Page 113 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

The slipper lies there on the hard floor, not even slightly cracked.

In a rage, Agatha grabs both slippers and flings them into the burning fireplace. “Your mother is dead, and she isn’t coming back. Is the crushing of your little fairytale enough punishment?”

Matthew knocks quietly on the doorframe and announces, “Lord Rahk’s servant is here to inspect Lady Katherine.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes when he says the words, and the moment he finishes, he shuffles away. My whole body burns as Mary sweeps in and ushers me upstairs to my room. I think I might prefer Agatha’s rage to what I’m about to experience.

Charity is the one waiting in my room. I blink when I see her, and then a cord of tension inside me dissolves.

“Everything is going to be alright,” she says by way of greeting.

My shoulders drop. Before I can start arguing with Charity that everything will not, in fact, be alright, Mary shuts the door and brings me a robe. Always focused and efficient.

“Turn around, Mrs. Finch. I will help her undress,” Mary orders.

Charity does as requested, and I change into the robe. Once I’m ready, she silently and quickly conducts her inspection of every inch of my body, moving aside the robe as necessary. There is nothing I can do to hide my poorly stitched wound from either her or Mary, and Mary shoots me a look.

“Look what you’ve done to yourself!”that look says.

I dread the moment Charity bids me to lie down—but it never comes. Instead, she finishes quickly and gives me a pitying smile. It is the sort of smile that I would normally despise, but today I want to be pitied.

“Please,” I plead, keeping my voice no louder than a whisper, “you must ask Lord Rahk to hire Mary. My stepmother has threatened to punish her on my behalf, and I—”

Charity nods once. “I understand. I will tell him. Tomorrow morning, at dawn, I shall be back.”

She leaves me alone with Mary.

“Oh, my little sister,” Mary whispers, and then wraps me up in her tight embrace. I sob into her shoulder.

“This is so much worse than I could have imagined. I’ve failed at staying single until my twenty-first birthday. Lord Rahk will have all my fortune.”

She gives a choked laugh. “That is your first concern? Not marrying a fae? A fae with a death wish for you?”

My nose is sniffly, my cheeks wet. “Oh Mary, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She combs her fingers through my short hair. “I don’t know.”

Myweddingdaydawnswith heavy rainclouds that threaten a thunderstorm. I did not sleep a single wink—and that wasn’t even due to my tumultuous mind. Agatha ordered me to a different room without a window and locked the door so I wouldn’t escape during the night. I spend hours staring at the dark outline of that lock, wishing I’d learned how to pick it. Faerieland locks doors with spells, and human blood is an easy bypass. I haven’t had to learn to properly lock pick. It sure would have come in handy tonight though.

Charity returns. I bristle slightly, drawing my robe tighter around myself when she enters. But the cook only lifts one hand. “I don’t need to check you again. If no one has touched you since yesterday.”

I shake my head numbly.

Instead, she aids Mary’s effort to dress me in one of my nicest gowns. I am to commit the heinous social crime of re-wearing a gown, made even more odious by the fact that the event is my wedding.

“Word of your sudden nuptials have reached the queen,” Agatha says briskly, sweeping into the room as thunder rattles the walls. She holds up a piece of paper. “She has ordered that the wedding take place at the palace.”

“At the palace?” I blurt, just as Mary cinches my stays. “Wh—why?”

“Who understands the whim of a queen?” Agatha asks, throwing up her hands. “She favors you, certainly, but she does not trust or like that fae.”

Maybe the queen doesn’t believe the rumor that I would marry a fae unless she sees it unfold before her. I don’t believe it myself.

So now the small, intimate ceremony Agatha had arranged at the cathedral will no longer happen. It’ll be aneventat the palace. I would normally care. I’d probably throw a fit about it.

At this point, however, what is the use of fighting it all? I have fought hard to stop this from happening, and yet here we are. Maybe my wedding is a prophecy that I’ve fulfilled in my attempts to avoid it.

I’m just not marrying Lord Boreham.

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