Page 47 of The Midnight King
I smile at him. “After everything you’ve done for me, I’m happy to do a favor for you.”
“A favor?” His eyes harden slightly.
“Of course.” I climb off him and fetch a cloth from the washstand to clean myself up.
“Right,” he says. “That’s what it was—a favor. One good turn deserves another, fair is fair, and all that.” There’s a noticeable edge to his tone.
“You’re angry?” I frown. “I helped you heal. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all.” He sits up and smiles, bright and brittle. “My energy is a bit low at the moment, but I assume you want me to make you a gown?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble. It’s myduty, after all. Part of our business arrangement.” He’s still smiling, but I hate this smile. It’s like I’ve broken something inside him.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I venture.
“No one is upset, darling. Hold still. I’m going to do a bit of blood magic. Two birds with one stone—a clean room and a new dress, and it will cost me less energy.” He makes a circular gesture, and all the blood from his clothes, the bed, and the floor lifts up and whirls around in a tornado of scarlet drops, expanding into a red cloud before condensing around my body in the form of a velvety crimson gown. My pocket watch transforms into a ruby pendant, and when I turn to look in the mirror over the washstand, I can see more rubies winking from the pile of golden braids on my head.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe, even though I’m a little concerned about the fact that he literally used his blood to make the gown. “And… shoes?” But even as I speak, shoes are forming around my feet. I lift the gown to look at them. “These look as if they’re made of glass.”
“Crystallized air, actually. Like the mirror I made for you.”
“And they’ll be all right for walking and dancing?”
“Trust me, they’re quite comfortable.”
“Since you applied the glamour earlier than usual, do I need to leave the ball by eleven instead of midnight?”
He shakes his head. “Since I used my own blood, it should last a bit longer. You can leave when the clock strikes twelve. Now if you don’t mind, I must be off. I need to rest.” He picks up the scythe, twirls it around a few times, then fashions a portal out of thin air and walks out of my sight.
I stand there, twisting my hands together, wishing he’d stayed a moment longer. I know I hurt him when I said I only fucked him as a favor. He wanted it to be more than that. But how much more? Anything he might want from me is more than I can give. I am not my own, so how can I give myself fully to anyone?
“Cinders!” Amisa bawls down the stairs. “The Prince’s carriage is here!”
“What a very ladylike way to inform me,” I mutter as I mount the steps.
My stepmother and Amisa are waiting in the hallway. “Vashli is crying in her room and it’s your fault,” says Amisa. Once again, I think about how she often sounds like a petulant child, like a girl half her age. But at least she’s feeling some measure of sympathy for her sister.
Gilda says nothing to me. She has already delivered her orders. But she and Amisa watch me from the doorway of the house as I descend the steps in my scarlet gown.
Killian didn’t make me a wrap this time. I don’t mind—he was exhausted, still healing, and hurt by my words. But it’s cold, and I shiver a little as I traverse the path I shoveled earlier. My breath creates puffs of pale smoke in the air.
The Prince’s carriage is warm, though, thanks to a small heater full of hot coals under the carriage seat. It’s protected by a sort of cage to let the warmth out while preventing wayward skirts from getting too close to the heat.
When we arrive at the palace, I’m greeted by a pair of attentive footmen and escorted inside. I thought the palace might feel quiet and empty, but there’s a flurry of activity as the servants prepare for yet another ball—the last one. One of the footmen escorts me to the left, down a hallway I haven’t followed before.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The family’s private dining room.”
“But I’m dressed for a ball, not for dinner.”
“They will not mind, my lady. And we will provide a covering to protect your gown if you desire it.” He bows, ushering me through a doorway. “Welcome.”
I step inside and, to my horror, see both the Prince and the King standing behind ornate chairs, waiting for me.
The King looks more deliciously handsome than ever in a smoky gray suit and a white silk cravat. His silver eyes, shaded by those dark brows, meet mine with an intensity that sends my stomach flying into some distant universe. His beautiful lips curve slightly, the ghost of a smile.