Page 65 of The Hidden Fae Prince
Nevander pauses. “The next threshold is about two weeks away.”
That sounds fitting, as Seren sways on the threshold of a new life with new expectations. “Then I will host a grand banquet for the threshold,” Seren declares. “Since this was your idea, Lord Gevain, I expect you to assist the seneschal as they require.”
“I am delighted to prove myself useful.” Gevain closes his hand on the illusory tankards. “I hope my second suggestion proves useful as well. As the nightlands encroach on Elladar, you may consider the benefits of alliance.”
“You’re out of line,” Nevander snaps.
“I said I’d listen,” Seren says, and Nevander clenches his jaw. Seren doesn’t understand the problem. Alliances sound sensible.
Gevain’s smile is polished in the face of rebuke. “There are few suitable fae lords available. There’s the Lord of the Pyran, but he’s untrustworthy—and even worse, boring. Lady Morana would be worth considering, despite my personal dislike, butshe isn’t even heir to Brightwood. Her sister outranks her and is already entangled.”
That’s when Seren realizes what Gevain means by alliances.
Gevain twists a red braid of hair. “Morana must envy me, as the unencumbered heir to Summer’s Edge.”
“What is your suggestion?” Seren asks, his head spinning. “Speak plainly.”
“Nothing so permanent as a lifebond,” Gevain says. “Simply marriage.”
Familiar gold glimmers to Seren’s left. Nevander is about to draw his blade. But the glimmer subsides, and Nevander’s sword remains sheathed. His expression is stony.
Seren turns back to Gevain. His next question sounds stupidly direct, but he’s too shocked to sound kingly. “Are you proposing that we marry?”
Gevain bows, unfazed. “That would be presumptuous, Your Highness.”
Of course. Everyone speaks the truth here, but nobody speaks plainly. Seren struggles for a response. Making no promises sounds much better now. “I’ve listened to your suggestions. You may leave.”
“I look forward to our next meeting, Prince Seren,” Gevain says, with all his glittering fae attention. Then he strides from the hall, his head held high.
Seren doesn’t have time to feel relieved. Nevander gestures, and Idalia exits as well. The door thuds shut, leaving Seren alone with his fuming guardian.
21
Wingbeats and Magic
Nevandershouldneverhaveallowed this audience. Throwing Gevain from the palace would be merciful, though perhaps keeping him in sight is safer. Discreetly disposing of him would be safest, but people would notice. Nevander can’t spark unrest at this critical juncture in Seren’s—
“Let’s have lunch in the garden,” Seren says lightly, hopping to his feet. “One of the gardens, anyway. How many gardens does the palace have?”
The question jolts Nevander from his rumination. “More than fifty, less than a hundred, depending on how you define a garden.” A greenhouse would work best for lunch. Somewhere Nevander can shelter Seren from intruders. Except the tower greenhouse wasn’t safe. “Rooms and gardens also move sometimes.”
“How magical,” Seren remarks. The southern door opens at their approach, and Seren stops short. “Do the doors usually open on their own?”
Nevander would be entranced if he wasn’t so furious. “Perhaps the palace begins to remember its prince.”
Seren walks ahead through marble halls. He’s beginning to learn the palace in turn. When he glances over his shoulder, his golden eyes are bright as lanterns. “What does marriage entail among the fae?”
Barely dimmed embers reignite. Nevander locks himself down until the mental armor chafes beneath his skin. “Too many promises. Obligations in the guise of romance.”
“Just like human marriage.” Seren turns a corner and pauses, taking in the chamber.
A wide crossroads, corners softened by whispering waterfalls. They once glowed bright with Haelwen’s captive memories. Now they glow more softly. Nevander had never noticed the luminous moss behind the falls.
“What could Gevain hope to achieve?” Seren asks, drawing close to a waterfall. The moss illuminates stray strands of hair. The tips of his eyelashes.
“Power and influence.” Nevander dislikes these thoughtful questions. “You must not consider this.”
“I’m not considering marriage,” Seren says sharply. “I just want to understand why Gevain would propose it—or carefully avoid proposing it.”
