Page 77 of The Midnight King
I don’t respond. Torin has done his share of questionable things, but I think this is worse. I’m not sure I can bear his judgment. Even though the girl consented to sex with me, even though she said she simply wanted to fuck andanyonewould do, I can’t shake the sense of guilt. Honesty has always been important to me, and by doing this, I am going against one of the prime tenets of my character. My dick has overruled my good sense.
“Why so glum?” Torin asks. “Was she not good?”
I choke out a laugh. “Didn’t you hear me? I said—”
“You think you’re in love,” says Torin sardonically. “I’ve heard it before, Kil. You fall hard, you’re ready to bond with someone, they reject you, and you crumble into despair. Same cycle.”
“This one is different.”
“You’ve said that about all of them.”
He’s right, I have. But with my other lovers, Iwantedthem to be the one for me, and this girl simplyisthe one.She’s mine, and I belong to her, whether she knows it or not, whether either of us want it or not.
“I can’t explain how I know,” I admit. “And I have no time to languish here, moping about it. I have work to do. A mortal kingdom to run.”
He arches a brow. “A kingdom? What have you gotten yourself into, Killian?”
I get to my feet and down the rest of the troll whiskey, shuddering at the fiery rush through my throat. “Don’t tell my parents, or yours. I’m going to fix this.”
“My darling cousin, you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares one iota about anything that happens in the mortal world,” he drawls. “Off with you. Enjoy your machinations and mysteries, while I drown myself in drink and darkness.”
I hesitate, sensing a shadow in him that I don’t normally perceive. “Are you alright?”
He flashes me a bright smile. “Always.”
I’m unconvinced, but time is short. I must fetch supplies for the spells I will have to cast, and then I must make an appearance as the King before his servants and guards begin to panic over his absence.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell Torin. “We’ll talk.”
“Gods, I hope not.” He takes another bite of his licorice stick as I walk through my portal.
4
By the end of my first full day as the King, I’m exhausted. Thanks to several mind-melding spells, I’ve managed to gain the information I need to convince everyone of my identity; and thanks to the King’s blood, my glamour has held firm. No one suspects the truth of the King’s death, and the ball is still on for tonight.
Around midday, I portaled over to my protégé’s house and used my Wretched Sight to observe some of the goings-on within. I learned that she has a stepmother and two stepsisters, all of whom treat her terribly. Whenever her stepmother commands her to do something, she cooperates immediately. Her subservience doesn’t seem to match the feisty girl I’ve begun to love. Perhaps it has something to do with that anklet she wears. But I couldn’t spare the time to observe them for long, because a king has meetings to attend and obligations to fulfill.
Apparently the King and his son also make it a point to have one meal together each day, so I’m forced to join him for dinner. Contrary to my expectations, Prince Brantley proves to be a pleasant dinner companion. He’s full of useful information, theflow of which can be directed with slight nudges to the conversation. Judging from his behavior toward me, he and his father share a mutual respect and a positive relationship, which makes my task easier.
My bodyguards, Ren and Sevir, are stationed by the wall of the dining room. Brantley’s bodyguard Winston lingers nearby as well, never taking his eyes off the Prince. There’s a warmth and affection in his gaze that I don’t miss, though the Prince doesn’t seem to be aware of it.
After the meal, I retire to my chambers under pretext of a headache, and I take the opportunity to portal home to my mother’s kitchen in Faerie. Hers is always better supplied than mine, so I’m constantly popping in whenever I need to bake something.
She and my father love baking together, and when Úna and I were children, our family spent many happy hours in the kitchen. My mother taught me how to make meals from the mortal world, and my father taught me how to infuse baked goods or candies with magic. So it’s a simple matter for me to whip up a batch of cinnamon rolls and vanilla frosting.
My mother enters the kitchen just as I’m setting one unfrosted cinnamon roll on a small plate.
“I thought I heard someone bumbling around in here,” she says, rising on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Who’s that for?”
“Someone.”
She peers at me, and I’m suddenly fearful she might see straight into my heart and perceive the deception in which I’m engaged. Guilt makes me avert my gaze from hers.
“Killian,” she says quietly. “Are you alright?”
“Of course.” I force myself to smile at her, but she immediately shakes her head.
“Oh, you can’t fool me with that smile. That’s the smile your father uses when he’s hurting and he’s trying to hide it.”