Page 166 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I curse under my breath. Queen Vivienne is not the true ruler—she is the regent. I did not think that distinction mattered. Apparently, it does, and Ymer’s connection to the land he has been squatting on tells him the truth. Only the young Prince Lionel can bid Ymer to leave.

Ymer makes a lunge toward the queen, but she is already retreating. Her face is a mask of fury, and I can almost see her thinking,“I knew that fae was trying to trick me to get me killed!”

There is no circumstance now where she will trust me enough to bring her only son out here.

The company of men amass around the queen. Ymer roars at her, but does not pursue as they turn and make their quick getaway. I flex my grip on my sword’s hilt. If the rest of the queen’s forces attack Ymer, I will be forced to intervene. No matter how much I’d rather foist the fallout of this on Ash instead of dealing with it myself.

To my great relief, they do not attack. The warriors move in defensive patterns, covering the queen’s route of escape. I wait until they are all gone. His back to me, Ymer plops onto the ground with a force that makes the entire valley shiver.

My shoulders relax. I sheathe my sword and stride toward the Wood for my second task of the day. A stray thought occurs to me:If I am quick, will I be able to return to Kat before she goes to sleep tonight?I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but it does quicken my step.

I expect to spend many hours traveling from Court to Court, but when I reach the Star City, with its great spires that pierce the purple skies, my plans are cut short by news better than I could have hoped for.

“The Valehaven tailor arrived this morning,” the city steward tells me at the entrance to the palace.

“This morning?” I repeat.

“Indeed. He is delivering an order for the Starborn Prince.”

I nod, hardly believing my good fortune. Still, part of me sinks. I won’t be back tonight to see Kat. “In that case, I’ll stay awhile.”

Chapter 52

Kat

“You’resureitisn’ttoo dangerous?” whispers Mary as I dress in my usual Ivy Mask uniform.

“Rahk is gone, and Edvear said he’s with Lord Oliver until late. I couldn’t have asked for better fortune.” I finish stuffing the last things I need into my satchel. I smear the bottom of my boots withollea. Only a few drops remain. Not enough for the rest of this raidandthe Nothril raid, but I’m cooking up an alternative. “Since I don’t know when he’ll be back, you’ll need to be ready to help me change as quickly as possible.”

She balances the small basket on her hip with everything we will need to transform me back into Lady Katherine, including night clothes, perfumed lotion to hide any scent of Faerieland, and a hidden wound kit in case things go wrong again. She tries not to let her worry show on her face. “I’ll be in the kitchen waiting.”

I kiss her on the cheek before scrambling out of the window. My leg is fully healed by now except for a white, puckered scar. Rahk’s salve was truly magic. Now more than ever, I’m grateful to not bear the weight of an injury.

And this time, I have Bartholomew too.

I thought long and hard about whether I should risk taking such an identifying animal. In the end, I decide that the speed she will lend me is worth it. I sneak into the stable while Clifford is eating dinner and hurry to Bartholomew’s stall. She nickers happily and flicks her tail when she sees me.

“You ready for an adventure, pretty girl?” I whisper to her. She nibbles my cloak in reply as I applyolleato each of her shoes.

Once we’re riding together through the fields out to Caphryl Wood, I let myself acknowledge the fears I refused to in front of Mary. There is no chance that Rahk is with Oliver. He is out trying to catch me again—I can feel it in my gut.

“I cannot let him catch me until after the Nothril raid,” I tell myself under my breath, the pounding of Bartholomew’s hooves beneath me both a comfort and a thrill. Whatever I do, even if that means I get there and am forced to turn around and come right back, I cannot let Rahk catch me. Not tonight.

I arrive at the crest of the hill before the edge of the Wood. I dismount and give Bartholomew a chance to recover as I pull my hood low and peer over the edge of the rise.

Torches illuminate the darkness below me. People have settled back into the valley and work tirelessly below, hoeing the ground, planting seeds, harvesting giant crops. Borders made of rope have been erected, and even as I watch, a fight breaks out over one of those borders. I have to get past them somehow. And there’s no way to access my cart.

A growling roar rips my attention to one side.

“You cannot be serious,” I groan.

Ymer is still here. Still swinging his club at the people who come too close to him. He was supposed to be gone! The queen was supposed to tell him to leave!

“Good thing I prepared for this,” I mutter.

I open my satchel and pull out the triple-wrapped chicken carcass. I mount Bartholomew and urge her closer toward the troll. Most people steer clear of Ymer, so when I go straight to him, we avoid those who might get a closer look at me.

“Small elf?” Ymer calls to me. A different note is in his tone this time. A note that, if I did not know better, I would think wasinterest.

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