Page 71 of The Midnight King

For a moment I simply watch her. It’s a pleasure to observe her interacting with the beasts. She seems like a gentle soul.

She milks one of the cows, then inspects another cow, touching its flank where a wound festers. “That looks painful, sweet thing,” she murmurs. “We’ll have to get the farrier out here to look at you. Not sure where we’ll find the money to pay him, but…”

I can’t bear the ache in her voice, the strain of worry and deprivation. Now is the perfect moment to introduce myself and allay those worries.

“If you’ll allow me,” I say quietly, stepping forward.

The girl startles visibly, covering her mouth, but she doesn’t scream. “What the actual fuck?”

Her voice is sharper now, almost caustic, and her body goes rigid with defensiveness and suspicion.

I chuckle at the dramatic shift in her personality. “I always try to avoid startling people, but I rarely succeed. Mortals can be so terribly jumpy. You’re doing very well though. You haven’t screamed yet, so…”

I stretch out my hand toward the cow, intending to heal it, but the girl grabs a pitchfork and pokes it at me. The sharp tines slash my clothing and scrape against my skin.

Well then. She has far more spirit and fire than I first gave her credit for. My cock stirs slightly at the sight of her poised there, pitchfork at the ready and blue eyes afire. She is definitely prepared to impale me.

It takes a few careful words and a demonstration of my magic to ease her fears a little. During the conversation that follows, I try to ignore my body’s reaction to her, determined to focus solely on why I’ve been summoned. She’s in trouble, but she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me everything. Instead, she asks to attend a royal ball.

My mind begins to whirl instantly, playing through various colors that might complement her skin tone, designing the mostfabulous gowns I can imagine. This job is going to be delightful. Not only do I have the loveliest of subjects, but she wishes me to do what I do best—design clothing for her. I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect task to pull me out of the rut I’ve been in lately.

That’s what I’ll fix my mind on—the creative element of the mission. Not the fact that this girl is violently angry and in excruciating emotional pain. Not the fact that the more savagely she speaks to me, the more I want to pull her close and kiss her until she melts—or, if she prefers, allow her to spend her rage on my body through a brutal fucking.

Torin would applaud such lecherous thoughts. “So proud of you,” he would croon.

But I am a being of great power, in proximity to a desperate young woman. I’m not above flirting shamelessly with her, but I won’t fuck her unless she conceives of the idea and suggests it herself.

When I return to the crystal mine, I don’t go inside. Instead I wander the woods until dawn arrives, and then I enter the cavern, pluck Torin’s sleeping body out of the nest of naked Fae he has made for himself, and carry him home.

2

The girl doesn’t want to kiss me. She barely pecks at my mouth, and I have to persuade her to yield to a proper kiss, which is necessary to seal our bargain. Faeries operate through systems of bartering and exchange, particularly when dealing with humans. It’s our nature.

She hasn’t been kissed before. And yet, once she yields a little, kissing comes naturally to her. I can sense the awakening of her body, her eagerness to enjoy the pleasure of my mouth as long as possible. She speaks to me with every swirl of her tongue, begs for more with her quickened breath. When I slip my tongue into her mouth, my brain bursts into a tempest of stars and whirls away into a dazzling void where nothing exists but the two of us.

I could kiss her forever. I’ve never had that thought about anyone else.

I pull back, determined to focus on the task at hand. “There. A proper exchange has been made, and the bargain is struck. Now take off your clothes.”

She recoils. “What?”

“I could take them off you with magic, but I thought that might be rather rude. Wouldn’t you prefer to do it yourself?”

“And why would I undress for you?” She sidesteps, casting a glance at the iron poker beside the fireplace. I suppress a grin at her audacity, to assume she would stand a chance against someone with my Fae strength and magic.

“I need to see your body, so I can create the right look for you,” I tell her. “This shapeless sack you’re wearing conceals your form.”

“It’s not a shapeless sack,” she snaps. “I’m not comfortable undressing for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“A man—a male—who is very…” She blushes fiercely.

She thinks I’m beautiful. Of course she does—the Fae are all beautiful. Some part of me sinks a little at the realization that if she ever did crave me, it would be because of my immortal loveliness, not my heart or my mind.

Perhaps another face would allow her to like me for myself.

I try on various glamours for her, but she claims to be most comfortable with my true form.

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