Page 80 of The Midnight King
“Thank you.” I bound out of the room and up the stairs to my parents’ room.
My father is lying on his stomach on the bed, sucking a lollipop and reading a gigantic book. His dragonfly wings wave gently in the air. “Killian! What a delightful surprise.”
“I’m here to… um…” I clear my throat. “I need to borrow a dress.”
“Planning to wear it?” he asks casually. “No judgment if that’s your pleasure. I won’t lie, I’ve worn a dress for Clara before.”
“God-stars, please don’t,” I say despairingly. “How many times have Úna and I asked you not to tell us about your sex life?”
“About a million.” He grins, every sharp tooth showing.
I shake my head, open my mother’s closet, and sort through the dresses on the far right, selecting a turquoise gown that looks perfect for Celinda.
“Good choice,” says my father.
After a moment’s consideration, I pose a question that has been gnawing at my mind. “Remember when I vowed before the god-stars that I would never kill a human being?”
His face sobers. “I remember.”
“Is it true that if I break that vow, I might die?”
“It is absolutely true.” He looks very stern now, and deeply concerned. “Don’t break it. If you need someone killed, I’ll do it. Or your mother will.”
“No, it’s not… that is, there are other risks involved.” I chew my lip, wondering if I should tell him everything. But he has solved so many problems for me throughout my life, and my pride won’t let me yield this one to him. I’m ashamed of the mess I’ve made, and I’m equally determined to get through it on my own, no matter how painful or confusing it may be. “I have it under control.”
His yellow eyes narrow, unconvinced. “Do what you must, but come to me if you need my help.”
I step through a portal abruptly, without replying. Unkind of me, perhaps, but I find it increasingly hard to look to him for assistance. He’s far more powerful and capable than I am, while at the same time being unpredictable, sarcastic, and rather Unseelie in his methods. I have no idea how he would respond if I told him everything, or if he would understand the weight of guilt I carry over the lie I’m living.
I leave the dress for Celinda and return to the palace. Ever since the Prince commented on my altered behavior during our conversation in the greenhouse, I have decided I must do a better job of governing until such time as the King’s demise can be revealed.
Guiding an entire kingdom is a far more complex task than I could have imagined. With each passing hour and each fresh realization of the multi-layered problems the country faces, I gain a new appreciation for my uncle Lirannon and his role asHigh King—although possessing magic and a bevy of skilled advisors lightens his burden quite a bit, I’d imagine.
As the interim King of this mortal land, I can’t employ magic except in the most subtle and imperceptible of ways. Besides which, I have to conserve my energy to maintain my glamour, while also saving some energy for whatever Celinda might need. Since I gifted her my mother’s gown, I won’t have to make her a dress for the fourth ball, but I plan to check in with her at the usual time, once her family has left the house.
I become so immersed in the work of governance that I barely notice the hours slipping by. I’m poring over a border map when I feel an insistent buzz through my body, the unmistakable sign of a summons. Each object I’ve charmed has its own energy signature, which I can recognize after the first summons, so I know immediately it’s Celinda’s watch calling me. As if that weren’t enough confirmation, I hear her pained whisper in my head:Killian, please.
When I search her location with my Wretched Sight, I realize she’s not at home. She’s already on the palace grounds, outside in the cold, shrinking in the shadow of a huge topiary.
I shoo my servants and bodyguards out of the study, close the door, and drop my kingly glamour before portaling to Celinda on the snowy front lawn of the palace.
A rank stench fills my sensitive nostrils as I approach her, but it barely registers because I can also smell blood.
“Celinda?” I walk faster.
She drops the cloak she’s wearing, and I can see it all—her beautiful skin, chafed raw and bloody. The gown I gave her, torn and tattered.
Someone has hurt her… or forced her to harm herself.
“Oh fuck,” I breathe between clenched teeth. I want to hug her, to comfort her, but she shrinks, cautious of her injuries, and I redirect my emotion into fury. “I’ll fucking kill that woman.”
“You can’t, and you know it,” Celinda says. “Just help me, please.”
Again that soft, broken plea. I’m furious and torn and wretched inside, agonized on her behalf, but her request refocuses my thoughts, gives me something useful to do.
I dispel the foul odor, mend the dress, and add additional touches of artistry, like a pair of glittering dragonfly wings that make Celinda look beautifully Fae. The wings resemble those of my sister and my father. With them, I mark her as mine. Part ofmyfamily, since hers has rejected her.
She’s still in pain, though. I could heal her with one of my father’s candies, but if I return to fetch one now, my father might there, and he’ll have questions I’m not ready to answer. If Celinda will let me, I’d rather be the instrument of her recovery.