Page 82 of The Midnight King
Finias opens the jar, removes a ball of chocolate studded with peppermint chips, and presses it into my palm. “Be careful. Love is a wicked and wonderful thing.”
“I’m careful.”
“And do me a favor… don’t portal directly into the shop from now on. Otherwise the defensive charms detect a surge of powerful magic, and I have to investigate immediately before the perpetrator is automatically annihilated.” He grins cheerfully with all his sharp teeth. “I’d hate to lose you.”
“No shit,” I mutter.
He laughs and saunters out of the shop, on his way back to Clara. I put the spell in my pocket and head into the foyer of the house, intending to create a portal from there… but before I can do so, someone raps on the door.
Not wanting to disturb my parents yet again, I open the door myself and discover Torin standing on the doorstep, his shoulders slouched and his hands in his pockets, looking particularly morose.
“Fuck you, Kil,” he growls. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You haven’t come by in ages. What’s going on with your protégé? I’m starved for news.”
“Are you alright?” I frown, noting the clammy pallor of his skin. “Are you ill again?”
“No,” he snarls. “I’m goddamn bored. Ever since you met that pretty little victim of yours, we haven’t gone anywhere interesting together. I swear I shall die if I have to languish in that palace one more day.”
“Victim?” I exclaim. “She’s not my victim, Torin. And there are plenty of ways for you to travel elsewhere if the palace is not to your liking. I’ve been busy ruling a kingdom and—”
“And fucking the girl.” He snorts. “She must be good. God-stars, I need a really remarkable fuck. I had a halfway decent chambermaid yesterday, and a young lord the day before that, but neither was worth remembering. Are you going to invite me in? You must tell me everything about your life. It’s far more interesting than mine is at present.”
I glance over my shoulder. “My parents are… busy. If we step outside I can talk for a moment, but then I must go.”
“A moment is better than nothing.” He smiles, but his blue eyes remain shadowed.
I should probe deeper, find out what’s troubling him. But there are so many troubles crowding my mind that I fear I don’t have room for more. He has other people in whom he can confide, surely. And if his distress continues, I can turn my full attention to him once the situation with Celinda’s anklet is resolved… after I’ve figured out how to save her.
7
I appear at the fourth ball as a human version of myself, recognizable to Celinda, but not so Fae in appearance that I attract attention from anyone else. My sole purpose is to get the spelled candy into her hand—and yet I find myself lingering, loath to relinquish the bliss of dancing with her.
Celinda’s fingers slip between mine like we were crafted to fit together. The shift and sway of her body is the sweetest torture, and when she looks at me, breathless, bright-eyed, and expectant, like she wants me to kiss her right there on the dance floor, I nearly go mad with happiness.
I hold her for a few exquisite moments, and then I give her the candy and let her go.
Once I’m in the adjoining hallway, I become the King again and proceed to my chambers, where I let it be known to my guards and servants that I’m retiring for the night and may not rise early in the morning. There is something I must do in Faerie, and I’m not sure how long it will take.
My love for my protégé requires that I leave no stone unturned, no avenue unexplored if it might lead to her freedom.I’ve exhausted all the artifacts and spells I could lay my hands on, and it’s time to face the fact that the Wraith’s Scythe might be Celinda’s last chance. There is plenty of lore in Faerie about its ability to cleave anything asunder, including objects infused with the darkest of magic.
But according to what I’ve learned since Celinda first mentioned it to me, the scythe is located in Wight’s Marsh, in a distant corner of the Unseelie Kingdom, a region beyond the reach of the treaty between the Seelie and Unseelie monarchs. From my current position in the mortal world, I can perceive the general area, but I can’t see anything distinctly, nor can I determine the exact location of the scythe. My Wretched Sight isn’t much help when it comes to finding specific objects or locating people with whom I’m not magically connected or blood-related.
With a sigh, I portal to my cottage in Faerie and open the closet where I keep a couple of swords, an ax, and a whip. I’m not much of a fighter, but life in Faerie demands a certain familiarity with weapons. I choose the whip, which is similar to the one my mother wields. It’s shorter than hers, and tends to be less reliable. In fact, I could swear it has a mind of its own.
“Are you going to behave for me this time?” I mutter as I coil it up and attach it to my belt. It pulses bright green in response. I don’t know if that’s ayesor not.
I could bring one of the swords, I suppose, but I’m not much good with them. Torin is the swordsman of the family—a born fighter. Takes after both his parents in that respect.
There’s nothing else for it but to portal to Wight’s Marsh and hope for the best.
8
Hoping for the best did fuck-all. I got chewed to the bone by marsh-wights, and I lost my whip—though I did manage to get my hands on the Wraith’s Scythe.
After everything I went through to retrieve the weapon for Celinda, watching it fail against the anklet drains the last dregs of hope from my heart… a heart which is beating, raw and exposed, through the cage of my gnawed rib-bones as I lie on Celinda’s cot in the cellar.
There’s one bright spot in the torment: Celinda is beside herself with concern for me. By some miracle of the god-stars, shekissesme. Not for a bargain, but because shewantsto. And then, when she finds out that sex can speed the healing process, she climbs on my cock… because she cares about me.
At least that’s what I hope and believe, until it’s over and she says casually that she was happy to do me a favor. Apparently she didn’t sense the soaring bliss between us, the beautiful connection of her soul and mine during sex. She simply needed me on my feet in good condition, so I could prepare herfor the next ball. That was her only purpose in fucking me, and that knowledge hurts worse than the marsh-wights’ teeth.