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We enter the formal dining room. Flames flicker overhead from the ivory chandeliers, casting an orange glow around the windowless room. Paneled walls display a variety of tapestries and portraits, and an ornamental rug leads us from the door to the dining table.
Rows of cushioned, high-back chairs line either side of a grand table, with enough space for a few dozen. Only four chairs are taken though, at the far end of the table.
Rainer and Ken sit on one side, across from Eoin and Viveka. Annoyance builds in my stomach at seeing Rainer. Leaning back casually in his chair, his black long-sleeve shirt is unbuttoned a few inches down, allowing me to preview his chest like always. His pants are pressed today, though, shoes shiny, but his hair still has the same mussed-up look, like he just rolled out of bed. Gold jewelry peeks out from his ears, matching the rings on the slender fingers tapping an inaudible rhythm on the armrest.
As arrogant as ever.
But what truly angers me is the way Fern sits perched on Rainer’s lap as she runs one arm around his neck, her fingers dancing through his raven hair.
Eoin gives me a soft smile in greeting. I return it, ignoring the dark faerie prince who’s currently ignoring me in favor of the girl on his lap.
“Oh my gods,” Fern yells, and all remaining eyes swing toward me. “What are you wearing?” She giggles, and I squeeze the tray so tight that the steel edges bite into my skin, threatening to break the skin.
“I thought—” What exactly did I think?
I think I trusted Das Celyn, despite feeling like something was off about the situation.
Mortification flushes my cheeks as I glance down at the frilly dress. Fern wears a silky dress that hugs her frame delicately. Viv looks like a badass in her leathers. And here I am in a joke of a dress.
I turn, catching Das Celyn with a smirk on their face. It grows into a full-on smile as they wink and scurry away. Facing the table, I slowly carry my serving tray over.
“Ah, the Low Fae do enjoy their jokes.” Rainer tilts a glass to his lips.
Mischievous tricksters, indeed.
My hands clam up and my breathing grows shallow.
I mentally beg myself to let Fern’s taunting go—she has issues of her own—but it doesn’t prevent the tears from pricking at my eyes.
I could copy the servants before me. Set down the tray politely, bow, and hustle out of sight. But so many times before, I had wished I stood up to the lord and lady. I had dreamed of fighting back for so many nights, of sticking up for myself, but I never did. Char finally did it for me—and look at the price she paid. I refuse to be a puppet, a prisoner in my own skin again. Fae prince or not, I won’t let myself cower before Rainer. I won’t let myself cower in front of Fern and her judgements.
Fueled by petty jealousy and embarrassment, I nudge my way between Rainer and Ken, plopping the platter in front of Rainer with a loud clang. A doughnut from the top of the pyramid topples onto the floor.
I force a smile at the prince. “Your favorite.”
My hands ball into fists, trying to hide the trembling.
Silence sits heavy in the air. The other fae servants carefully place their trays down, and scurry out of the room, leaving me to fend for myself.
Fern snickers, muttering something under her breath. The whites of her eyes are red, her lids heavy.
Viv looks at me with her mouth open agape while Fern snickers. I refuse to meet Eoin’s eyes. We just met yesterday, but twice now he’s seeing me at a low point.
And I don’t care.
Fern has been through a lot, and whatever she and Rainer have doesn’t involve me, but her taunting sets me on edge.
“Someone’s hungry,” Ken murmurs as he licks jam off his fingers.
Rainer stares up at me from his seat, no emotion on his face.
“Sit,” he says, pointing to the open chair beside him.
“No.”
There’s a collection of sharp inhales as the others observe our exchange.
I was a fool for thinking I could belong here. Clearly, Rainer and his pals are playing with me for their own humor.
