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“Is there something you need?” I ask, spinning my blade for a minute before stopping it.
His gaze shifts to the dagger in my hand. “Your grandmother’s lessons on weapons and fighting are still with you, I see.”
“Oh, so youdoremember my grandmother?” My voice drips with accusation. I’ve already been fired. What do I have to lose?
“I remember your grandmother was a good tutor before losing her sight. I remember that she tried to hide what was going on instead of being honest with my father and me.” He’s expressionless, unaffected by how that one day set my never-ending streak of bad luck in motion.
I chew on my bottom lip in frustration. “Yes, because telling the fae you can’t do your job anymore always ends with empathy.”
He lifts a brow. “Lying’s the one thing my father doesn’t tolerate from anyone…except for himself.” He mutters that last part, but I catch it.
I meet his eyes, a scowl on my face. “Great walk down memory lane. Anything else I can help you with? Or can I go?”
He grins at me, his dark eyes shining in the sunlight that peeks through the trees. “I saw you get fired.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “You saw me get setup, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? I was fired from the Summer Court. I no longer serve you or your family, so I guess we’re done here.” I do my most exaggerated bow before standing tall and walking past him.
“I have a proposition,” he calls after me, his voice as smooth as silk.
“Proposition?” My back goes as steel as a rod.
I glance back at him, trying to ignore the fury weaving through my blood. What kind of proposition can he possibly offer me? He’s a fae prince who doesn’t give a crap about me, so it’d only be something that helps him out. And what could I possibly help him with?
He flashes the smallest smile, and I feel the blood drain from my face.Right. That.
“I am not a whore,” I tell him through clenched teeth.
Not yet, at least. An image of The Velvet Sands flashes in my mind, and I shudder.Maybe the prince will be able to pay my fee in another night or so, and he’ll get what he wants without even having to follow me home.
“Perhaps proposition was the wrong word. How about a proposal?” He counters, unmoving. That smile of his gone, replaced by his mask of indifference.
Proposal? Proposition? It all seems to mean the same thing.
My heart pounds in my ears. “A proposal now? Is this… some kind of joke?”
Was losing my job really not enough? He’s playing with me now? A proposal for sex? For something awful? What the fuck does he want from me?
“No, when I said proposal, I meant proposal. This isn’t a job. This is me asking you to be my wife.” There’s not an ounce of amusement in his face.
“Your wife? Oh, sure? But why stop at that? I could rule all the fae.” Sarcasm oozes off of my words, as I try to figure out what the hell his angle is.
“I’m serious.” He pushes away from the tree and walks toward me. When I take a couple of steps back, he stops. “I can take care of your family. Move them into the palace. Treat them like the royalty they’ll become. All you have to do is become my queen.”
“Queen of what? Scrubbing your underwear?” I laugh, shaking my head.
His eyes harden. “Queen of the Summer Court.”
My brain feels like it’s swimming through words, facts, and ideas that don’t make sense. “Don’t you have to meet your mate tonight at the ball or something? Isn’t that how you’re supposed to find your queen?” I don’t understand how he can ask me to marry him. Fae don’t do that. That’s a human custom.
You know, if there was even a reason for a fae prince to be asking his human maid to marry him. Another bubble of nearly hysterical laughter threatens to explode from my throat. This can’t be real. This is some kind of trap or fae game. I just know it.
He sighs, his handsome face betraying nothing of what he thinks or feels. “We do have the Solstice Ball tonight, where magic should determine my mate. It’s a whole production…”
“So, then, what are you doing? Go to your… ball.”
He starts moving toward me, and this time I stay still, not willing to run from him any further. The fae prince moves until we can almost touch, and then his voice comes out no louder than a whisper. “I have a spell. A powerful one that will make it seem like you’re my mate. All I have to do is drink a potion with you in my arms.” His long, black hair flows in the breeze, making it impossible to ignore the pure beauty of the man as he speaks.
But I try to pull my thoughts back to his words. He wants to use a spell to make meappearto be his mate. The whole point of the ball is for the magic of the evening to connect the fae princes and their mates. You know, along with helping the other fae find their mates, but no one cares much about that. The person the magic connects them to is more than a bride, a wife, or a partner. They’re the person the princes are destined to be with forever. There’s no logical reason why any prince shouldn’t want that.
