Page 21 of Of Curses and Courtship

This may be the end… or, as she said, it’s only the beginning.

EMYR

The ball is as dull as I expected. I enjoy attending parties as much as the next fae, but I’d rather spend time with my friends. These people are all strangers.

The show must go on. I dance with countless people—mostly mortals. The witches interest me more than the rest, but even then, I’d rather know about their craft than what they’re seeking in a spouse.

None of them wants me. Of course, they may think they do, but they are only here for my title. It has always been about the crown, and not the one who wears it. I’m numb to it. Marriage is a bargaining chip.

My parents did a fantastic job planning the event, as they always do. Soft lights illuminate the space, and the orchestra’s performance is enough to compel even the shiest mortal to dance. The finger sandwiches are what anyone would expect, and the punch is likely better than anything these mortals have tasted.

Many are too afraid to eat, considering the rumors about our food controlling their minds, but… that is their loss. I stand by the refreshment table with a sandwich between my fingers. Hopefully, eating is enough to make me appear busy.

Too busy for another dance.

I hum along with the music, savoring the first moment I’ve had alone all evening.

Not that I can blend in. My red velvet jacket would makethat near impossible, a splash of color compared to the pale walls and white cloth-covered tables. Even as I stand off on my own, beautiful suitors of all genders watch me with hunger behind their gaze. No one is as well-dressed as I am, but what is one to do about that? I set the bar high.

“Your Highness.” A lady approaches, dropping into a low curtsy. “I hope you do not think me too forward.”

Perhaps she is bold by mortal standards. I have not witnessed another young lady approach a gentleman all evening; it has always been the other way around. At least she isn’t dull.

I pop the last piece of the sandwich into my mouth. “Not at all. It is a pleasure to meet you, lady…?”

“Raia Ashbridge.” She is a ball of nerves, practically dancing with herself as she shifts from one foot to another.

“Lady Ashbridge, then.” I nod. “As I said, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Would you—what I mean to say is?—”

Hopefully, she’s better at dancing than she is at making polite conversation.

My eyes catch on a light gown—on another lady. It’s practically white, as if she’s ready for the wedding my parents long for me to have. Curls between copper and blonde brush over her shoulders, coming loose from the way her mane has been pinned upright. The sight of her collarbones, soft arms, and those beautiful shoulders, with the sleeves pushed off…

My breath hitches.

I don’t know what’s happening. All I know is that I must see her—whoever she is.

“I will take my leave now,” I say. “Apologies. There is something for me to attend to…”

Although her wings are tucked away, magic comes from her like a wave, hitting me in the face as I step closer. Muchlike the ocean, she drags me in and pulls me under, leaving me gasping for breath. I would let that fae drown me if it meant a night between her thighs.

Lady Raia calls after me. “That’s all right, Your Highness!”

I may feel bad about brushing Raia off later, but when the fae and I lock eyes, I don’t regret a single thing. Her translucent violet wings unfold, large enough that mortals move out of her way. Wingspan can often be seen as a sign of power, and this one is…

She’s remarkable. More surprising than her subtle display of energy is that she doesn’t look away from me. It’s as if she’s also drawn in, her eyes widening when I finally approach.

“There are not many fae in attendance,” I say. “Are you aware that you stand out?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She lifts her head higher. “You’re right here, aren’t you?”

She’s strangely familiar, though I can’t place where I would know her from. The wings sprouting from her back tell me she is a Moon Fae, just as my white wings will let her know where I am from.

Each kingdom has a robust population, regardless. Knowing where she’s from means little, and I still can’t place her features: a slightly upturned nose, narrowed eyes, and thick eyebrows that frame her face like she is an oil painting made of the most delicate brush strokes. Gods, she is striking, dripping in pearls and silver.

“Have I met you before?” I murmur.