Page 8 of The Midnight King

“No shit.”

“Now that I’m here, I’d like to help you. Name your request.”

I open my mouth to tell him about the anklet—and find my tongue bound by the command of my stepmother. She has forbidden me to reveal that secret to anyone. The harder my will presses against the force of her command, the more painfully the anklet burns against my skin.

My mind works swiftly, seeking an alternate route to the freedom I want. The Faerie mended his clothes flawlessly—perhaps he could mend my dress as well. That way I could still attend the ball tonight and seek out the information I need from the library, as well as pursuing the interests of my stepmother.

“You said the watch calls you three times?” I ask.

“Indeed.”

“And I can request something each time?”

“Yes.”

“Then my first request is this—come back tonight, around half past seven. My stepsisters will have left for the ball by then, and if I know my stepmother, she’ll escort them right to the steps of the palace and then find somewhere to drink and gossip before returning home. So I’ll be alone here, and no one will see you.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“When you return tonight, you will repair my damaged dress so I can attend the Prince’s ball. He’s hosting five fancy parties so he can choose his bride from among the eligible young ladies of the land.” My voice twists with caustic judgment at the extreme privilege of the Prince, but the Faerie doesn’t seem to notice.

His lavender eyes brighten until they nearly glow. “A ball? I do love a ball. So you wish to charm and wed the Prince?”

“Oh, no,” I exclaim. “I’m not looking for a husband for myself.”

“Then I fail to see how attending the ball will solve the troubles that made you weep over your father’s watch.”

I can’t stand the look of fascinated pity in his eyes when he gazes at me. My whole body stiffens with rebellious pride and barely suppressed anger, and my tone turns sardonic. “I was crying because a cat damaged my party dress.”

I imagined that excuse would make him view me with disdain, but instead, his eyes soften still more.

“Those were not the tears of a spoiled girl,” he says gently. “I felt your pain through the spell that connects me to the watch. You were in agony—deep agony of the soul.”

“Your magic is wrong,” I retort. “I have no soul. Now begone, and return tonight to fix my dress. Don’t be late.”

He gives me an amused smile. “Don’t worry. I’m never late.”

4

At almost half past seven, I’m pacing the floor of the sitting room, anxiously awaiting my Faerie godfather’s arrival.

As I expected, my stepmother accompanied her daughters into the city and plans to amuse herself elsewhere while they’re at the ball. She never misses an opportunity to ingratiate herself into the upper levels of society, and she managed to secure an invitation to a gathering of wealthy ladies about her age, all of whom are just as rabidly eager for their daughters to secure a match to the Crown Prince. No doubt the gathering will be a bloodbath of razor smiles, cutting glances, and vicious words spoken over cups of tea. Or perhaps there will be gambling instead of gossip, and wine instead of tea.

This afternoon, I told my stepmother I didn’t feel well, that my dress wasn’t ready, and that I wouldn’t be attending the ball after all. She smirked, as if she suspected I would back out of the bargain we made, which piqued my pride. Even though she seemed willing to go along with my scheme, on the off chance I might be useful in forwarding her daughters’ interests, she’s clearly not confident in my ability to fulfill my part of the deal.

The clock strikes once to mark the half hour. As I turn on my heel to pace back across the room, I realize with a jolt that my Faerie godfather is sitting on the sofa. He looks utterly at ease, legs crossed and shoulders relaxed.

“There you are,” I say sharply.

“Startled you again, did I?” He grins.

“You did not. I was expecting you.”

“And where is the party dress I’m supposed to mend?”

It’s directly in his line of sight, draped over the other sofa. I point to it.

“Oh god-stars.That?” He raises an eyebrow, and his lip curls disdainfully.

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