Seducing the Fae King: A Fae Surrogates Prequel: Fae Surrogates, #0

Chapter 1

Liana

Iknew I shouldn’t be lurking in dark corners, but it was impossible not to stop. The royal herald was focused on his task, and the nails between his clenched teeth glinted in the early morning light. 

The canvas sack slung over his shoulder bulged with rolls of parchment and my fingers itches to snatch one for myself. He struggled with his hammer and dropped the satchel onto the cobblestone street to give him more range of motion. A roll of parchment tumbled out onto the ground and I inched closer. 

The crash of the man’s hammer against the first nail made me jump.

Three strikes echoed in my ears. 

Then three more for the second nail. 

A rooster’s strident crow made the man pause, but he turned back to his task and didn’t see me as I crouched low and snatched the parchment from the ground. 

With the previous scroll clutched tight in my fist I ran as fast as I could down the street and didn’t pause when the herald’s shout followed me down the narrow street.

I ducked into an alleyway and pressed myself against the uneven stone wall. The roughness of the hastily applied mortar bit into my shoulder but I barely noticed. I held my breath and counted the frantic beat of my heart.

He’s not chasing you, silly goose. Not for this. 

I’d just given him less work to do.

My smile felt like more of a grimace, teeth grinding together as I forced my fingers to unclasp and release the parchment. I checked over my shoulder to be certain that I was alone, but no one was awake this early… at least no one who cared what I was doing. I unrolled it slowly, flinching at each crackle of the parchment. 

A flake of golden paint fluttered down onto the sleeve of my woolen dress and I gnawed on my lip as I stared at the beautifully inked letters. 

These announcements were definitely official. I wanted to run my fingertips over the gilded and illuminated letters, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. They looked like what I’d always imagined the sacred scrolls kept in the oracle’s temple high above the royal citadel looked like. 

Too fine for someone like me to look at. 

That’s what Mistress Bryra always said. 

But she said that about everything. 

What if this was what I was meant for?

His illustrious Majesty, Venali Leonan seeks a loyal subject to bear his child. 

I said the words slowly, my voice hushed and reverent as I struggled to read the words. I could read well enough, but the words were inked in a fanciful hand and the swirls and flourishes added to the letters made them difficult to read with confidence. 

I frowned at the page as I whispered the words. 

Bear his child.

It seemed simple enough. The three kings of Kraterra, powerful royal brothers born of surrogates chosen from the women of the kingdom. The women would be faithful servants of the kingdom. Hopeful beauties. High born fae looking for power and influence. 

And me. 

To be chosen by the king was a singular honor. 

It was a tradition that had been passed down for generations. 

Three kings who would take no wives and seek their heirs elsewhere. 

I swallowed hard and focused on the words. 

His Majesty will choose his surrogate on the eve of the Feast of the Stars—

My stomach knotted unexpectedly.  

The Feast of the Stars was only a few days away. 

My hand tightened on the edge of the parchment and I cursed as I released my grip and tried to smooth out the deep creases I’d made in the fine paper. I rolled it up as tightly as I could and winced as I realized flecks of gold paint had stuck to my fingertips. 

I tucked the scroll into a pocket in my woolen skirt and brushed my finger against the rough fabric to brush away the remnants of the paint. 

The king would be making his choice in a few days’ time. I had to work quickly. 

***

W hat do you know about the royal surrogates?

The question was stupid, and I could taste it on my tongue as soon as I said the words. 

The woman peeling potatoes next to me snorted. 

"You mean you don’t know?

I shrugged and picked up another potato. What’s to know?

You’re a fool if you don’t, she snapped. 

Maybe I’m a fool.

I could have guessed that for free.

I glared at the water in the metal pail between my knees. So many potatoes. I didn’t even like potatoes. My hands were wrinkled and ugly from the water, and my fingers were numb from the cold. The Festival of the Stars couldn’t come at a worse time. Winter festivals were always terrible for servants. 

The lady of the house would have a magnificent party and the wealthy and powerful guests would be uncountable. I wouldn’t see any of them, of course… I wasn’t even permitted to touch the finished delicacies and plates that would be taken up to the banquet hall. 

I should have been grateful that I’d been given a paring knife with a handle made from the pearls collected from the inland sea that lapped against Kraterra’s western shore. At least that’s what I’d been told. 

Please, I whispered.

The woman next to me sighed. 

You’re just like every moon-eyed girl in the shadow of the Citadel.

I’m not, I muttered and dropped another potato into the bucket. The water splashed over my knee and I frowned at the stain as the cold, salted well-water soaked into the cloth and sent a shiver up my spine.

The woman chuckled. What do you want to know? The glint in her eye was the only encouragement I