Page 131 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Rahk’s spoon has paused halfway to his mouth, though his expression remains mild. He tips one eyebrow and replies, “You are in luck that I am very good at closing wardrobe doors. As for decorations, I have nothing but my tasteless male eye, so I shall leave any changes up to your discretion.”

“In that case, I shall make many changes and endeavor to horrify you with each one.”

He chokes on his spoonful of soup and coughs into his napkin. He collects himself, sipping from his wine. “And why, pray, should you endeavor to horrify me instead of please me?”

Bolstered by the subtle twinkle in his eye, I lean forward. “To prove your eye is not tasteless.”

“What a price I shall pay,” he replies dryly, “for a careless choice of words.”

I hide my smile by taking a bite. I want to think of something to say, something that will make him laugh outright. My mind turns blank. Several minutes pass, until the silence has stretched so long it would be strange to reply now.

The rest of the meal passes that way. I find that the warm pleasure inside my chest at his attention has turned to abject misery at his silence. I cannot think of a mildly clever remark or even a single question. Nothing worthy of his acknowledgement.

So I sit. I eat, and I taste nothing.

When dessert is brought out—a beautiful custard tart—I finally realize that his initial question was a way of asking about my day, and that I never asked about his.

“How was your day?” I ask, and the question comes out more painfully awkward than I could have even imagined.

“It was full,” he replies.

“A good sort of full? Or the bad sort?”

“Somewhere in between.”

“Ah.”

And that is the rest of our conversation over supper, save for a few, “Shall I pass the berry sauce?” or “Is this not delicious?”

It’s a relief when he leans back in his chair and sighs. “The first time I came to the human lands, I couldn’t decide if I liked your food or not. Now, I find it very interesting and enjoyable.”

“Oh?” I ask, hoping he’ll offer more information about his life before he came to Harbright.

“I especially like how you humans do dessert.” He pulls my chair out for me and offers me a hand. I don’t see it until it’s too late and kick myself for not looking his way faster. His stoic expression does not even flicker.

“Supper was delicious,” I say, as if he is the cook or the host of a party.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

He doesn’t move from where he stands. I realize he is waiting for me to leave first, though I do not know where he intends for me to go. I step into the hallway and then freeze, trying to decide if I ought to go read in the parlor—now that I’m not a servant—or if I should just go lock myself in my servant’s closet like last night.

I decide to get my Fool’s Circle book from my room and then return to the parlor. But once I’m halfway there, it becomes clear that Rahk isn’t going to his study as I expected, but following me to the bedroom.

It is confusion that first turns my mind blank, and then sudden panic. Is tonight to be ouractualwedding night—since last night was so . . .last night?

I do not know what that would be like. Would he kiss me then? The whole scenario feels impossible to imagine. He is by far the handsomest man I’ve ever known, and he has always treated me with kindness. I do not expect that would change. Even last night, in the heat of his anger, he sent that medicine for my wound. For those reasons, I do not think it would be a terrible experience.

It just feels like too large of a step when we cannot even sit comfortably together at supper. In many ways, it is like we are getting to know each other now for the first time.

I suppose that would be one way to get to know each other . . .

I rub my arm in discomfort. Also, he will kill me someday. That’s another complication.

I’ll just . . . follow his lead,I decide. If I become uncomfortable, I’ll tell him so. He will not touch me against my will. Of that, I am certain.

I enter the bedroom. It suddenly feels vastly confined when he steps inside behind me and shuts the door. I intended to get my book, but if I do so now, it’ll send the signal that I don’t want his attentions. Which . . . I think I do want. Maybe notallof his attentions at this very second, but some?

Not knowing what else to do, I turn around. Rahk's back is partially to me as he pulls something off the bookshelf. The rustle of my skirts catches his attention, and he looks my way.

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