Page 42 of The Midnight King
As he’s turning away, I catch his hand, my eyes filling with tears of a gratitude too deep to express. “Killian, I…”
His gaze softens. “I know.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m walking back toward the palace entrance, drawn by the inevitable command of my wicked stepmother.
13
When I approach the ballroom entrance, the herald starts to lift his trumpet, then lowers it when he recognizes me. I give him a half smile. “It’s alright,” I tell him. “Tonight, I want to be announced.”
He nods and blows an enthusiastic fanfare on his trumpet before shouting my name to the entire assembly. My stepsisters are standing together by a pillar, looking at me with a sort of eager horror. To their eyes, I’m still wrecked and ruined, injured and reeking of shit. So I’m sure it perplexes them when I grin in their direction and blow them a kiss before sailing into the room.
The crowd parts, creating a clear path between me and the Prince. But I don’t head straight for him. Instead I turn aside to the nearest gentleman and say, “Would you dance with me?”
It’s socially unacceptable for the lady to ask, but I’m the most resplendent person in the room, winged and glittering, and the young man looks so flattered I think he might faint. He manages to agree, and we begin waltzing together.
As long as I can keep dancing with other partners, I won’t be put in close proximity to the Prince. I just need to stay awayfrom him until my Faerie godfather shows up with the spell he went to fetch. I’m not sure how he’ll let me know that I’m clear to approach the Prince, but he’ll figure out a way.
It’s considered rude to cut in on a couple until they’ve danced at least half a waltz together, which gives me a little time. When the Prince starts sidling through the crowd toward me and my partner, I switch to a different man so Brantley can’t cut in. I do this a few times, until Brantley begins to look very confused and perturbed.
But his confusion is nothing compared to that of my stepsisters. Vashli looks ravenous for my heart’s blood, and Amisa is crying, distressed by the fact that no one else seems to notice my injuries or my torn dress. She must think the entire world has gone mad.
Brantley is watching me even as he dances with one of the guests. I can tell he’s getting ready to break away from his partner and sever me from mine, so I breathe a hasty “Thank you for the dance” to the young lord holding my waist, and I spin away from him into the arms of another man.
This new partner of mine is tall and lean, dressed in a purple suit, with unruly black hair and a pair of—lavender eyes?
He grins at me, and the hand clasping my waist squeezes lightly. “You’re stunning in this light.”
“Another compliment,” I hiss. “How careless of you. Did you get the spell?”
“I did, but give me a moment to enjoy this.” The fingers of his left hand interlace with mine, and my heart does a quick palpitation in response.
“The Prince is getting agitated,” I whisper. “I should go.”
“Celinda.” He speaks my name firmly, in a tone deeper and more forceful than any I’ve yet heard from him. “Let me dance with you.”
“Fine,” I mutter, allowing him to twirl me and then pull me close again.
He sighs and smiles as my chest brushes his. “This is perfection.”
“Do you not dance with women in Faerie?” I say in an undertone.
“I do.” He looks at me keenly. “You don’t really mean ‘dance,’ do you? You want to know how many I’ve fucked.”
“Hush!” I glance around anxiously, but no one seems to have heard his whispered profanity.
“It’s fewer than you might think,” he says. “Six, to be precise. I tend to get very attached to the people I sleep with—heartstrings entangled and all that—which isn’t very much the fashion in Faerie, so I usually end up with those heartstrings torn to pieces.”
He’s still grinning, but it’s a fragile smile now. The look in his eyes goes straight to my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He tilts his head. “You really are, aren’t you? You have sympathy forme, someone with magic and privilege far beyond anything you’ve known. I had a pleasant upbringing and I have a wonderful family who adores me, while you’ve suffered more than I can imagine. And yetyoufeel sorry forme, simply because I tend to give away my heart too easily and get it crushed. My darling, the things you could do with that vast well of compassion, if only you were given the chance to use it.”
He twirls me again and jerks me against him, pressing me so close to his chest that I can feel his heart beating fast. He’s breathing lightly, quickly, his face nearly touching mine.
And I want him to kiss me. My lips feel tantalized, tender, practically vibrating for the touch of his mouth.
But instead he whispers, “Feed him this. It will make anything you say seem charming to him.”