth falls open and heat rises to my cheeks.
Before I can form a retort, he speaks again. “No, that was rude. Forgive me.” There’s no apology in his tone, but he returns his gaze to me, assessing me from head to toe with a quirked brow that says he isn’t impressed. He puts his free hand on his hip and stands with a casual slouch. “You were clever enough to corner me back here without alerting anyone else of your scheme. So, go ahead. You deserve it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Deserve what?”
“Tell me what you came here to say. What is your proposal? Shall we run off together and get married at once? Have a tryst against the alley wall? I assure you my answer is no, but you’ve earned my ear for…” he glances at his palm, miming that he holds an invisible timepiece, “thirty seconds.”
My shoulders heave with rage. The sensible part of me screams to swallow my pride and simply walk away. But another part—and I have no doubt it’s my fae side—refuses to be silenced.
I take a step toward the arrogant male. “You assume too much, Your Highness—”
