Page 121 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I move a few of the blunt strands of hair out of my face. “Forgive me. I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” She sits down on the edge of the bed and passes me a hot cup of tea on a warm saucer. “Drink this.”

The tea is spiced and rich, and warmth blooms in my gut with each sip. I drink it slowly. She has taken some small jar, unscrewed the lid, and mixed the contents with a small spoon.

“Your left leg, please.”

I oblige her, sticking out my wounded leg and lifting my skirt enough for her to see the extent of the gash.

“I’ve never used this before,” says Charity, peering into the jar and eyeing the consistency. “It’s some special fae medicine. The master bid me bring it to you.”

“He did?” The words are out before I can stop them. Emotion clogs my throat. “Oh, Charity, what am I to do? I came here toavoidgetting married!”

She sets down the jar and gives my foot a gentle squeeze before applying the salve. It’s cold on my skin. But even as she starts applying the second dab, the first part of the wound is already tingling pleasantly. “Marriage is full of trials and travails, even when you enter into it voluntarily.”

I snort dryly. “I suppose that doesn’t leave much hope for those of us who don’t have the privilege to enter it voluntarily.”

“That is the funny thing about marriage,” she says, smiling in the dimness. “I’ve seen those madly in love with each other end up unhappy only a few years in, while others who married for practical reasons have the sweetest relationship that lasts long beyond the grave.”

“So marriage is a gamble. You take it, thinking it’ll increase your chance of happiness when it is just as likely to only increase your misery.”

She pauses her application of my ointment. “My dear, you are too young for such cynicism.”

She says it with such kindness, my welling tears nearly make it past my guard. The lid goes back on the jar with a satisfying roll. She gets off the bed to retrieve a fresh roll of linen bandages.

“What makes marriage challenging,” she says, gently wrapping my wound, “is that both parties must be equally committed. If only one party is committed, you will have such a recipe for heartache and unhappiness. Equally destructive are two apathetic parties. But where there are two people who are committed to working through every little thing, to being strong where the other is weak, to receiving the goodness the other has to offer—there will always be, if nothing else, deep and mutual respect. I was married to my husband ten years before he died. We did not know each other well before the wedding, but we grew to love each other deeply. I have never known a better man.”

“I’m sorry you lost him,” I say quietly. I rub my arms, and the teacup in my hand clatters on its saucer. This is a nice sentiment and all, and I know Charity means every word, but the last priority on my mind is making thismarriagewith Rahk work. My biggest priority is finding a way to survive and keep rescuing humans from Faerieland.

It just feels like there is only one inevitable outcome for this marriage: that it will end with my death, at Rahk’s hand. I don’t see how there can be an alternative. Now that I no longer have a claim on my own fortune, I cannot even run away and settle elsewhere.

Charity takes my empty cup and saucer, freeing my hands to wind up in my bedspread. “Get some sleep, my lady. I probably shouldn’t let you stay in this servant’s chamber, but I think it’ll be fine for tonight.”

I flop under the covers with a groan. “If he doesn’t want me here, he’ll have to drag me out himself.”

She gives a light laugh, blows out her candle, and shuts the door.

I wait several minutes after her footsteps fade away. Then I fling off my covers, hurry to my dresser, and change swiftly into trousers, a dark tunic, and my coat. All parts of Nat’s uniform, but that cannot be helped as it seems my clothes have not been delivered yet from Vandermore Manor.

Finally, I push open the window and climb out into the night.

Chapter 36

Rahk

Once,Itoldmyold friend Ash, right before his wedding night with his new human bride, that he didn’t need to be nervous—he just had to be sweet to the poor girl. I’m not taking my own advice very well, now am I?

I rub my sore temples. I’m trying to wean off myolleaand adjust to the scents of the human world, if that is even possible. The result is a constant headache.

A knock at the door. “Master Rahk?”

“Come in, Edvear.”

He comes in, wringing his hands. I go back to scribbling away at the letter I’m writing to Queen Vivienne.

“You think me foolish,” I say when he shuts the door.

“It seems . . . sudden,” he replies, somewhat diplomatically.

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