Page 33 of The Midnight King

“All the time then! Perfect. My name is Killian.”

“Killian. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.”

“Since when do you and I do anything properly?” He winks at me. “Your stepmother should be soundly asleep now. If you like, I can transport you to the palace through one of my portals.”

“You can take people with you?”

“Two living things can pass through one of my portals, yes.”

“And why have you never offered this service before, Killian?”

He grins wider, a touch of pink on his cheeks. “You never asked. And on those other nights, you needed to arrive at the palace like a normal human would. Tonight, you’re sneaking in, so a sneaky entrance seems appropriate.”

“How will I get home?”

“I’ll have a black coach waiting. When you’re ready to leave, simply stand on the palace steps, and it will come to you.”

The sheer power of the magic behind that statement boggles my mind. He talks of summoning magical carriages like it’s normal, like it’s easy. One more proof that his life and mine are vastly different, and could never becompatible.

11

Killian portals me into the back corner of the palace garden, a safe place where we’re less likely to encounter anyone who might wonder how we emerged from thin air.

Traveling by portal is simpler than I expected—like stepping through a doorway. I felt a rush of cold and a burst of sparkling magic over my body, and then I was standing in the snow-covered garden, staring at a huge silent fountain featuring a pair of stone dragons and two knights on horseback.

“I trust you can find your way from here?” Killian asks.

“I can, thank you.”

“Then I’ll be off. Busy, busy.” He creates another shimmering portal and vanishes.

I pull the warm cloak tighter around me and head down the path toward the lighted windows of the immense palace. My plan remains the same—go to the library, see if the King is there, and ask if he’s willing to continue our trysts even though he now knows I have another agenda.

Truth be told, even if he wants to help me do research again, I’m not very hopeful we’ll find a solution for my problem. MyFaerie godfather has been using all the resources at his disposal to get the anklet off me, with no luck. I doubt that a human library will provide anything Killian hasn’t already considered.

But even without the lure of the library and freedom, I would still want to see the King. And yes—it’s partly because it’s deeply flattering that the most influential man in the kingdom lusts for me. It’s a boost to my confidence, and Ideserveto feel confident, desirable, and powerful.

I encounter a fork in the garden path and debate for a few seconds before turning right. As it happens, that is the entirely wrong direction, so I retrace my steps and go left—but that path also turns away from the palace.

I don’t understand the layout of this garden at all. It’s ridiculous. There should be a straight path going from the back to the front, a route that’s easy to find and follow.

For several more minutes I wander around, convinced I can find my way and too stubborn to call Killian. The cloak, shoes, and gloves I’m wearing seem to guard against the cold better than any clothing I’ve ever worn, probably due to Fae magic, but my face is cold, and the tip of my nose is going numb. So when I encounter a greenhouse whose glass walls are steamy with warmth, I open the door and duck inside.

Humid air envelops me, so heavy with moisture and heat that I immediately remove the cloak and gloves, laying them over a small table by the door. I move deeper into the greenhouse, admiring the rows of lush potted plants. Some of the flowers are strange to me, exotic and beautiful.

As I turn a corner around a cluster of small fruit trees, I spot a man standing in the next aisle, watering a plant. He’s shirtless. Corded muscles stand out on his arm as he holds the big watering can.

I would recognize that gorgeous mane of silver hair anywhere.

Panicking, I dart behind the fruit trees, but my heel hits a stack of empty clay pots and they topple over with a clatter.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

“Who’s there?” calls the King.

I wince, but there’s nothing else for it. No way to escape.

“An assassin,” I say. And I wait for his reply.

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