“My home is complicated. And when I brought you here, I believed that I could control the narrative. If I could speak to my father first and explain our appearance …” He looked away. “That didn’t happen, and now, you are … I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

“I’ve had it explained. Tonight, I belong to you,” Kerrigan said with her chin lifted.

His eyes smoldered at the insinuation in the words. And for a second, her breath caught at the thought of what it would really mean to belong to him. Not in the sense of him owning her as a half-Fae, which was barbaric and absurd. But owning her in the way that made him look at her like that. Like she could melt into a puddle at his feet with the calm, sure dominance of just one look.

“Yes. Tonight, you are mine.” He stepped forward, bridging the small distance between them. “You don’t seem upset by this.”

She swallowed, staring up into those swirling gray eyes. This was an act, but belonging to Fordham was something that she could pretend very easily. It was everything else that upset her. So, for a second, she let him see the window into her heart. The place where she kept all of that rage for how her people were treated. He inhaled sharply, as if realizing it.

“I have no place for anger tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow and every day after—until we figure out how to stop this hate. But tonight, I can pretend. And then after …”

“After, we will talk to my father. We’ll fix this together.”

Fordham held his arm out, and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Together, they walked up to the entrance to the ballroom.

“Introducing His Royal Highness, Crowned Prince Fordham Ollivier.”

All eyes turned to face them, taking in their crowned prince and the little half-Fae he had on his arm. The ornament that he had never had before and that would change everything.

Kerrigan ceased to exist in that moment, and Felicity came out of hiding. The Bryonican royal that had been forced to hide her emotions and feelings. This was what it meant to be royal to her—hiding. And she was incredibly good at it. But after tonight, she would be through with it and she would never ever again let them control her like this.

She smiled vapidly, imagining the brainless thing she could have been if she had stayed in Bryonica and been forced to marry Ashby March. She imagined hiding the bruises with makeup and forcing a smile, having to weather his moods and fits of anger. She would have been nothing but a conquest for him. And here, now, that was the appearance she had to put on.