“Are you ever going to tell me what you actually do when you sneak from my room on the nights we’re pretending to be madly in love?” I tease. Silene merely gives me a look that says it’s none of my business. Raising my hands in surrender, I study her closely. The dark circles beginning to form under her eyes tell me she’s clearly exhausted and trying to hide it.

At only forty years old, Silene is very young for a fae. She’s short by both fae and human standards, barely reaching my shoulders. Her black hair tumbles down her back to her waist in tight curls, and her deep, golden tan skin reveals muscles from training as a warrior in secret. Females are discouraged from fighting in Velmara, from doing anything that would put their childbearing capability at risk. Those customs chafe at Silene as tightly as the dresses she’s expected to wear.

After dressing quickly, Silene and I exit my bedroom hand in hand. We enter the sitting room attached to my chambers, where servants with watchful eyes prepare a breakfast for us. I squeeze Silene’s hand, then don the mask of doting fiancé and rakish, irresponsible prince.

Lifting her hands to my lips and lavishing kisses atop them, I murmur, loud enough for the servants to hear, “I will miss you today, love.” She flashes me a blushing, demure smile, one so unlike the real Silene. It breaks my heart to see her forced to play this role. Silene is effervescent, a force of nature, with a mind that rivals the King’s best strategists and the warm personality of a beam of sunlight. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t lower her eyes from anything.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom tonight to help you forget the stuffy meetings you have to attend,” she coos. I pull out a chair for her before sitting in my own, my gaze hungry with lust I do not feel for the female I consider my little sister.

“Leave us,” I command the army of servants my father insists I keep. “I wish to dine with my betrothed in peace.”

The servants hesitate, clearly nervous to disobey what are likely orders to stay and report anything interesting back to my father’s spymaster. I plaster a magnetic grin on my face. “Oh, come on,” I say with a loveable whine. “Give us a little privacy. You can tell Citus that we ate our breakfast quietly. You know Silene is shy. Wouldn’t want her to blush herself to death when I inevitably say dirty things to her. I can’t help myself.” I give them a wink, while Silene plays her part perfectly, her gaze looking down in mock embarrassment. The head servant softens, her own lips quirking even as she pretends to roll her eyes in mock annoyance.