Page 122 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“I didn’t have another alternative.”

“None at all?”

I sigh, put down my quill. “If I did, they didn’t present themselves to my consciousness at the time of necessity. I had to protect the girl, and I couldn’t kidnap her.”

“Why did you have to protect her? She’s not your responsibility.”

I give a dry chuckle. “That is the question, isn’t it? I suppose I could have handed her over to her stepmother and washed my hands of the mess.”

“No one would have blamed you.”

I would have. I clench my jaw. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had knowingly placed Kat in danger and walked away. It’s like Pavi all over again. I’m doing things I don’t want to do because I cannot let someone I care about be hurt.

“What are you going to do with her now? Surely you won’t take her back to—”

“I will not take her to Faerieland. Whatever happens, she will stay here.”

I cannot take her with me into Faerie without creating such a scene as would rival the overthrow of the last High King. There is nothing to gain from bringing Kat to Nothril. Only many, many things to lose.

“So you will leave her here when you go—”

“I need to spend more time hunting the Ivy Mask,” I interrupt sharply, twirling my pen. “It’s been three weeks since we came, which means I only have little more than a month until Pelarusa comes to join me.”

Once she’s here, there is no way I’ll be able to get the Ivy Mask to free Pavi.

Edvear shudders at the mention of my sister. The thought of her here, in Ashbourne of Harbright, is laughable. And frightening.

“You should have more credibility with Queen Vivienne, now with Lady Vandermore as your wife,” Edvear says. “It might help solve the problem of the troll.”

I tilt the feather of my pen toward him. “Indeed. I suppose it wasn’t such a terrible idea to marry the girl after all.”

Edvear hesitates, and I brace for the question I won’t want to answer. “Do you have a better idea now for how long you plan to stay in the human lands?”

I cannot leave until I have the Ivy Mask, but even then, I might have to stay longer to finish Ash’s errand. Now that I have a wife . . .

I shake my head grimly. “I’m sorry. I do not know yet.”

He nods quietly, trying to hide his anxiety over not being able to plan.

I hand Edvear the sealed letter I’ve written. “See that this is delivered to the queen immediately.”

When he’s gone, I wipe my hand down my face. At least I haven’t married her my people’s way. That will spare me a more . . .permanentbond. A permanent bond would be the worst possible curse I could give either of us.

I get to my feet. My swords rest beneath the heavy desk, tucked away so no human will find them and fear. I pull them out and strap each one on, pulling the leather buckles tight across my chest. Their weight is familiar—a reminder of what I am. And what Katisn’t.

Still, my mind flashes back to when she tightened these buckles for me when my fingers slipped, her face upturned and concerned.

I leave my study, keeping my steps quiet, and make my way outside.

I cannot keep dallying. I need to catch the Ivy Mask. Thus far, I’ve been more passive in my search, believing that he will quickly fall into my hands with the traps I’ve set.

I’ve underestimated him. He is skilled at evasion, which has enabled him to rescue so many of our slaves. My respect for this nameless vigilante grows. Perhaps if Pavi’s life wasn’t at risk, I would enjoy savoring the hunt longer. Who knows when I’ll get such a good chase again?

Well, I’m not underestimating him anymore. I will tighten my net. One of these nights, he’s going to make a mistake. A mistake that will cost him everything.

I spread my wings. The night smells of wood and wind, strong enough that I can almost forget the constant thread of decay beneath it all. I leap into the air, flying as swiftly as I can through the night sky to the forest’s edge. There has been something niggling at the back of my mind since the Ivy Mask’s last raid. I knew the exact moment he entered the forest, and the exact moment he left—thanks to the spells I set up. The time was shockingly brief, especially since a large portion of it was spent at the kravok’s lair.

My memory of him resurfaces: a sweeping cloak meant to conceal the form of the wearer, but he wasn’t large. He was slender, neither particularly tall or short, and the ankle that I caught beneath my foot was thin boned. His mask made a sad face, stitched ivy leaves covering every inch of it save for the eye slits—slits that were so thin I couldn’t even glimpse the color of his irises.

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