Page 74 of The Midnight King
“Where are you?” I call out.
No one answers, so I inhale through my nose, trying to identify the person’s location by smell. Beneath the fragrance of the winter roses by the window, I can smell a mature human male with a rich, strong scent, but there’s another odor twined with his natural one—an odor of wrongness, of death.
I follow the scent between two rows of bookshelves to a curtained alcove with a padded bench seat—one of many reading nooks along the library’s rear wall.
On the floor in front of the alcove lies a handsome human male with a grizzled chin and silver hair. His face is purple, his eyes fixed and expressionless.
It’s the man from the hallway portrait—the King. And he’s dead. I know it even before I touch him. There’s a rank finality to the scent of his body—a bitter reek of something gone wrong, deep inside. This isn’t a death I can reverse or a wound I can heal.
My mind races through possible scenarios. If the King is discovered dead, that will certainly put an end to the night’s festivities, which means my protégé’s evening will be ruined.
That’s unacceptable to me. She deserves a night of luxury, dancing, and delight after the horrors that have plagued her life. Imay not know what all the horrors are, but I know they exist. I saw their marks on her body, and I perceived the hurt in her eyes, clear as the title of the book lying beside the King—Honorable States of Governance, Succession, and Acquisition. Godsfuck, that looks dull.
A plan forms in my mind—too quickly perhaps, but time is short. There don’t seem to be any bodyguards around, but a guest, a servant, or a guard could enter the library at any moment. I must make haste.
A quick investigation reveals that the padded seat of the reading nook can be lifted, revealing an empty compartment. All I have to do is place a preservation spell on the King and stuff him inside the bench seat. Preserving his body will create a persistent drain on my energy, but it can’t be helped. I can’t have him getting smelly and betraying his whereabouts.
Once the night is over and my protégé has had her fun, I’ll portal the King to his bed, and the servants can find his body in the morning.
It’s only a slight delay in the discovery of his death. Nothing dreadful or inexcusable.
I cast the spell, then cram his body into the compartment. It takes some maneuvering, since he is tall and broad, but at last I manage it.
As I close the bench seat, another thought occurs to me. What if people begin looking for the King? If he’s missing long enough, the palace staff will become alarmed. It’s not enough just to hide him—I need toreplacehim, temporarily. Just for tonight.
He was settled on this bench, reading. I can sit quietly and read, too—and if his bodyguards come looking for him, I can surely act the part well enough to fool them. After all, I’ve lived in proximity to royalty all my life.
To hold such a glamour for hours, I need to do a bit of blood magic. It’s a simple matter to retrieve a little blood fromthe King’s body, drawn from a shallow cut I make along his inner thigh. Using that essence, I create the glamour, cloaking myself in the King’s tangible and visible form so that I will look, feel, and smell like him. Thanks to the preservation spell I placed on his body, I can obtain more of his blood if I need it. But I don’t anticipate this ruse lasting past dawn.
I planned to shadow my protégé and observe her tonight, but unfortunately that plan will have to change. I can’t enter the ballroom glamoured as the King. There would be too many people to greet, too many acquaintances I should know. Gleaning the knowledge to successfully fool them all would require spells I don’t have time to cast. So my purpose must shift from spying on the girl to remaining here in the library, keeping the King alive, and ensuring that the ball proceeds without interruption.
I swap the dull book the King was reading with a more entertaining one, and I settle myself in the reading alcove with the curtains half-drawn. Engrossed in the book, I barely notice time passing until I hear soft footsteps in the library.
“Where are you?” murmurs a voice, and my entire body illuminates… literally. My skin is fuckingglowing, and I have to rein in the surge of emotion engendered by that voice.
Ever since I heard the girl speaking to the animals in the barn, her voice became a core memory of mine. I’d know it anywhere. But I didn’t expect my body to react so visibly to the sound.
The glow happens to me now and then, usually when I’m with my whole family and I’m feeling especially beloved, joyful, and safe among them. It has never happened with a human.
I’ve barely managed to conceal the effect when four slim fingers curl around the curtain of my alcove and draw it back.
The girl gasps a little at the sight of me. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
God-stars, she’s exquisite—even more so in that dress.
I’m smiling at her—I can’t help it. But I must remember whose face I’m wearing, and the effect it will likely have on her.
For a moment I consider telling her the truth, but she would be alarmed if I explained that the King has died and I’ve taken his place. She might even think I killed him, no matter what I say to the contrary. Her distrust of magic runs deep.
No, the best course of action is tobethe King, to carry on the ruse, even with her.
“Your Majesty.” She curtsies.
“No need for all that,” I assure her. “Who are you looking for?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Earlier, you said, ‘Where are you?’ Are you searching for someone?”