Page 57 of The Midnight King
“The demands of royal life can be difficult,” he replies. “But you can still carve out time for yourself and your interests. I will be here to help you adjust in any way I can.”
I smile at him and cover his hand with mine. “And I will helpyouin any way I can, as well.”
When he smiles at me, I come to a decision, one I’ve been toying with for days.
The moment the anklet comes off, I must try to kill my stepmother. As much as I believe Killian will try to save me, I can’t count on him. I must be prepared to save myself.
Of course, since I’m forbidden to touch actual weapons, I can’t hide a dagger beneath the pillows of the royal bed, in preparation for my own defense. I’ll need to find a less traditional weapon, or perhaps use my bare hands. I’m strong from hard work. Maybe I can overcome Gilda and strangle her.
My smile conceals the murderous thoughts in my head as Brantley and I descend from the royal table, accompanied by the cheers of the guests who are all eager to witness our first dance as a married couple. There’s a beaded loop on my train, and I slip my wrist through it, so I can hold the extra material out ofthe way while dancing. A tiny, thoughtful touch from my Faerie godfather.
Where is he?
I’ve been in a daze since the wedding, but as Brantley and I begin the waltz, my senses begin to reawaken. The scent of roast pork, spiced apples, and hot buttered bread fills the air, mingling with the varied fragrances of the guests’ perfumes. The cake my stepmother chose—carrot and ginger with coconut frosting—has barely been touched, and it towers in the corner like a pale gravestone, a counterpoint to the romantic dance tune played by the royal musicians.
I’m painfully conscious of every click of my crystal shoes on the polished floor, conscious of my stepmother’s eyes fixed on me, conscious of the gown clinging to my body. This dress has lasted longer than anything else Killian has made for me, probably because he transformed the material of the original dress rather than creating something out of nothing. Still, it must have cost him a lot of energy, especially since he has had to hold his own glamour for many hours.
Maybe that’s why he had to leave the reception—he needed to rest and regain his energy. I hope he recovers in time, although I have no idea how he plans to stop Gilda. I suppose he could have told someone about my stepmother’s wicked scheme, but if he’d mentioned it to anyone, it might have interfered with the wedding, which in turn could have ruined my one chance to be free.
Killian has vowed never to kill a human, and that vow is binding. That’s not to say he couldn’t injure one, but I’ve never seen him fight, or use any sort of combative magic. He’s simply not the warrior type. He’s an artist with clothing, a granter of wishes, a generous soul whose two weak points are his lustful nature and his willingness to deceive others.
I never thought I would know a Faerie so well.
Despite the thoughts circling through my head, I’ve kept dancing while the music played. But the song is ending, and Brantley pulls me in for a light kiss that makes the guests cheer madly. He waves to them, and so do I.
“Eat, drink, and dance!” he calls. “My bride and I are exhausted, so if you will kindly excuse us, we will retire.”
Judging by the surprise on the guests’ faces, it’s a little early for a couple to leave their own party—but Brantley, true to form, doesn’t seem to notice. He is done with crowds, and he is putting his own needs first in this instance, which I respect. By going ahead with this marriage, he has sacrificed more than his people will ever know, to uphold what he believes to be his duty.
A handful of guards escort us upstairs, and a few servants help us each prepare for bed. Only when Brantley and I are both dressed in fine nightclothes do they bow respectfully and leave us alone.
I smooth the front of the silky ivory nightgown. It’s designed to hug my breasts, and the lace along the neckline practically demands male attention, yet Brantley doesn’t give it a second look.
“I think I’ll fetch a book from the study,” he says. “I like to read before I sleep.”
“Of course.”
He disappears into an adjoining room. In his absence, I hurry out of the bedroom, through the sitting room to the door of the royal suite. I lean out into the hallway, speaking to the guards in an undertone. “If my mother comes looking for me, you may let her in. She has a wedding night gift to deliver. And do not enter the chamber, no matter what you may hear. The Prince has certain needs, and certain things he has asked me to do for him tonight.”
It’s something Gilda ordered me to say, word for word, to ease her path into the wedding chamber. I hope it’s the last command of hers I ever have to carry out.
The guards reply, “Yes, Princess,” and I try to conceal the jolt of surprise that passes through me when I hear my new title. I heard it shouted by our subjects this afternoon, but hearing it spoken respectfully in a more intimate setting feels different, and frighteningly real.
I return to the bed, propping myself awkwardly against the pillows. I’m so nervous it feels as if my insides have bunched themselves into knots and are trying to squeeze up my throat. A panicked sweat films my forehead and the back of my neck.
Brantley emerges from the study with a thick book in his hand. He’s wearing loose lounge pants and a matching nightshirt. His brown hair, usually so neatly combed, is ruffled.
This time, when he looks at me, his gaze lingers on my chest, and his cheeks flush slightly.
“Do you, um…” I clear my throat. “Did you want to have sex?”
“We are supposed to consummate the marriage,” he says. “It is my duty as the Crown Prince.”
“Yes, but if you are not so inclined, we don’t have to fulfill that duty tonight. And I want you to know that if there is someone else you want, I understand, and I won’t object to you fulfilling those desires.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Barely married, and you’re already making allowances for infidelity?”
“I want you to be happy,” I reply.