Okay, maybe I have some idea.
Prince Charming lives up to his name. The smirk that stretches one side of his mouth is as sharp as it is devastating. Like cocking a gun, he uses it on the crowd, holding them in suspense.
Everyone leans in.
I take a step back.
A hand has recently swept his jet-black hair away from his face, but rebellious pieces fall forward into his dark eyes. There is a mischievous glint and a devil-may-care attitude in the way he scans the crowd. As if we are all here for his amusement and indeed, he is amused. His features are angular, precise and so verypretty.
More unforgivable is that he knows it.
The luxurious form-fitting coat of black stops at his knees and features a high collar. It’s tailored to perfection, accentuating the wide set of his shoulders to his tapered waist. A subtle brocade pattern weaves through the material of his outfit, visible only at certain angles. Silver filigree buttons run down the center of his vest, ending at the belt buckle cinching his hips with the insignia of the Midnight Kingdom. A chalice of blood set against the stars.
“The playboy prince, find a bride?” someone to my right scoffs under their breath. “We’ve a better chance of turning vegan than he does of turning over his partying ways.”
“This is our chance,” a woman murmurs to her daughter off to my left.
As the prince waits for the chatter to die down, my stomach begins folding in on itself like origami. I look down into my drink at the minuscule bubbles rising to kiss the surface. An irrational fear grips me that his roaming eyes will find me.
It’s a ridiculous thought. I’m in a crowd of at least two hundred, with my face half obscured. Not to mention, he hasn’t seen me since I was twelve. He’s filled out since I last saw him, but I knew that already from the social media pics that show he missed his calling as a model.
While I managed to get away from Midnight, Prince Charming has haunted me through the years. With such a publicpersona and his university years spent in the Common World, I can’t scroll fast enough to avoid his gorgeous, infuriating face on my own damn phone.
Every time I see him, there’s the familiar burn of shame and humiliation heating my skin. That familiar bad taste seeps into my mouth whenever I think of him. He had no trouble making it known what a waste of space I was in our youth. He wouldn’t recognize me even if I were stark naked and strutting around.
Yet that’s how I feel right now. Naked.
I lift my head and my gaze connects with the prince’s dark eyes which are trained directly on me.
A jolt of electricity shoots through me, igniting a fire in my belly that I’ve never felt before. I try to look away, to break the connection, but I can’t make myself.
The entire room around me turns hazy, almost fading into the background while my heartbeat booms loudly in my ears. In this moment there is only him and me, a connection pulsing with an undeniable magnetism.
The prince’s cocky grin doesn’t disappear but slips slightly. A dark calculation crosses his face, belying the playboy carelessness he exuded a moment ago.
We are practically strangers yet his gaze bores into me as if he knows me better than anyone ever has. I feel an undeserved sense of familiarity, as if he’s letting me see the real him. As if I’m theonlyone who gets to see the real him.
The only thing I should be is disgusted with his playboy prince routine—oh, and the fact he sucks blood from zombified people. Yeah, disgusted, not tingly, hot, or thrilling.
I finally force myself to look away. My heart rate doubles when I notice the gloved hand flexing at his side.
No. He couldn’t know it’s me. There’s absolutely no fae fucking way. He must be lost in thought and only appears to be looking directly at me.
Suddenly, this whole plan is the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.
The fae fucks am I thinking, crashing a ball for blood-drinking fairies? If I get caught, I’ll be thralled, imprisoned, or worse.
I didn’t even tell my friends I was coming here. They wouldn’t know where to look for my body, that is until the Fairy Godmother squeals on my dumbass.
The King clears his throat and Prince Charming’s smile is back on full blast, the invisible tether in my direction now broken.
“Thank you all for coming,” he echoes the King’s sentiment in a rich, resonant English accent. “Allow me to present my mother, the Queen.” He takes his mother’s slim, pale hand into his leather-clad palm and pulls her forward. Prince Charming directs his mother between him and his father as he introduces her. “Queen Mei-Ling Charming.”
We all bow or curtsy in her direction, but I don’t take my eyes off the royal family.
I’ve rarely seen the Queen even when I was a child. There’s an emptiness to her expression that used to make me wonder if she was under thrall as well. But seeing her now, I know exactly what her deal is. I’ve seen it in the mirror too many times to count.
Disassociation.
