Page 1 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Chapter 1

Kat

Vinestracethreateningpatternsaround my ankles as I wiggle my shoulders into the laundry chute. Of all the Fae Courts, the Nothril Court has the narrowest chutes. I curse them—and myself, for not finding an alternative option—every time I break in.

Don’t be claustrophobic, Kat. Don’t be claustrophobic,I tell myself when my hips get momentarily stuck.You’re in an enormous tunnel. Definitely not inside a tiny tube where you could totally get stuck and die before anyone found you. Or maybe youwouldbe found, and that would be even worse.

“It’s your fault, Tailor, for being the best tailor on this side of the Vale,” I mutter almost silently, my mask keeping the air around my face too warm. He’s the one who was supposed to get this last target out. I could be completing my final task of robbing the Nothril prince of his precious supply ofolleainstead—or we could even be gone already. But Princess Pelarusa decided she needed several unnecessary alterations for the gown he’d brought her. Tailor said we should count the last target as lost and leave before we’re caught.

No,I told him. I’m not leaving this place withoutallour targets.

Restraining my grunts to a minimum, I crawl on my elbows through the tight chute and slide down it half a dozen times before I grab the edges and haul myself up into open space. The vines are forced to release me as I tumble onto the dirty floor of the Nothril slaves’ laundry room. It is, as expected at this hour, utterly abandoned.

“Thank the saints,” I mutter as I peel off my cloak and hood and stuff them into the linen sack I brought. I hurry to one of the baskets of dirty clothes and hunt through as quickly as I can.There. A perfectly soiled maid’s uniform. It’s slate gray, formless, and a little too big for me—even more perfect. I pull it on over my tucked tunic and trousers. My shoes I trade for another dirty pair.

My disguise is almost complete. I cast around for something—anything. I find a roll of bandages.Yes. I unwind my braid quickly, letting my hair fall everywhere as I wrap the bandages around the back of my neck and cover as much of my face as possible. The Nothril Court abuse their slaves enough that this shouldn’t pass as anything out of the ordinary. Then, I pull my hair in front of what isn’t bandaged and hunch my shoulders to give the illusion of a terrified slave girl.

Tucking my bag under my arm, I shuffle out of the washroom and into the maze of dark, cave-like servants’ tunnels. None of the slaves in their matching uniforms, be they fae or human, give me a second glance. The tailor’s directions rattle around in my head until I reach the door into the main corridors, where I pause. There is a grate in the rock, giving me a view into the grand hallway beyond. Great pillars of carved obsidian line the ornate hall.

The echo of boots on the stone floor carries into my hiding spot. I wait until it passes, and all goes quiet.

I slip out of the door into the grand hallway, making sure to stay hunched and mousey. I come upon a table of refreshments near the wall. They seem to be remnants left from a recent celebration. The food has been picked over, leaving nothing but crumbs. There are still drinks, though. Different types of fae wine, strong enough to make a human go mad, and Faerieland’s favorite golden nectar. I march over to the table, pick up a tray, and stack a few goblets on it. Not sure how fae like their drinks, I pour a mix of both the wine and nectar into the goblets—about half of each, because that feels like a good ratio at the moment—and dust the remaining food crumbs onto the floor.

Then I grab my tray and scurry down the hallway, keeping my senses sharp. Only once do I run into a pair of Nothril guards. Monstrously tall with gleaming black armor, wickedly curved blades, and smooth helmets, they are the stuff of children’s nightmares.

They pay me no heed, and I make it to my destination with no delays.

The door is, to no one’s surprise, locked. Thankfully, since fae consider humans so beneath their notice, they overlook one of our most powerful tools: our blood. The things I have been able to unlock with a simple drop of my blood! It’s the work of a few seconds to prick my finger and unlock the door.

I’m standing in an opulent chamber. Only three sides are walled, with a grand and jagged arch carved into the fourth wall—opening out to a vast overlook of an underground black river. The furnishings are an elegant blend of raw stone and polished details. The light is a low, blue glow emanating from uncut precious stones embedded in the cave-like ceiling. I bring my lower lip between my teeth and hurry past the empty reception room into the bedchamber beyond.

There, waiting on her knees, with her head bowed, is my target.

She’s very young. Younger than me. Hair the color of raven’s feathers falls around her beautiful face. Her dress is sheer, clinging to her form. She doesn’t even look up when I enter.

My gut burns.Thisis why I wasn’t about to leave a target behind.

“What’s your name?” I whisper.

The girl’s head whips up, her startlingly vibrant green eyes meeting mine in shock before they run over my attire and the bandages covering most of my face. “Elizabeth.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

Her mouth falls open. “Ivy Mask?”

My hands are occupied with the tray, so I jerk my head for her to follow me. “We’ve got to move fast.”

She gets to her feet and we hurry back to the main chamber. I leave first, glancing around before I signal for her to follow me. We dive into the nearest entrance to the servants’ tunnels. When the door shuts and darkness envelopes us, her knees wobble. I set down the tray quickly, looping my arm in hers, and whisper, “Have courage. You will be free of the Nothril Court within the hour. Forever.”

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding, and firms her chin. Determination overtakes her features. I leave my tray behind, and we move quickly through the tunnels.

“Elizabeth!” hisses a woman’s voice when we are halfway to the escape.

The girl beside me flinches. I spin around to face the voice.

It’s a middle-aged woman in the same gray, shapeless servant’s clothes I wear. Her features are slightly sunken and pale from lack of sunlight, and yet there is something instantly warm about her. Perhaps it is the way color still lingers in the apples of her cheeks, or her slightly heavy-set frame. Her hair is a light chestnut brown, but she still reminds me of my mother. Both relief and pain unfurl from my heart at the thought.

“You’re supposed to be in Lord Nothril’s chambers,” the woman hisses at Elizabeth.

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