Page 13 of The Midnight King
The Prince’s smile has faded, and he’s looking at me quizzically.
“Forgive me,” I say with a breathless laugh. “I suppose I’m a bit flustered, being in your presence.”
He chuckles. “Not to worry, Miss Laurier. Perhaps we should see if we share any interests. Do you like music? I’m quite fond of this song. The rhythm is so crisp, so satisfying. Are you familiar with the work of the composer Eshlin Asok?”
“I can’t say that I am,” I admit.
“I’m fascinated with his work.” And with that, the Prince launches into a lengthy biography of the composer, including the history of the school of music where he trained, a list of which musicians he prefers to work with, and a ranking of his best songs, along with the inspiration for each one.
Another partner might find the Prince dull, but for someone like me, who yearns for knowledge she has no time to gain, his lecture is both informative and interesting. I let him talk for as long as he likes without changing the subject or cutting in, except to ask a few questions related to the topic.
But eventually, my interest wears thin and my attention begins to wander. We’ve danced through several more songs and my feet are beginning to hurt. I’m itching to slip away, to talk with some of the palace servants and find out where the library is.
The time hasn’t been wasted though. I’ve deepened my knowledge of music, and I’ve discovered a few important things about the Crown Prince.
First, he’s obsessed with the composer Eshlin Asok. Second, he’s a man with a love of specifics, who enjoys diving deeply into one subject and learning everything about it. And third—he seems to enjoy a partner who will listen to him with genuine interest.
As the waltz ends and he pauses for breath, I gently intercept before he can continue speaking. “Your Highness, Ihave preyed upon your kindness long enough. As delightful as our conversation has been, there are many young ladies here who desire a moment of your time, and I must share you with them.”
He looks lost for a moment, and so sincerely disappointed that I impulsively clasp his hands in mine. It’s too intimate a gesture for such a short acquaintance, but I can’t help it. He seems sad, and I know what it is to need comfort.
I feel a little guilty that, without trying to, I somehow made him like me enough to dance with me for a significant portion of the night. But it will all work out. It’s part of the plan. Securing his attention was the first step, and now I can redirect that attention from myself to Amisa or Vashli.
“Will you walk with me in the garden later?” he asks. “There are some lovely winter roses. I can tell you all about the horticulturist who cultivated the species—it’s a fascinating tale.”
“I’m sure it is.” I press his hands between mine. “I will try to see you again before midnight. Until then…” I hesitate, thanking Fate because at that moment, I spot Vashli not far away in the crowd, dancing with a rather bland-looking young man and watching me with undisguised jealousy. “Until then, you should dance with my sister Vashli.”
I lead the Prince toward her. At our approach, her envious expression transforms into momentary astonishment before she manages to plaster a simpering smile on her face.
“Vashli, may I introduce His Royal Highness,” I say. “Your Highness, this is Miss Vashli Laurier.”
“Call me Brantley,” the Prince says affably.
“The Prince enjoys winter roses and the compositions of Eshlin Asok,” I say, with a significant look at Vashli. She only stares at me, uncomprehending, and frustration spikes in my chest.Motherfuck— “If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” I say to the Prince with a smile.
Pulling Vashli a few steps away, I speak sharply in her ear. “Ask him to tell you the history of the winter roses. Feign interest if you have to. Smile. Ask intelligent questions.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, cunt-wipe,” she hisses. “And where did you get that dress?”
“Go back to him before he chooses someone else.”
With a murderous glare, she turns away and glides toward Brantley. I bob a curtsy to him and then hurry in the opposite direction, threading my way through the crowd and pretending I don’t notice the calls and outstretched hands of several young men asking me to dance.
I escape into the foyer and flee deeper into the palace, through a huge dining room and a dimly lit smoking room, then into a portrait gallery. I pass the occasional guard, footman, or servant, but none of them stop me. A few other visitors are walking in the same areas, admiring the collectibles and art. Apparently the Prince’s guests are allowed to wander through parts of the main floor tonight.
When I spot a trio of guards engaged in low conversation, I meander past them slowly, my ears attuned to their conversation.
“The King did not come to the ball,” mutters one of them.
“I heard he wasn’t feeling well at the council meeting this afternoon,” replies another guard. “He must be resting.”
“Perhaps, or he gave his bodyguards the slip again and went out into the city.”
“Ren and Sevir hate it when he does that.” The second guard chuckles.
“I would, too. It’s their job to protect him, but he makes it difficult.”
“He’s about due for another dalliance with some gorgeous young mistress,” the third guard comments. “Perhaps he’s on the hunt for one now.”