Reluctantly, I lifted my head to look at her. Did I want to talk to the person who adored the vile creature sitting across from me? No. But I still felt somewhat guilty for embarrassing her last night, especially when it turned out I’d done it for nothing. So I figured I should at least be polite.

“We eat oats every morning at home,” I said, and the way the not-lie rolled off my tongue sounded so fae, I might have gagged had I not been fairly certain that was considered poor table manners.

“But I’m sure you prefer the way your mother cooks them.” The queen smiled politely, though I could tell the edges of her mouth were resistant to the expression. She didn’t like me. That much I was sure of, but I couldn’t exactly blame her for that, either. It almost made me feel worse that she was still trying to be kind to me, even though it clearly took extreme effort and self-control on her part. I wondered how often in her centuries of life she’d been forced to practice being the bigger person.

“I guess I’m inclined to be partial to hers,” I said, trying my best to fake a smile. I figured my strain probably mirrored the queen’s, and that we both looked as if the corners of our lips were being held afloat by metal hooks.

I gulped down a few more bites and went to excuse myself from the table, figuring that probably wasn’t the proper move. Perhaps even hoping this was the case. I didn’t really care at this point if I disappointed my father-in-law-to-be.

When I stood, the king placed his hand on my arm. “One moment, Miss Payne.” I froze at his firm touch and found my eyes locked on the prince’s in alarm. He tensed and gave me the subtlest of nods, an earnest suggestion that I sit back down.

I did, and had to hold back a sigh of relief when the king relaxed his grip.

He eyed my unfinished breakfast with a look of mingled distaste and satisfaction, a combination one could only master after centuries of practice, I figured. “Now that you’ve finished your breakfast…” His gray eyes flickered to me, amusement curving his lips. “I wish to debrief you regarding your Trials.”

The queen sputtered, shooting coffee splattering across the crystal table.

Evander choked on his breakfast roll.

It took him a moment to regain the ability to speak, which had me wondering if even the immortal fae could perish from something as inconsequential as a pastry. Hm.

“Trials?” he practically croaked. “You can’t be serious, Father.”

“Why should I not be serious?” the king asked, looking anything but. In fact, he looked like a child whose parents had brought home a new puppy. “The Trials are not only sacred tradition, but law. And for good reason, I believe.”

“What are the Trials?” I aimed my question for the prince, since I’d made a vow to myself that I wouldn’t give the king the honor of my full attention any more than was necessary to keep myself alive. Or from being thrown in the dungeon.

Assuming this castle had a dungeon.

Who was I kidding? All castles had dungeons.

Evander’s voice ripped me from the machinations of my all-too-active imagination, which was in the process of reminding me how much I’d taken having a private bathroom for granted.

“It doesn’t matter, because they’re not happening.”

I stole a glance at the queen, who was staring at me, her painted cheeks white with horror. Her back had gone rigid, and she hardly seemed to notice the servant hastily wiping the spewed coffee off the table. When I caught her stare, she quickly averted her eyes back to the king.

My stomach knotted.

“Marken, dear, don’t you think the Trials seem irrelevant in this unprecedented situation?” the queen asked, her voice sweet but strained.

The king took his wife’s hand and pressed his lips against her palm. “What about them do you find irrelevant, my love? You had no objection when you endured them so many years ago. I seem to remember that you actually got a thrill—”

The queen blushed and, quick to interrupt, said, “Yes, dear. But I am fae, after all. The Trials were crafted by the fae with fae in mind. They did not account for marriages with humans.”

Though his eyes never left his wife’s sickly face, the king played with his fork, smashing at his pile of breakfast peas until they reminded me of the churning contents of my stomach. “But that doesn’t detract from the reasoning behind the Trials, dear.”

“What in the name of Alondria…” Evander muttered under his breath as he pushed his palm into his face, creating creases in his forehead where his fingers bulged as he closed his eyes.

“Would someone mind explaining to me what a Trial is?” I asked, irritated now at the conversation that was happening around me, especially since I didn’t have enough knowledge about the situation to offer input.

Evander leaned forward, knocking an empty bowl to the side. “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a horrible, outdated custom that hasn’t occurred in centuries. And for good reason.”

“That reason being that there hasn’t been a royal wedding since your mother’s and mine,” the king corrected.

“No, the reason being that it’s archaic,” Evander hissed.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised, son. We’ve discussed this possibility many times—”

“Yes, when the assumption was that I would marry fae!” The prince jolted up, towering over us, my chair skidding underneath me as I started. Any semblance of that boyish charm was gone, wiped clean by the wrath on the prince’s face.

I’d been so wrapped up in being irritated at his rash behavior, I’d almost forgotten what he was.

The king bared his teeth in a false grin. “Which you had ample opportunity to do. Instead, you broke not only dozens of hearts, but dozens of potential alliances, as well.”

“What are the Trials? Please, Lady Queen,” I pleaded, realizing that I was balling my napkin in my fists. What in Alondria could be so horrid that it got Evander of all people riled up like that?

The queen sighed. “The Trials were set up as a failsafe for forming marriages within the royal family, to ensure the unions were in the best interest of the people of Dwellen, as well as the royal family.”

I frowned. “Wouldn’t the fact that a marriage has to be cosigned already take care of that?”

She nodded, placing her spoon upon her plate with such gracefulness, the collision of silver and crystal made no sound. “One would think so. However, the people of Dwellen didn’t find the cosigning adequate. They worried that their king might be biased toward his sons and daughters. That a father might put his children’s wishes above the people’s.” She paused, and the silence around the table was thick enough to taste. “So the Trials were created. They are as they sound. Tests, designed to prove that the royal couple is marrying for the right reasons.”

Evander snorted. “And does being tricked into marriage count as a right reason?”

The queen frowned at her son, though there was little rebuke in the expression, and turned back to me. “To pass the Trials, the betrothed couple must prove their ability to unite under pressure, as this is crucial for a ruling family.” She slid her hand across the table to her husband, who took it, caressing it with uncharacteristic gentleness. He flashed a dazzling smile in her direction, and her cheeks tinted as she continued. “A vital part of the process is the non-royal member proving that he or she is not marrying the royal for power or money. And the royal must prove that the marriage alliance is not…” She stumbled over the words, glancing at her husband with a girlish grin. “Well, a result of lust and the desire to sidestep proper rules of society.”

The king snorted.

Evander’s sea-green eyes glistened as he sat down and leaned back in his chair, cradling his head in his interlaced fingers. “Father, I hope you’re not implying that I would attempt to sidestep the proper rules of society. You should know better than anyone that I’ve only ever sought to plow through them.”

“And how are we supposed to prove those things?” I asked, before the answers to my questions could be derailed by an argument breaking out between the two males at the table.

The legs of Evander’s chair clacked against the marble floor, and as he rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together, his green eyes flashed. “Oh, just a series of puzzles and tests that will kill us if we don’t solve them.”

“Surely not.” My heart seized up, and I looked between the king and queen, waiting for them to dismantle the prince’s claim.

I found no such reassurance in their faces—only grim trepidation from the queen, and a satisfied smirk from her husband.

Evander, looking pleased with himself as always, reclaimed his previous position in his chair, this time propping his feet on the table.

When my exasperated stare gained only a shrug from my betrothed, I straightened my shoulders and said, “I refuse to take part in these trials that are most likely going to kill me, especially since there’s no way I can prove that my love for you is true. Because it isn’t.”

The king chuckled, but the queen’s countenance drooped.

Evander didn’t seem all that put out, because he said, “Well, technically, it’s not a qualification that you love me. You just can’t want me for my money. And I can’t want you for my bed. So it seems we’re straight there.”

“Evander!” His mother gasped, whether at the barbs in his words or the uncouth innuendo, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t have time to care about his petty insults. I wouldn’t be reduced to being someone’s source of entertainment before I died.