Page 19 of The Midnight King
“Stop backing away,” he purrs. “We need to seal the bargain.”
He seems prone to compliment me, and I need the favors from him. It’s a good deal, with a playfulness to it that I’ve never had with anyone. I’m not sure why I’m scared to let him touch me again. Maybe because I suspect how my body will respond, and I’m not ready to face the fact that I might be deeply attracted to two different men, neither of whom can give me the future I want.
My back hits the wall, and I shiver as the Faerie approaches. He smells delicately floral, like violets and warm spring air.
He bends his head, his breath lightly fanning my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me. He hovers there, one palm against the wall near my head, his chest nearly brushing mine.
“I like this,” he whispers. “The moment before the kiss. The suspended desire, the tension. It’s something to be savored, don’t you think?”
“Just fucking do it,” I whisper back.
With a soft smirk, he moves in, closing his lips gently over mine. The tip of his tongue nudges between my lips, and I greet it with mine, a brief exchange of wetness.
This kiss isn’t like the first one. It’s tentative, chaste, almost fragile. He pulls back, and for a second he’s glowing all over—white skin shining like snow under the moon, purple hair sparkling like jewels. But I must have imagined it, because when I blink, the glow is gone.
And so is he.
Just as well, because I hear the noise of my stepfamily coming back from the ball. They must have left the city center shortly after I did.
As I hurry to remove their shoes and help with their wraps, I notice that Gilda looks angrier than usual. The moment I take off her shoes, she grabs my chin and jerks my face up so she can look in my eyes.
“I thought you weren’t attending the ball tonight.” Her breath is hot, bitter with alcohol. “Yet the girls tell me you were there, in a beautiful gown. Where did you get it? How did you get to the palace and back? Tell the truth.”
I can share some truth without telling her everything. “I borrowed the carriage and the gown from an old family friend,” I explain. “I had to return them, but they said I could borrow another dress tomorrow if I need it.”
My stepmother’s eyes turn keen with interest, and I tremble because I know she’s going to press me on the subject and ask more questions about the “family friend,” and I’m not sure how I’ll dodge the inquiries.
But I’m saved by Amisa’s petulant interjection. “Family friend?” she scoffs. “Who would want to be friends with you, Cinders? You’re so ugly and selfish. Your head looks like a potato.”
I can’t help smiling at the juvenile quality of the insults. Amisa has never been good at bullying me. Her attempts usually cause me more amusement than harm.
“She’s laughing at me, Mother!” squeaks Amisa indignantly. “Make her stop!”
“Shut up.” Vashli elbows her. “You’re just jealous because Cinders gave the Prince to me, not you.”
My stepmother is still gripping my jaw, but her fingers relax a little. “Vashli said you gave her topics of conversation for her time with the Prince, and that you introduced the two of them.”
“I did.”
“She also said the Prince seemed enamored withyoufor the first part of the evening.”
“I got close to him, as we discussed,” I reply. “And then I directed his attention to Vashli.”
“I liked him,” says Vashli. “He knows so much about everything.”
The genuine enthusiasm in her tone makes me glance her way in surprise. Her cheeks are pink, and when she catches my gaze, she looks away, blushing deeper.
“I never got to dance with him,” complains Amisa. “Mother, make Cinders introducemeto the Prince tomorrow night. It’s not fair that Vashli got a turn when I didn’t. She always gets everything. She’s your favorite, isn’t she? I always knew it! You both think I’m stupid, that I’m not capable of anything, but it’s only because I’m never given achance!”
She bursts into theatrical sobs and runs away upstairs.
My stepmother sighs and releases me. “What else did you learn?”
“The King wasn’t feeling well this afternoon,” I tell her. “Apparently he likes to give his bodyguards the slip and wander about on his own. I suppose he’s eager for the freedom he’ll have after he yields the crown to his son. He’s giving the Prince free reign with the choice of his wife, so we don’t have to worry about much interference on his part yet, although I assume he’ll want to meet Prince Brantley’s chosen bride before the engagement is announced.”
Gilda nods, tapping her lips with her finger.
Vashli is still lingering in the foyer, her plump fingers clasped nervously together. “I had such a good time with the Prince, Mother. He’s not at all what I expected. He’s such a fascinating—”