Page 85 of The Midnight King
“Because you demanded to hear my news,” I reply. “And because someone should know what happened to me, in case I don’t return. Someone will have to tell my parents, and Úna.”
Torin stares at me, his eyes fierce and bright. “Laying this burden on me is unfair. You know that.”
“I do.”
He gets up from the sofa and stalks over to a large oval mirror on the wall. For several moments he stares at himself—skin as pale as snow, lips blood-red, hair black as night, and eyes like two blue stars. His beauty seems to have become more dramatic lately, and the effect apparently pleases him, because he gives his reflection a dreadful, secretive smile before turning back to me.
“If you die, I’ll pass on your message to your family,” he says. “But if you do come back, I’ll want something in exchange for the emotional torture you’ve put me through.”
“I expected no less.”
“I want to return to Sybaris,” he says. “I left something of myself there, and I need it back.”
Frowning, I tilt my head. “Explain.”
“Maybe someday. It’s a long and sordid tale, having to do with a stolen heart and a poisoned apple. And now, cousin, you’d best be gone, before I think better of doing you this favor and decide to call for King Lir. I’ll wager he’s the only one who could interfere with your portal magic, and he will do it if I ask him to. Despite my faults, my parents are quite fond of me.”
“I’m going,” I assure him. “Tonight I will either set my darling free, or perish in the attempt. Either way, know that I love you.” I clamp a hand on his head and tousle his black hair, laughing when he knocks my hand away.
“Begone, lovesick idiot,” he grumbles. “And when you survive, remember to come back here and grant me my wish.”
“It’s a bargain.” I spit in my palm, and he does the same. As we clasp hands I sense a ripple of unfamiliar magic from him, but he pulls his hand away before I can fully explore it.
10
I know Celinda’s wicked stepmother has chained her with an entire list of commands. There’s nothing Celinda can do to stop the royal wedding, or the transference of the anklet. My plan is set and my fate determined, but I can’t shake the thought that if I had more time, perhaps I could devise an alternate way to set Celinda free. So on the morning of the wedding, I make one final attempt to circumvent the stepmother’s will, by appealing to the Prince’s handsome bodyguard, Winston.
I find Brantley and Winston in one of the parlors on the palace’s main floor, where the Prince is doing a last-minute check of the route he and his new bride will take through the city this afternoon.
Winston seems shocked when I enter the room and pull him aside. Perhaps the real King never interacted much with his son’s personal guard.
“Brantley is making a terrible mistake,” I tell Winston quietly. “You may think I’ve never noticed how much you care for him, but I have. The way he talks about you—it’s clear you’re his favorite companion, and I think you could be muchmore to him, if he would only open his eyes and see what’s so obvious to those who know him best.”
Winston swallows hard and glances across the room at the Prince. “My King, if I have ever behaved inappropriately—”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I assure him. “Your behavior has been exemplary. Perhaps it’s time to be a little less exemplary and a little more honest.” I nod toward Brantley. “Tell him how you feel.”
Winston frowns. “Your Majesty, he’s getting married in a few hours.”
“All the more reason to take a chance. What have you got to lose? I’ll come with you so he knows your confession has my full support.”
A determined desperation overtakes the bodyguard’s face, and he nods. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Over the next few minutes I bear witness to the confession—a clumsy yet heartfelt one—but there’s another witness to the impulsive kiss that follows. Celinda, passing through the hallway outside, sees Winston kiss her fiancé on the mouth.
When I smile at her, Celinda glances away immediately and continues on, surrounded by her maids and step-family. I’ve seen the horrific dress they plan to make her wear today, and inwardly I determine to correct that atrocity and make her trip down the aisle the most stunning processional anyone in this kingdom has ever witnessed.
But my creative visions of Celinda’s alternate wedding gown are disrupted by Brantley’s pained gasp as he breaks the kiss with his bodyguard.
“Winston,” the Prince exclaims, looking thoroughly shaken. “This is beyond anything I—this is mywedding day.”
“I know,” the bodyguard replies tightly. “That’s why I had to speak out. Your father encouraged me to do so.”
“Father?” Brantley looks at me, his face taut with uncertainty. “You always told me I must have a wife and produce heirs.”
“An old-fashioned notion,” I scoff. “You can adopt a child.”
“But—that isn’t what you said.” Brantley’s voice is strained. “I thought you would be furious if I—” He breaks off, spinning on his heel and stalking away.