Bride of the Fae Prince (BRIDES OF THE FAE) by Anastasis Blythe EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Anastasis Blythe
- Language: English
- Genre: fantasy romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.8 MB
- Price: Free
The Princess
IT’S EASY TO ESCAPE Father’s notice most evenings, but tonight I’m not
so fortunate. He stops in front of me, standing third in the line of his five
daughters, and looks me up and down. My white silk gloves mercifully hide
my sweaty palms.
A line creases his forehead. Disapproval.
I try to keep my spine straight, even as everything inside me drops a little
lower. The corset beneath my embroidered taffeta bodice considerably aids
my efforts. I’m not sure I would have managed it otherwise.
Father lets out a sigh of resignation, hands behind his back, as he paces to
the end of the line. He doesn’t even look at my two younger sisters. He
stops, sets his shoulders, and lifts his head. Enough so he can stare at the far
wall, and the gold-framed portrait of his severe, frowning grandfather. Ages
ago, my youngest sister Amelia pointed out how the red patterned wallpaper
in this room brings out the red of Great Grandfather’s lips and cheeks,
making it look like he wore rouge and lip paint for his portrait. Until now,
the portrait never failed to bring a smile to my lips.
“Where are the tides of war turned, my sweets?” Father’s voice is raspy
and thin.
With his back turned, I let my gaze fall to the floor. Or rather, the lush
magenta skirt flaring out in front of me, set with tiny reflective stones and
mounds of lace. I pick one of those stones and stare at it. In my periphery,
my sisters stand like slender, erect towers on either side of me in
resplendent gowns of their own.
None of them received even the barest flicker of approval from Father,
either.
“In the ballroom,” answers Vivienne, my eldest sister. She is the most
beautiful of us all, and wears her beauty like a status granted to her. Her
shoulders are straight, her head high, her rich dark curls perfectly and
properly arranged. Not a single strand of hair is out of place.
“Very good,” says Father, turning around and facing the five of us. He
isn’t a tall man, yet he has always felt that way to me. He wears a striking
blue doublet with gold buttons, and a crown atop his salt-and-pepper hair. I
find his eyebrow again—anything to avoid looking directly into his eyes
when they pass over me. “Now, what is the battle plan for the evening?”
Yvonne, the next sister younger than me, pipes up, lifting her pert little
cleft chin. “Vivienne, Jacquelle, and I are going to demonstrate for our
honored guest that the daughters of King Roland of Aursailles are elegant
and well-bred wives to be had.”
I shift my weight to my other foot.
“Much rests on your shoulders to make your betrotheds happy men
during the ball,” says Father, eyeing my three engaged sisters in turn, “so
Isabelle Louise can go for the killing blow.”
Five pairs of eyes turn on me. I swallow.
“Are you ready?” Father asks. The question surprises me—does he
expect an answer? I’m spared when he frowns and continues. “You’re a
little pale.”
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