At first, this had puzzled me. It seemed out of character for my father, who turned his sharp nose up at the humans (unbeknownst to them), to accept a half-fae as an heir.
But then I’d realized.
He simply hated me that much. Even an heir soiled with human blood would be a better alternative to his disappointment of a son ruling in his place. While it wasn’t common by any means, it wasn’t unheard of for a Dwellen king to name his grandchild as heir in place of his child.
Joke was on him; I never wanted the throne, anyway. Not when Jerad had been such a perfect, obvious choice, deserving of every bit of respect and adoration the Dwellen people had bestowed upon him.
My chest clenched at the thought of my brother.
The ball was meant to be a punishment. Of that much, I was sure. Meant to shackle me to a new bride as well, as my father disapproved of my nightly company. My father assumed the worst of me in almost every regard, except in the cases in which assuming the best of me could be twisted into a punishment of some sort and used against me.
I was a lot of things by his standards—a whore, a partier, a drunkard.
But I wasn’t a cheat.
And he’d shackle me to a human woman I had no interest in, just to deprive me of my pleasures for a few decades.
Well, the joke was on him in that area, too.
I’d known it as soon as Cinderella waltzed up to the front of the crowd like the rest of them didn’t exist.
I’d given every dance to her.
Every part of me would come later.
She’d been dazzling, her porcelain skin glowing in the lantern light, her dark blue dress hugging her every curve, sparkling like a beacon.
There was no looking anywhere else.
I hadn’t decided yet that she’d be my wife.
The papers thought me a lovesick prince, falling for her at first sight.
Let them think what they wanted.
I’d wanted her the moment I’d laid eyes on her. But that wasn’t why I’d proposed. I’d expected her to swoon as I pressed my lips to her palm.
She’d only met my hungry stare with an appetite to match.
When I’d swept her onto the dance floor, she’d hadn’t melted in my arms like I’d expected. She hadn’t batted her eyes in an outrageous display of faux meekness, nor had she slipped a thousand innuendos into the conversation, lest I miss the hint that she wanted in my bed.
No, Cinderella had simply talked to me, and not like I was a prince. Not once did she mention that awful word—heir.
Three dances later, and the music lulled. I’d drawn her into my chest, enraptured by her scent. Lilac and rosebuds. I’d never been the type to believe in mating bonds. The concept that the Fates preordained a perfect match for each fae had always seemed a bit too sentimental for me.
But then I’d scented her, and something in me snapped. Not in the sort of snapping that breaks. The sort that binds objects together in perfect unison.
I couldn’t think of another way to describe it but Fated. I knew then that hers was the only head I wanted resting against my shoulder, hers the only scent to settle into my clothes.
And then she’d asked me a question. The same question I’d been waiting a year for a woman to ask.
I couldn’t think of it here, not in front of my father, who would surely sense it and find some way to use it against me.
So instead I remembered what she’d said later that night.
Give me something romantic. Something I won’t forget.
By the time the night was over, I’d leaned in and whispered a question into her ear.
She’d just grinned up at me, dazzling me with that perfect smile of hers.
“Of course,” she’d said, and the words were a melody in my ears.
But then the clock had struck midnight, and she’d blushed, a frantic look overcoming her face. “I mustn’t stay. I must go, but I vow to return to you.”
I’d shaken my head, confused, but still grinning. “You’re going to leave right after agreeing to spend your life with me?”
“I promise myself to you, Prince Evander of Dwellen,” she’d said, just as her hands slipped from mine and she disappeared into the crowd.
I’d been so dazed, so confused, it had taken me a moment to come to my senses, to go after her.
When I finally had the wherewithal to cut through the crowd searching for her, she was gone.
The guards had found a glass slipper on the palace steps later that night. A slipper crafted by the faerie who’d watched over Cinderella since she was only a girl. A slipper crafted for her, and her alone.
Give me something romantic. Something I won’t forget.
So I had.
