Page 5 of The Midnight King

I sleep only three or four hours a night, and I barely have time to swallow a few bites of food at meals.

Tomorrow night is the first ball, and I don’t think I’d have the energy to attend, even if I were allowed to. I can feel my body breaking down from lack of rest and nutrition. My stepfamily is using me up, spending me like coin, and they don’t care if I die. It’s foolish of them, because if this destroys me, they’ll have no one to do their work. Although I suppose if I dropped dead, Gilda would simply find someone else to wear the anklet.

And then it hits me, as I’m brushing Vashli’s dance slippers. A solution so neat and so perfect that I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.

I leap up immediately and rush to the study, where Gilda is sitting at my father’s desk, poring over the family accounts.

“Suppose one of your daughters catches the eye of the Crown Prince and marries him,” I say breathlessly. “You’d want to removethisfrom me and place it on the Prince, wouldn’t you?” I point to my right ankle, where the anklet lies concealed beneath my woolen stockings.

Gilda looks up at me, her mouth grim but her eyes full of interest.

“You would effectively control the entire kingdom,” I say. “Imagine it. What if I go along with the girls to the ball as your spy? I’ll find information that you can leverage to ensure that the Prince chooses one of your daughters. I’ll coach them on what to say to catch his attention. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that when he selects a bride, it’s Amisa or Vashli.”

She sets down her pen and laces her fingers together, regarding me with an intensity that speeds up my heart rate even more and shortens my breath. I have to fight the sudden urge to cough.

“I’m smart, quick, and capable, more so than your daughters,” I say. “You know it’s true. I can help them. I can make this happen. And if I do, on your daughter’s wedding night, you’ll remove the anklet from me and put it on the Crown Prince. I’ll be free, and you will have more power than you ever dreamed of.”

“I’ve already considered the implications of a royal wedding,” says Gilda. “But you’re very bold to assume I need your help. Tell me, Cinders… how exactly do you plan to get close enough to the Prince to glean any useful information? How will you find thisleveragethat I can use? How willyou, who have never been with a man, teach my daughters to charm theCrown Prince?” She chuckles darkly. “Forgive me if I don’t see this vision of yours very clearly.”

“One chance,” I say. “That’s all I’m asking. One night, and if I don’t return with useful information, you’ll punish me for my failure.”

“Indeed I will.” She smiles, as if she finds the prospect pleasing. “Very well. You may attend the ball tomorrow. Find one of Amisa’s old gowns to wear—Vashli’s will be too large for your bony little body. But Cinders, hear me when I say that if you do anything disloyal, or if you return without any useful leverage, I will sell your virgin pussy to the highest bidder I can find. And this time I mean it. I already have a lead on a duke who likes his women blond, slender, and untouched. He’s a very private man, and he would pay well for a night with you, I have no doubt.”

“Then we have a bargain?” I try to keep my voice from trembling.

“Secure a marriage to the Prince for one of my daughters, and I will set you free,” she replies.

There’s a glint in her eye when she says it. I don’t doubt that when she promises to set me free, she’s really planning to kill me. But she needs to think that I believe her, that I trust her to fulfill her promise. Meanwhile I’ll be searching the royal library for my own path to freedom. And if by chance she does keep her word, I’ll happily yield control of the entire kingdom to my wicked stepmother if it means I can run away and never see her again.

Maybe that makes me a terrible person.

My governess told me once that there are no terrible people, just desperate ones. But I believe some people, like my stepmother, are already wicked, whether by nature or nurture. Desperation only makes them worse.

It won’t be easy to fulfill my bargain with my stepmotheranddo my research on magical objects, but it’s better than staying in this house, wasting away to nothing.

I bob a curtsy to Gilda and hurry out of the study before she can reconsider. I just have a few more pairs of shoes to brush, and then I need to find a suitable dress, one that I can turn into something halfway decent by tomorrow afternoon.

Late that night, I sew for hours, stitching on ribbons and lace, closing ripped seams, replacing buttons. My eyelids feel itchy and puffy. My fingertips are sore from pushing the needle in and out, in and out.

I finish a seam, knot the thread, and bite it off. Then I stand up and shake out the dress so I can see the result.

It’s not my best work, partly because I was only allowed to use castoff trimmings. A dreadful certainty coils in my stomach that when I step into the palace, I will realize just how pathetic I look compared to everyone else. The one advantage is that I’ll be easy to overlook, which could play in my favor.

After draping the dress across the table, I plop down onto the kitchen chair again and rub my eyes. Then I lean over, my arms folded on the table and my head resting on them. I’m only going to close my eyes for a moment…

Something thumps onto the tabletop. Instinctively I know that it’s a cat landing near my head, but the sound is more muffled than it should be.

I’m wide awake in an instant, shooting upright in alarm—but it’s too late.

Sophie has landed right on my dress, her claws pricking the delicate fabric. And as I watch, horrified, she drops a bloodied mouse carcass onto the lace I painstakingly sewed to the bodice. Then she begins kneading the gown enthusiastically with both paws, immensely pleased with herself.

I want to scream. I want to throw her and the mouse off my dress and fling them against the wall—

But I don’t. Because this is Sophie loving me, in her misguided, pompous, feline way, and I can’t bear the thought of returning such love with cruelty. Not when love is so rare in my world.

Gently I pluck the mouse off the lace, cringing at the bloodstain it leaves behind. “You caught a mouse?” I praise Sophie, my voice strained and weary. “Such a good girl.” I pick her up, giant fluffy monster that she is, and her claws stick in the satin right before she lets go, creating tiny imperfections I can’t repair.

I bury my face in her soft fur, not wanting to see the ruin of my work. She lets me cuddle her for about five seconds. Then she squirms and leaps out of my arms, only to shake herself and pace grandly off into another room.

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