Page 32 of The Midnight King

“I’ve wondered that too. She ensnared my father with it, and he killed himself to escape. I think she was so furious about what he did that she put it on me, as a way of punishing him from beyond the grave. I doubt he ever imagined she’d do such a thing to a child.”

It’s strange, being able to talk about it aloud, but the anklet doesn’t stop me. Perhaps, because the Faerie knows my secret, he’s exempt from the rule that I can’t tell anyone.

Emboldened, I continue. “My father probably figured Gilda would look for another powerful victim. As you said, it would make more sense. But I think she was so angry with him that vengeance felt like her only recourse.”

“And she has never tried to find another man to ensnare?”

“She tried and failed for years, and then she gave up. Men in this kingdom aren’t kind to women above a certain age.”

He scoffs. “How foolish of them. Youth is fleeting, and beauty is common. Intelligence, humor, and spirit are of greater value.”

“I would agree with that. But unfortunately, beauty is what most men understand. You yourself aren’t exempt from the seduction of beauty. Though I can’t understand what you see in me, when you must have met so many beautiful Fae women.”

“In Faerie, especially in my home kingdom, we’re surrounded by pristine loveliness,” he says. “I prefer something more earthy, more carnal, less flawlessly perfect. The very appeal of humans is your mortality, your fragility. The fact that you’re so deliciously corruptible.” He turns from staring into the fire and looks at me. “You are gorgeous. Any flaws only make you more appealing.”

I swallow down a lump in my throat, fighting the tears threatening to fill my eyes. “That’s another compliment.”

“If you would let me, I would give you a thousand compliments,” he says softly. “And a thousand favors in payment.”

He’s making this so difficult. Confusing me so thoroughly that I barely know what I want anymore. Still, no matter how many sweet words he offers, he is a denizen of another realm, a servant of magic, an unknown entity whom I cannot fully trust. I’m not sure I will ever be able to trust another living soul.

What if he lures me in with his kindness, and then traps me like my stepmother trapped my father? I’m sure Gilda said wonderful things to him when they first met—wrapped him up tight in cords woven of golden words. She soothed him, seduced him, claimed him. Their courtship was quick and their marriage was sudden, and it led to disaster, both for my father and for me. I can’t allow myself to be enchanted by anyone who wields magic. I can’t break out of one prison only to climb into another.

The Faerie has been watching me with a keen look in his eyes, like he’s reading my very soul. Like he understands the thoughts passing through my mind.

He doesn’t speak any more of compliments and favors. Instead he says lightly, “What sort of dress would you like tonight? I was thinking of a gown even bigger than the others…”

“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I’m not supposed to be there tonight, so I can’t be noticed. I was hoping you could create something else for me. Something dark and sleek, with a cloak. And… some beautiful underthings.” I blush at my own request.

His gaze turns sober. “You want me to dress you in sensual attire for your secret lover?”

“Yes.”

He groans. “You realize this is traumatic for me.”

“It shouldn’t be,” I say primly. “Remember, you and I have a business arrangement, nothing more.”

“Of course. Business. Very well then.” He waves a hand at me, and all my clothes vanish. Before I can gasp or yell at him, his magic dresses me in a clinging web of black lace and thin leather straps, complete with thigh-high lace stockings and garters. He gives me a second to absorb the look, and then he flings a simple, form-fitting black dress over it all. Instead of buttons at the back, this dress has ribbons along my left side, holding it together—and making it easy to untie and remove.

The Faerie’s magic twines my blond hair into a loose braid.

“Shoes,” I remind him.

“Right.” He snaps his fingers, and black heels form around my feet, lifting me slightly. “You’re still far too eye-catching, so—the cloak, as requested.” As he speaks, a heavy, hooded cloak enshrouds me. “And black gloves, too. There you are. The perfect outfit for a clandestine meeting of lovers.”

He speaks cheerfully, but I don’t miss the twinge of pain in his eyes, despite his bright smile.

Impulsively I move toward him, but he looks away, his gaze downcast. I press my gloved hand against his cheek and turn his face to mine.

“My name is Celinda,” I tell him.

His lips part, startled pleasure replacing the pain. “Celinda.”

Hearing him say my name is even lovelier than I thought it would be. “Will you tell me your name?”

“Bold of you to ask,” he says with a playful arch of his brow. “In the past, Faeries haven’t given their true names freely, but that principle is becoming far more relaxed lately. So I’ll give you my name, if you’ll promise to use it often.”

“I will use it every time I rebuke you for something,” I say.

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