My voice comes out muffled through my hands. “When do I meet her?”
“I will take you now if you stop moping.”
Seriously?I drop my hands, shooting her a glare. After all the shit she’s thrown at me in the last day and a half, she’s gonna act likeI’mthe unreasonable one?
Of course she is. That’s pretty much been standard throughout my entire life.
I take a slow breath before straightening myself up. My mother fusses with my hair, and I shove her hands away.
She chuckles. “If it makes you feel any better, I doubt she’s any happier with the arrangement than you are. Perhaps you can bond over that.”
Fantastic.She gestures for me to follow, and I trudge behind, not wanting to go, but what else am I gonna do?
The garden connects to another wing of the castle, built around a separate grove of trees from the larger structure, but they lean together and reconnect several stories up, like a gigantic tree whose trunk split at the roots. The guard at the entrance dresses differently from the others, wearing a brighter green and peach, with a light jacket that’s probably left him much colder than the rest.
He bows at our approach, then opens the door.
“Her Majesty, Queen Esyllt,” he announces.
We stand in an entryway similar to the rest of the rooms I’ve passed through, with walls of tree trunks and stone. A simple staircase of smooth wood planks curves along the side to the upper floor. A fae man appears at the top, casually descending toward us.
“Queen Esyllt,” he says with a jovial voice. “Have you come to see how we’ve settled in?”
His light peach tunic, embroidered with white flowers, seems too soft for his imposing presence. Leather pants cling to thick legs beneath a crimson robe, while the crown of small, iridescent pearls sitting atop his reddish hair hardly distracts from his assessing, burgundy eyes.
My mother smiles as he approaches. “King Dryfid.”
They each raise a hand, pressing their palms together.
“I’ve come to introduce my son,” she says as their hands drop.
The king looks my way, clearly sizing me up. I could attempt to impress him, but why bother? The best-case scenario is that he decides I’m unworthy of his daughter and cancels our betrothal.
Mother rests her hand on my shoulder. “This is Prince Caeo. Be nice—he’s only had a day to settle.”
The king laughs. “Well, I see nothing for my dear Owena to complain about. Nice, symmetrical face. Toned, but not too sharp.”
My jaw tightens as my face burns. Mother’s reduced me to a piece of meat to trade off.
Her grip on my shoulder tightens. “Calm yourself.”
The words echo around me, and the fire diminishes. After all, women have always seen me that way. Why should it bother me coming from a king?
But I wish someone would see more.
Dryfid cocks his head, then shrugs. “I suppose I should get Owena down here.” He flicks his hand to the side, and a fae woman I hadn’t noticed standing there curtsies, then hurries up the stairs.
After a few minutes, during which my mother and King Dryfid make small talk, the sound of footsteps draws my attention. A woman with curly golden hair descends the staircase, so graceful she’s practically floating. Thanks to the sleeveless, rose-colored bodice she wears, her neck and shoulders are on full display, with a billowing skirt flowing out from under it. A matching shawl hangs around her arms, but she’s pulled it tight in the front, clearly trying to keep herself warm.
“Her Highness, Princess Owena,” the guard at the door announces.
Her dark eyes meet mine, and her full, rosy lips twist as she evaluates me.
Dryfid guides her closer with a hand on her back. “My dear Owena, this is Prince Caeo.”
I force the smile that’s always come naturally when talking to pretty girls. Which she is. More than pretty, if I’m being honest. But I can’t get past how awkward this is.
Owena’s face warms with a smile. “I’m glad to finally put a face to your name.” She holds up her hand the way our parents did when they’d greeted one another.
