Page 153 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Mary senses my jitters, but nothing makes me stop fidgeting with the laced edges of my bodice. Not even the whack of a folded fan against my knuckles and Mary’s glare. I cannot appreciate the beauty of the violet gown with its exquisite pearl detailing. It’s a shame, truly, because Bridget would have killed to wear a gown like this.

Rahk’s footsteps approach in the hallway beyond the closed door. Instead of knocking, he calls, “Are you ready?”

Mary struggles to pin back the wisps of hair coming free of my updo.

“Almost!” I call back, my voice pitched high.

Mary finishes her work, looks me up and down with her shrewd eye, and then purses her lips. She looks like she has something to say, but she keeps her mouth firmly closed and leaves the room.

I stand before the mirror. Mary has done well—as always. Her skills, however, cannot overcome just how uncomfortable I look in this mirror.

“May I come in?”

My heart leaps to my throat. I glance around desperately, though for what, I haven’t a clue. I’ve nevertriedto be pretty for Rahk before. Not like this. It is strangely vulnerable. I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I smooth my hands down the front of my bodice. “Y-yes.”

The door creaks when he opens it. My breath catches slightly at the sight of him, immediately forgetting myself. His tailored suit, which I picked out for him, fits perfectly, his tied-back hair emphasizing the beautiful cut of his cheekbones. He is dashing and handsome and more perfect than I could have imagined.

Then I realize that he is likewise taking me in, his gaze slowly traveling over me as I try not to fidget where I stand.

“You’d better like how I look,” I say before I can think better of it. “Because I’m afraid this is as good as it gets, unfortunately.”

A twinkle of amusement enters his irises. “If you are asking whether I prefer you dressed as a woman or a young boy, I do prefer you dressed as a woman. I can admire your figure better this way.”

I’m not sure he could have said anything more shocking to me in that moment. I sputter, unable to think of a reply, and a second shocking thing happens: I realize I am delighted by his statement. “Um . . . well . . . excellent,” I babble. My hands scramble over the dresser, knocking aside the rouge Mary used on my cheeks, until I grab my reticule and slip the loop over my wrist. “Is the carriage ready? We should leave at once. The sun is about to set, and I don’t want—”

He catches my hand as I try to swish past him. I turn around just as he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but there’s something so forceful about the way he looks at me while his mouth presses against my knuckles that makes this moment feel far more intimate than anything else.

“You are beautiful, Kat. I’ve always thought so,” he murmurs.

“From the beginning?” I blurt. “When I was a boy? You’re lying.”

That one eyebrow of his turns crooked. “If you were a fae and could smell lies, you would know I am not.”

I swallow. “Oh. Well, as I’m not fae, that isn’t verifiable, so . . .”

He smiles and pulls something from behind his back I didn’t realize he was holding. It’s a box.

“Is this another gift?” I protest. “Rahk, I cannot—”

“Hush. This is part of a game.”

“A game?” I perk up immediately. The box at once reminds me of my slippers. Did he . . .?

“I will give you this on the condition that youmustwear the contents to tonight’s ball.”

Itisthe slippers! My grin escapes my guard, and I nod. I shouldn’t keep accepting his gifts, but my fingers shake to hold this remnant of my mother again.

He hands me the box. I take it and rip off the cover. There are Mama’s slippers, shining and gleaming like new. It’s like my whole body fills to the brim with something shining and rich. I pull them out of their wrappings, kick off my own slippers unceremoniously, and bend down to put them on. Rahk gets down on one knee, surprising me with his intention to place them on my feet himself. He stops my misbalanced, awkward attempts and instead gently grips my ankles one by one, sliding the beautiful slippers into place.

“They’re perfect! Thank you!” I lift my skirts enough to show off the glittering glass that catches the evening light. It’s not exactly amodestthing to do, but he’s fae, and has proven that he is not easily scandalized.

He smiles as he surveys them, and then flicks his gaze up to mine. “They belonged to your mother, but they were made for you.”

“I never would have thought they would fit me so perfectly.” I take a few trial steps. They’re even more comfortable than my previous slippers—which I never would have guessed from them being made of glass.

Rahk picks up the box I have left discarded on the bed and hands it back to me, nodding toward it when I look at him in confusion. “You agreed to wear everything in the box.”

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