Page 64 of The Midnight King
“Obviously.”
“One—you will help me settle things at the palace. Two—once my annulment goes through, you’ll bring me back to Faerie with you. I haven’t seen much of it yet, but I’d like to. And three—I will forgive your great deception, if you will agree to take on the form of the King whenever I ask you to. For fun.”
“What sort of fun?” He blinks at me with feigned innocence.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, shoving him. “Not after you asked me tostepon you. Your father thinks you’re this gentle, sweet soul, and you are, but you’re also a degenerate scoundrel. A depraved, lecherous fiend.”
“I like it when you call me names.”
We’re face to face, a sensuous heat quivering between us. I lean in by instinct, drawn by the shape of his lips. It’s not the King’s beautiful mouth, but Killian’s natural form is even more precious to me.
“To be clear,” he whispers, “I love you.”
“I know.” I kiss him softly. “And I—gods, I want to say it back, but I’m afraid if I do, something will happen and you’ll be taken away from me. Or I’ll wake up and realize that this was all a dream—that I’m still on my cot in the cellar of Eisling House, with a day of labor and abuse ahead of me.”
“This is no dream, darling. I’ll pinch you, if you like. Isn’t that how humans prove to themselves that something is reality, and not just a wish breathed by a sleeping mind?”
He catches my lower lip between his teeth and bites down a little, just enough to cause a little flare of pain. Then his hand slides up to my breast and tweaks my nipple through the fabric of my nightdress.
Mynightdress.
“Killian,” I say, aghast. “I just realized—I met your parents while in my nightclothes!”
He shrugs. “They don’t care. Faeries are far less concerned with such things. Well… I should saymostFaeries are less concerned with such things. The Seelie Fae of the royal court tend to be a bit more rigid with rules of behavior and appearance.”
He stops talking and closes his eyes for a moment, his face falling into a weary expression.
Last time he was wounded, I helped him heal with sex. This time he has Finias’s spells to assist in his recovery, and despite the teasing pinch to my nipple, he doesn’t seem to be in the mood for a quick fuck. He needs sleep.
I start to move off the bed, to leave him in peace, but he grabs my arm. “Please stay with me.”
A sweet warmth spreads through my heart. It’s a wonderful feeling to be needed in this way—not being commanded or used, but simply wanted. I lie down beside him, my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest.
Somehow, in the course of a fortnight, he became not only my dearest friend, but my gateway into a world of pleasure that I never imagined I’d be allowed to enjoy. He tricked me, yes, but he also sacrificed himself, his artistry, and his magic for me, generously and enthusiastically, over and over. He braved dangers I will never know to obtain the Wraith’s Scythe on theoff chance it could destroy my anklet. He would have died for me tonight, with perfect willingness.
If he can be so courageous, surely I can, too. I can be brave enough to say the three most dangerous words I’ve ever spoken.
I speak them softly in the quiet of the bedroom. “I love you.”
His chest rises with a quick intake of breath. “After everything I did?”
“Yes.”
When he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. “For the rest of my life, I will strive to be worthy of your love.”
Smiling, I snuggle a little closer to his body. “Youalready are.”
18
I’m not sure how long we sleep cuddled together on the bed, but when I finally wake and look down at Killian’s lower half, he has an entire new leg, bare and whole and perfect. He’s still dressed in the Prince’s nightclothes, with one leg of the pants burned away. I wonder if he can mend them when he wakes up.
Someone taps at the door, then enters. It’s Clara, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs.
Embarrassed, I start to move away from her son, but she shakes her head. “Stay where you are. Don’t mind me.”
As I settle back in beside Killian, she sets the tray down and takes a piece of paper from her pocket. She hands it to me without comment.
It’s a sketch of me and Killian, right after I hauled him through the portal, when she entered the shop and saw us. His face is agonized, and mine is a mirror of the same agony, stricken with love and fear. It’s strange seeing my own anguish from Clara’s perspective, and tears well up in my eyes at the raw emotion she managed to capture, the poignant beauty of sacrifice and despair.