Page 13 of The Ruthless Fae King
“I now know what it means when a man says a woman is breathtaking.” He inhaled as if he’d truly forgotten how to breathe.
Another earth-shattering compliment I didn’t know what to do with. The truth was, I was having trouble remembering how to breathe seeing him all dressed up.
Music started up in that moment and King Thorne wordlessly offered his hand to me. My mind screamedno, but my body leaned into his outstretched hand, and before I had a second to think about it, we were dancing. The room erupted into applause and the guests cleared the floor as the king expertly spun me around the dancefloor in my favorite waltz.
“You’re a decent dancer,” I commented, trying to get my wits about me. Being close to him like this, feeling his gentle hand on my lower back, my small hand tucked into his as I gripped his tight muscled arm with my free hand, it befuddled my common sense.
“Just decent? Oh, my mother would hate to hear that,” he said with a frown.
I smiled. “Okay, more than decent. Did your mother teach you how to dance, King Thorne?”
“Please, call me Lucien,” he said. “And yes, she did.”
First name basis was usually done after the wedding, and even then the husbands insisted on my lord or Your Highness, even from a wife and queen. I heard a rumor that even his own father wasn’t allowed to call him Lucien.
“Lucien, are you enjoying Fall Court?” I opted for small talk, as my mind and body were currently at war with each other. One part of me wanted to run away and the other wanted to know what he tasted like. It was horrifying and unexpected and I didn’t know what to do.
He looked down at me, truly looked at me, with a depth I was sure climbed into the place where I kept my darkest secrets.
I felt raw and exposed under that gaze, and yet I couldn’t look away.
“What is there not to like?” he asked. “Your countryside is stunning, your family and courtiers are very kind, and you are… beyond what I ever imagined.”
Now it was my turn to lose my breath. The things he said, the constant compliments, it was… I didn’t expect it. “Do you talk like this to all the women you want to woo?” I blurted out.
He laughed and his entire face lit up, the deep sound resonating within me. “Madelynn, you are the first woman I have wooed in quite some time. I just speak from the heart, as my mother taught me to.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I merely blinked rapidly and danced the rest of the song in silence. I felt a small stab of jealousy that he had wooed someone else a long time ago, and then felt stupid for it. I was overjoyed when dinner was announced and we all took our seats. Piper was seated on my left, and Lucien on my right, at the head of the table where my father usually sat. This time, my mother and father sat across from us.
Libby was sleeping and hated to miss parties, so I’d be sure to save her a piece of chocolate cake.
Our head servant, Jericho, approached the king with a deep bow. “Would you prefer red or white wine, Your Royal Highness? Or perhaps some local mead. We have an apple pumpkin ale that is famous with the locals.”
Lucien held up a hand. “None, thank you. I don’t drink.”
I stiffened a little, sharing a look with my mother. Men who didn’t drink did so for only one reason: they had a problem with it.
It all made sense now. The stories of his outbursts, freezing the realm, cutting out a courtier’s tongue. All things an unhinged man would do while drunk.
Jericho was a seasoned servant and knew protocol. If an honored guest refused drink, then no more wine was served to anyone at the party.
Instead of topping off my mother’s empty glass or asking guests for their order, the wine and mead bottles slowly and silently left the room on the trays of our staff.
“My king, I do hope you love the meal. We are quite fond of our chef, and the meat was killed only hours ago in preparation.” My mother was an expert at changing topics and defusing tension.
Lucien smiled at her kindly. “I cannot wait.”
The rest of the night went smoothly. Lucien complimented the meal three times, going into detail about the rosemary-soaked stew and the sweet glaze on the potatoes. He was a polite guest and everyone seemed to be having a lovely time.
I, however, was abnormally quiet, envisioning a drunken king who’d turned to the bottle after the death of his mother. How long had he been sober? We had a problem in our court with one of the elders. He had a sickness, drank wine more than he did water. My mother had him sent away to an elvin healing center for this type of thing. He’d been sober ten years now.
I knew there had to be a flaw, a reason for the stories that surrounded him. We all had a past, and I wouldn’t hold his against him so long as he was healed from it. That was the part that was bugging me.
Was he healed?I couldn’t ask, it was not my place.
After dinner, the party broke up earlier than it usually did, probably from the lack of wine flowing, and I wished everyone a good night.
Tomorrow, we would start our multi-day tour of the courts. It would be the only time I would have to get to know the winter king before we were married forever.
