Page 51 of The Midnight King
My fingers curl around the vines of the winter roses, heedless of the thorns piercing my flesh. The unmistakable passion of his confession soothes my injured pride a little, but I still can’t excuse what he did. There are so many conversations I have to replay in my mind now. Did he mean everything he said? How much of it was sincere, and how much was him saying what he thought the King might say?
“Celinda,” he murmurs, right behind me. “The Fae don’t typically apologize, but my father taught me to own up to my mistakes. It was wicked and selfish of me to deceive you, and I’m truly sorry for it. I’m begging you to do the impossible, and forgive me.”
“How can I? When you lied to me, deceived me, tricked me…”
“I wanted you to be happy. I wanted to save you.”
“Well, you haven’t. You can’t. You hurt me instead, and I hate you for it.” My sobs are violent now, bursting through between my words. “You’ve ruined everything. Stolen all the joy from this week. What I thought I had with the King is gone, what I might have had with you is over, and it’s all misery from now on, because—” I stop short, unable to tell him my stepmother’s scheme.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats helplessly. “I thought I could make it up to you if I managed to free you. But the scythe was my last idea, and it didn’t work. I’ll think of something else, though, I swear.”
Whatever scheme he concocts, it won’t be soon enough. I must accept the Prince’s proposal tonight and marry him in a week. Then Brantley will wear the anklet, and I will be killed or entrapped some other way, still bound to my stepmother.
If I could tell him those things, perhaps we could design a plan together. But I can say nothing about any of it. I can only stare at him and try to reconcile the fact that the handsome King and my Faerie godfather are one and the same.
Killian cautiously reaches for me, and when I don’t protest, he cups my shoulders with his long, warm fingers.
“Your stepmother is planning for you to marry the Prince, isn’t she?” he says. “And then she’ll put the anklet on him. Which means you’ll be free, though judging by the despair in your eyes, I would guess she has threatened you with further torment, confinement, or death.”
I can’t speak, partly because of the anklet, and partly from sheer astonishment.
He smiles a little. “Don’t look at me as if I’m clever. Her next move was fairly obvious. And I would also guess that you’re feeling wretched about the Prince assuming the burden you’ve borne all your life. He’s a good man, that one. In the course of pretending to be his father, I’ve gotten to know him a bit, and I like him. Trust me when I tell you, Sin—I’ll find a way to save you both. I’m your secret weapon, darling.”
To my surprise, a smile twitches the corner of my mouth. It’s not that I’ve forgiven him—it’s merely a symptom of hope. Hope, which like an incurable disease, seems to have reappeared in my heart again at those words.
“I could ask my parents for help, as a last resort,” he says. “But they have their own responsibilities and their own limits. It’s especially risky for my mother to return to this realm for more than a few minutes, since she hasn’t traveled between worlds in so long. I’ve already consulted with several Fae about your anklet, but none of them know where it’s from or how to remove it. Nevertheless, I will think of nothing else until I solve this problem. This I vow, Celinda. And I beg for your mercy.”
He sinks to his knees before me, clutching the skirt of my gown—the gown made from his own blood, spilled when he went alone into dangerous territory to fetch the Wraith’s Scythe.
I look at him kneeling there, utterly devoted and repentant. And yet… is he truly sorry for the deception, or is he only sorry that I discovered it?
“I was right to fear magic, and to distrust magical beings,” I say quietly. “You’ve proved that every cautious instinct I had was correct. You’re asking for something I can’t give you—mercy and forgiveness. I haven’t had the time to process any of this, so I can’t offer either one.”
He nods and pulls back. When I see his lashes sparkling with tears, I almost yield. I almost kneel down with him, take him in my arms, and comfort him. But I can’t allow myself to ease his pain yet. It’s well-deserved, and I have to think of myself and my own dignity.
“Forgiveness is something you can earn from me,” I say.
“I will.” He looks up, his beautiful face stricken with agony and hope. “I will do anything you ask, for as long as I live.”
Alarm flares in my heart at those words. “I would never require that of you.”
“I know,” he replies. “I yield my will freely. I am yours to command.”
“You don’t have to do that as some sort of atonement for the lies,” I protest.
He smiles, a sweet madness in his gaze. “This isn’t atonement. This is depraved obsession, abject devotion, and consuming passion.”
My breath catches as I realize what he’s saying.
Sothisis love. It’s far more dangerous than I imagined.
“I hate you for deceiving me.” The words aren’t nearly as caustic as I meant them to be.
“You have every right to hate me,” he replies.
“I’m disappointed that I didn’t actually seduce a King.”
“That’s fair.”