Page 8 of Ruling the Green

I’d tasked him with finding details. Frustratingly for both of us, he’d only been able to learn it was the daughter of one of my father’s oldest allies. Which could have been anyone with deep enough pockets and a dark enough soul.

“Her carriage has arrived.”

I turned back as I shucked off my shirt.

“And?”

“And she was dressed as a bride with her face covered.”

“I don’t care what she looks like,” I reminded him. This wedding was a sham, a farce. I had no intentions of having any sort of association with the woman outside of whatever formal events my father required. “Who is the family?” I asked, pulling on the midnight-colored tunic with the royal crest emblazoned on the back in silver thread.

Vishen took a breath so deep it shook his whole chest.

Vishen, abandoned baby, unloved child, lifelong warrior, did not look concerned often. He certainly looked it then.

“It appears to be the daughter of one Kilson Grimwood.”

My head whipped up.

“Fuck.”

CHAPTER THREE

Serin

The mahogany doors flew open with a flourish by Vrad as he and the redheaded fae dragged me past the threshold on my knees, their hands digging in under my arms.

I’d never spent time inside a typical fae home before. My life was in the water. It was all I’d ever known.

But I’d heard stories of homes. I had mental concepts.

This was what I pictured when I heard about wealth. Endless stone floors, an abundance of windows, a hearth nearly as wide as the room itself, thick materials on the walls, furniture, and floor.

It was all lacking color, though. Just cold gray stone, black and gray and white fabric. Nothing vibrant, nothing of nature.

It was a fortress.

A place for a cold man with a frigid heart.

Almost as if I’d conjured him, a man appeared in front of me in dark gray formal attire.

He was tall and thin with gray hair, inky eyes, and a beak-like nose that he looked down at me as I was tossed at his feet.

This must have been the man who told the others to come and get me. To prepare me.

“Make her look at me,” he demanded, snapping at the redheaded fae, who was all too happy to grab a handful of my dark hair and yank it backward until the pain forced me to lift my chin to ease the ache on my scalp.

The man’s head tilted to the side, examining me for what felt like hours.

“Yes, yes, I think she will do. She has the look of my daughter. Passing enough, certainly, for those who have never laid eyes on her. And the veil will work in our favor here.”

“Really?” a feminine voice called, striding into the room. “You think that looks like me?”

The daughter then.

She looked much like her father: tall, lithe, dark-eyed, with the same distinct nose. Her hair was long and dark, but thin and straight, unlike my thick, unruly waves. My eyes were the blue of my lake. My nose was tipped up ever so slightly at the end. And I had slightly more curve than this woman did.

But the father was right. At a distance, there was a chance we could be mistaken for each other.