Even though I knew there were assassins on the loose, I’d let myself get caught up in Richard, in these ...feelings I can’t seem to shake. I ignored my duties, skipped protocol. Richard almost ended up dead for it.
You know how when you're 12 years old sometimes you have these silly daydreams you're secretly a stunningly beautiful fairy princess who meets a hot prince who's such a playboy and everyone thinks he's such an asshole but secretly he's really really smart and deep and meaningful but only you know about his hidden self but then you guys fall in love! only to find out that your romance is doomed in the Arwen-Aragorn kind of way because hello! elf + human = interspecies breeding (ohmigod breeding! that means sex!!!! *blushhhhh* (you're 12 years old, remember?)) but whatever, TWOO WUV wins in the end!11!11! NO MATTER WHAT!!!!11
Well, this is the book for you. This is, more or less, Prince Harry fanfiction. It comes complete with a fucking stupid little fairy ass princess who can't see beyond her tits...I mean heart. Who places love. LOOOOOOOOVE. Fucking LOOOOOOOOOOVE over everything. Rationality. Loyalty. Secrecy. Duty. Life. All for the love of someone she barely fucking knows. Fuck that shit. Seriously. Fuck that shit.
I've read a fair share of idiotic YA fiction in which the heroine does dumb shit for love. Rarely have I encountered someone with this amount of incomprehensible romantic stupidity. Emrys shouldn't be Prince Richard's bodyguard. She should be Prince Richard's chambermaid so that she can secretly sniff his used boxers and clean up his shit (which smells like English Leather combined with the the scent of a square kilometer of French tea roses in full bloom) and scratch at his cum-stiffened sheets and be fucking happy that she has been granted the privilege to do so.
Not since the days of Romeo and Juliet have there been two dumber idiots in love. Did I miss something? Was this book intended to be a parody? I like Faeries. I like female bodyguards. I surely must like this book?
Wrong. Here we fucking go again.
- We have SEVERE insta-love and a declaration of love without any sort of relationship building
- We have a fairy bodyguard who does fucking jack shit, her job seems to be:
1) Watching (but mostly drooling) over the prince she's supposed to guard while he sleeps (when she's not IN BED together with him)
**If Emrys were a guy, we'd be calling him a stalker by now
2) Being his eye candy when he's partying with his friends
- We have a fucking TSTL Mary Sue fairy bogyguard who does a fucking horrible job at being a protector of any kind, since she can't fucking handle anything in the fucking modern world when her compatriots seem to be handling it just fine
The Writing: Before I get into the summary, I have to tell you guys about the writing in this book: to put it gently, it's as horrible as a drought in Somalia. Uncomfortable like a baby with a wet, soggy diaper. I felt as trapped as a kitten on a box on a plane without temperature control.
You think my metaphors are bad? Wait til you read this book. The writing stinks like the farting of a particularly flatulent warthog. The flatulence that comes from dining on rotten liver and kidney pie with raw garlic, garnished with a side of beans and broccoli. My brain was rendered into mushiness, akin to mashed potatoes whipped with an ample amount of butter and cream, with a dash of salt and pepper just to spice it up.
I wouldn't claim that the writing is horrible without any evidence, so without further ado: I present you some of the fabulous examples of writing within this book.
Richard’s only response a long, leaden sigh. Like the sound of a sleeping bear poked into drowsiness.
“I think I can handle him,” I say in a voice even tarter than lemons.
The veiling spell is still fighting, wriggling out of my control like an eel caught by its tail.
Those lips are quirked into a permanent coy grin as she goes down the line, eyeing men like baskets of fish and chips.
The acid behind my tongue only grows, rises like a beast coming out of a long winter sleep.
I’m like a hare, frozen by the headlamps of an approaching vehicle.
His face is pale, whited out like a window looking into a blizzard.
His jacket crumples like a dead animal on the rug.
Breena approaches with selective steps, the same way a cat uses grass and slowness to snag a songbird.
I’m a glacier, plunging, falling apart against the sea.
My heart becomes a lion, roaring and beating against its fibrous, fleshy cage. Yearning to be free.
I watch as the window to his pain flicks past, like the light of a train car at full speed. There and gone.
This question feels rambling, desperate. Like a grappling hook violently flung by some plummeting climber.
The Summary: Emrys is a Fae. She is a Faery Guardian. She is ancient, around 1000 years old. She has seen the rise and fall of many an empires.
Which only goes to tell you that age does not necessarily equal wisdom.
Emrys is a Frithemaeg, a Faery Guardian. She has been assigned to protect Prince Richard. She hasn't seen him since he was a baby, but man, the teenaged Richard sure is fucking hot. Richard is sleeping. Emrys is invisible. She watches him sleep, and talks to him, because that's not creepy at all.
“Why are you sleeping?” I slip into the room and approach the bed.
Richard blinks in his sleep---and cue insta-love. Jesus Fucking Christ, the man isn't even awake and she's feeling shit for him already.
His eyes open, and for the briefest second I feel their hazel irises on me. Something inside me clenches.
Emrys is supposed to protect Richard's life. Her powers are failing. She is no longer able to do her job. She cannot protect him. Richard sees Emrys, even though she is supposed to be invisible.
“Who—who are you?” he asks, his stare vague. “How’d you get in here?”
He sees me. It’s not possible. The veiling spell...somehow, my magic has failed.
So naturally, the thing to do is NOT to tell your queen (Mab) that you can't do your fucking job and because of that, your Prince's life is in danger. It just makes so much more sense to tell the prince about the secret Faery world that's been existing aside his own that your people have kept secret for thousands of years.
I revealed myself to a mortal—to Britain’s prince—and instead of wiping his memory, I ran. I broke the barrier between magic and mortal. And I didn’t fix it.
Brilliant. Such wisdom as the ancients have never seen. *wipes away tear*
Richard's father, the King, dies. The human world thinks he suffered from a heart attack, but the Faery Guard knows better. He has been killed by a malevolent, evil force bent on destroying the world.
In order to protect Prince Richard against the evil that killed his father, Emrys will:
1. Have romantic meals with Richard on a sunlit balcony.
A petite, linen-cloaked table waits for us on the lawn, covered with plates of freshly sliced fruits, eggs, sausage, and toast. An elegant china teapot sits to one side, steam rising from its spout like the breath of a sleeping dragon. Hundreds of roses, in every hue, seduce me with their scent.
2. Be his arm candy at a pub
“Damn, Rich. When you said you were bringing a friend, I thought...” He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence. “What runway did you get her off of? And where can I get one?”
3. Practice dancing with him in his room
We move together as one being, in sweet unison to the lingering guitar solo. We dance even after the last notes die, moving about in each other’s arms to some unheard song. We dance until nothing is left.
4. Go swimming with him, complete with acrobatics
I lunge into the air, taking advantage of my magic to perform a string of elaborate acrobatics before I sink into the pool’s embrace.
5. Give Richard fashion advice
“Nothing too nice,” I tell him. “Try jeans and a T-shirt.”
6. Go on a date to a romantic location so that Richard can look over his kingdom over which he is such a benevolent ruler!!
“No.” I smile coyly, satisfied he hasn’t guessed. “We’re going to look at your kingdom.”
“The Eye,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re talking about the London Eye.”
And naturally, since Emrys is such a powerful Fae, she will use her power, her GLAMOUR to fulfil the tremendous, important, riveting task of...
“I could magic us to the front.” I frown. Are there always so many mortals clamoring for a taste of flight? The queue is so sluggish it makes my skin itch.
...skipping the tourist lines.
Christ in heaven.
Royally Fucked: Emrys is supposed to be bad-ass Fae Bodyguard, bestowed with the powers of the Faery Court, designated to protect the future Heir to the Throne of England. Emrys is supposed to be strong, fierce, powerful!
Faeries don't do well with modern technology, but somehow everyone else on her team seems to be doing just fucking fine in the technology-filled world of modern-day England EXCEPT FOR EMRYS.
Breena’s energy seems boundless as she strides ahead. There’s no rust or corrosion in her aura. No weariness to her magic. As if all these modern metals and electric currents swirling around us don’t exist.
Emrys can't hold it together. Everything makes her sick.
The smell of food and drink, the smell of anything at this point is enough to wake the deeper sickness in my bowels.
Everything makes her want to vomit.
I lunge to the top of the table in a single movement, ignoring the stress on my humanoid muscles and how much I want to vomit.
Scarcely does a moment go by when Emrys doesn't feel faint.
Although the pain has been latent over the past few weeks, its return is fiery and lancing. My knees nearly buckle under it.
Protector of None: Despite the fact that she's Richard's bodyguard...a useless, helpless human, no less, Emrys allows him to come to her rescue way too fucking often.He saves her from a leering, lecherous man.
The prince came to my rescue. He protected me. This is so shocking, so unprecedented, that I can’t think of anything to say.
And yet again when they're ambushed.
Richard has her pinned to the ground, his face a war mask. The prince just saved our lives.
What the fuck kind of a bodyguard is that? Do you expect us to believe that Emrys is a bad-ass bodyguard when she constantly fucking gets sick to her stomach, constantly gets ill from modern technology, constantly gets her ass saved...if not by Richard, then by a human princess---Richard's little sister?
I can’t move. I can’t think of any spells to protect us.
It’s Anabelle who saves us.
The Princess Diaries: Dear Diary, Today I wore a really really pretty dress to protect my Prince!
Why the FUCK are you so fucking concerned with clothes, Emrys? You know, if I were a bodyguard, I'd be wearing all black spandex with many concealed pockets in which I can carry my knives. Emrys wears..."piles of skirts"
...Which constantly gets in the way. BECAUSE SKIRTS. NO SHIT. YOU DO NOT WEAR FUCKING SKIRTS IN A FIGHT.
The Black Dog’s aged-yellow canines snag my many layers of skirts—it ends up with only a mouthful of taffeta and cotton.
And a tulle dress? No. Just NO.
I look down at my outfit. Layer after layer of colors. Sea-foam tulle peeking out from aqua and daffodil cotton. Silver-threaded plum fabric mixes steadily with champagne silk.
And not only that, she has terrible tastes in clothes.
Romance Uber Alles: This book has something even worse than insta-love: a girl who would sacrifice everything for love, a girl who believes that love in the most important thing in the world, more than loyalty, more than her own existence
Without him, I would be nothing now. Unraveled into ether and air.
It sickens me. This is an OLD Fae. She is supposed to be wise. I see no evidence of it. From the very first fucking moment she lays eyes on Richard, she falls in love with him. Her heart beats unceasingly. Her stomach clenches endlessly. She feels currents, jolts, bolts of electricity in the air whenever she is around him. That's pretty standard in YA fiction.
Something about Richard is different from the others I’ve guarded. Something connects us: something dangerous and electric.
But what sickens me is that she holds her love for Richard over everything else. Over all the danger she faces.
I love him.
What I have to say. The thought turns my stomach over and over. Far more terrifying than the idea of hunting soul feeders with Breena tonight.
Yeah, because telling someone you LOVE THEM is more important than fucking putting your damned life on the line. Than hunting with your age-old companion. Than the triumph of battle.
I’m at the height of my bound, incarnate power, ready to take on an army of soul feeders.
But something is unmistakably missing. A hole has been sawed through my chest. A piece of myself I lost without consent.
I can’t not think of him.
To put your own existence on the line, because human and fae cannot be together. To betray your own line and endanger all the secrets that have been kept throughout the eons. What the fuck kind of betraying, faithless, stupid fucking bitch would do that to her own kind?
Dropping the veiling spell, showing and telling who I am, reaching out my hand . . . Had I done all of those things because I wanted to? Because I knew, in some unreached part of myself, that there was this—spark, flame, inferno—between us?
Suddenly I feel selfish. Undone. No self-respecting Fae would do what I just did. She wouldn’t be so weak.
And to DIE for him.
You’ll die for him either way. Breena’s words are haunting, inescapable here.
But that’s what I’m doing. Isn’t it?
TO DIE for someone you barely fucking know.
How can I explain to her that none of this was for the Guard or the crown? That it was all for Richard? For a life and a future with him?
Fuck this book.