Page 49 of The Midnight King

Font Size:

Page 49 of The Midnight King

“Don’t come on my dress this time,” I whisper. “I’ll swallow it.”

He hesitates, a faint alarm in his eyes. Then he puts himself away and grabs the belt from the bed, putting it back on. “We can’t do this. Not now.”

Disappointed, I frown. “How responsible of you.”

“I simply realized that as much as I want to make a mess of you, I should wait until after the ball.”

“Until I’m engaged to your son?” I get to my feet, desperation in my voice.

“He may ask you,” says the King. “You do not have to accept.”

I turn away, silent, unable to explain that I have no choice.

“Unless…” he hesitates. “Unless youdoplan to accept.”

I can’t reply. Anything I might want to say falls under the restriction of my stepmother’s command.

“I see.” His voice is distant, cold. “Then I will leave you to prepare for the ball. You and I will dance, and after that, we will be nothing to each other except polite acquaintances, and eventually, relatives. You will be my… daughter.”

I want to scream,Fuck that, but I can only stand motionless, voiceless. The King releases a heavy sigh, looking so utterly weary that for the first time, I can see his true age. It hurts that the idea of losing me brought out that distant shadow of death in him, and before I can think better of it I leap forward, flinging my arms around his neck and sealing my lips to that gorgeous mouth of his.

He wraps both arms around me, and it feels right. It feels perfect.Here is strength and shelter, passion and purpose. Here I am safe and desired.

“Your friend,” he murmurs, still kissing me. “The one for whom you were searching the Faerie spellbooks…”

“Never mind that right now.” I kiss him again, and he opens for my tongue. I’ve kissed him before, but never this deeply. And yet, the inside of his mouth feels familiar. Slowly I trace the shape of his teeth, uncertainty tugging at my consciousness.

He breaks the kiss abruptly, backs away, and leaves the room with a curt, “Goodbye.”

Incensed, I fume for a second, then yank the door open, determined to call him back. But he’s gone. He must have run down the hallway out of sight, desperate to escape. Even though I’m angry, I don’t blame him.

I use the guest bathroom, then look at myself in the huge gilded mirror above the porcelain sink. No need to make use of the available cosmetics—the Faerie godfather lightly enhanced my natural beauty, as usual, and the glamour remains in place. I wait a little longer, peering through the drapes of the largebedroom window, watching the carriages come and go as guests arrive for the ball. At last, I take several long breaths, steeling myself for what’s to come, and I open the door.

15

The ballroom is aglow with lights, resplendent with people dressed in their finest clothes. The ladies have outdone themselves on this final night, determined to make the most of their last chance to impress the Prince.

And yet I still stand out, clad in a ballgown crafted from a Faerie’s blood, with crimson jewels shining at my throat and in my hair.

Brantley looks at me from across the room, and his face lights up as if I’m an oasis in a stormy sea… a safe place for him. I love that, and yet a dark thrill runs through me when the broad figure of the King eclipses my view of the Prince.

“I believe I requested a dance,” the King says, low.

“Indeed you did.”

A muscle tightens along his jaw as he places a hand at my waist and laces his fingers with mine. “We’ll call it a farewell dance.”

There’s something intimate, easy, and familiar about the way he dances with me… as if we’ve danced before. As if we were meant to be each other’s dance partners.

He twirls me and then pulls me close, holding me against his body. The smooth grace of the move is familiar.

Too fucking familiar.

My breath stalls in my lungs. Hot panic breaks out over my skin, yet my heart and my blood go ice-cold.

I keep moving. Keep smiling. Keep dancing, even as my brain races, seeking confirmation. If I’m going to verbalize my suspicion, even to myself, I need proof first.

In the most casual tone I can muster, I say, “You were right. The shoes are quite comfortable.”




Top Books !
More Top Books

Treanding Books !
More Treanding Books