Page 21 of The Midnight King

He follows, carrying the plate. “It will taste delicious, I promise. You won’t notice a thing. Your weariness will disappear and you’ll have energy for tonight.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m worried about you.”

His words jolt through my heart like a searing arrow. I spin around to face him, but I don’t have words to express what I’m feeling. No one has ever worried about me. Not since my father died.

I’ve been working myself too hard, and it has caught up with me. My bones ache, my muscles feel liquid, and all I wantto do is sleep for twelve hours. Yet I’m supposed to go to the palace and dance. Ihaveto go, because I must speak with the Prince again, and I must get into the library vault. There’s so much riding on this night, and I simply don’t have the strength to see it through.

My gaze drops to the cinnamon roll. “You said I won’t notice a difference?”

“I swear it. I taste like vanilla icing. Unless it’s a full moon, and then there’s a distinct peppermint flavor—”

“I don’t want to know any of that.” Steeling myself, I pick up the cinnamon roll. “It’s just vanilla frosting,” I tell myself aloud. And then I take a bite.

He’s right. It’s delicious. If I don’t think about the slight texture difference with the “icing,” I could be eating a cinnamon roll I bought at the bakery. Actually, it’s ten times more flavorful than any of Master Durson’s baked goods.

Don’t think about it, I tell myself as I take another bite.Don’t think about the fact that the handsome Faerie who’s watching you eat this cinnamon roll stroked his cock and then came all over it… Don’t wonder what his cock looks like. Don’t meet his eyes when you take your third bite—oh fuck, you licked frosting off your lips and now he looks absolutely feral. Don’t do that again.

His lean frame is rigid, every muscle tense, a ravenous light in his eyes. “How do you feel?” he asks in a stiff, strained tone.

I pause to contemplate, still chewing the last bite.

The exhaustion I felt has disappeared, replaced by a wholesome sense of strength and energy. My skin and hair feel as clean, smooth, and fresh as if I just bathed. When I glance down at my hands, my scars and calluses remain, but the redness and swelling of hard work has receded.

Best of all, my lungs are no longer tight and tired. I suppose I hadn’t realized how often they feel that way—how frequently I have to repress the urge to cough. There’s no such urge now.Whatever damage was done to my lungs has been completely reversed.

“That is amazing,” I breathe. “I feel amazing.”

He flashes a gleeful smile. “I knew you would. And now, before we move on to your dress for tonight, I’d like to try something.”

Skittishly I back away from him, bumping into the table with my hip.

He shakes his head, a touch of sadness in his gaze. “I won’t harm you. It’s nothing terrible. Please… show me your ankle. You know which one.”

Biting my lip, I pull my foot out of its battered leather slipper and hold it out to him.

He goes down on one knee and props my foot on his thigh before taking a small vial from his pocket. “This water is special in my realm. It has the power to break curses.”

A wave of dizzying hope washes over me, and I grip the table behind me for support.

With a pensive frown, the Faerie applies drops of the water to my anklet. It doesn’t react, and when he tries to remove it, nothing happens.

“Well, fuck,” he says, putting the vial away. “Now we know it isn’t cursed. You can’t tell me anything about it, or what it does?”

I shake my head.

Gently he thumbs the scars that peek out around the edges of the anklet. Then he lifts my foot and places a kiss first on my scars, then on the band itself.

The instant his lips touch the metal, he jerks back with a low cry of pain. His lips are seared black where he kissed the anklet.

“Why would you do that?” I exclaim.

“I’m trying a few things to see if I can help you,” he mutters through his wounded mouth. “Kisses have power sometimes. It’sall right, I’ll heal. Slower than usual, because there’s iron in that thing, or maybe something worse.” Gingerly he touches his lower lip, and a piece of charred skin flakes off, leaving bloody raw flesh beneath.

“Stop hurting yourself!” I order him. “Sit down, and don’t touch it anymore. Let me see it.”

He sits meekly in one of the kitchen chairs and tips his face up so I can inspect his mouth.

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