Page 18 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I ignore all of them except Charles. “Who bought her? Tell me who bought her! We need to reverse the transaction. No one knows her like I do! No one is going to appreciate her! They’ll think she bites because she loves rubbing her lips on flannel and if you happen to be wearing it, it seems like she’s going to bite you! They’ll think she’s being rebellious when she throws her feed buckets in the air but it’s just a game she plays! And they won’t know that she absolutelyneedsher daily neck scratches—and she cannotstandhaving her tail messed with! What if they try to braid her tail? And, and—”

Charles’s hand on my shoulder stops my stream of words as tears run down my face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sweet child,” says Viola, coming at once to wrap me up in her soft, motherly embrace.

“All those times I blamed my tardiness on Bartholomew! I never thought she’dsellher!” I’m a bawling mess, burying my face in Viola’s shoulder.

“You need breakfast, or you’ll cry away all your strength,” says Beatrice, pulling back a towel from a freshly baked tray of pastries. “And a cup of hot cocoa, I think.”

They all know how much I love my horse. Father gave her to me when we were both young—we’ve grown up together, half-raised by this staff. Some of the staff have been with us since before my mother was lost to Caphryl Wood, and the rest since my father was alive.

When Mary enters the kitchen, she’s the one who says, “Enough crying. Eat some food and then go upstairs and cry where the mistress won’t see.”

The words are barely spoken before the click of Agatha’s heels warn all of us of her approach. I sit at a barstool with my back to the door, dragging my sleeve across my wet cheeks and taking numb bites of the food set before me. The servants snap back to their work, giving me a wide berth as the door swings open.

I don’t turn.

I’m too afraid she’ll see the murderous hatred in my face. Too afraid she’ll see that I’ve been crying and know just how much power she has over my life.

“I didn’t know the creature meant so much to you,” Agatha says to my back. The servants are silent except for the clang of dishes, the shift of laundry being sorted through, and the ripping sounds coming from Beatrice removing the feathers from tonight’s chicken.

At this point, I don’t care to decipher if that is a lie or truth. If she hadn’t thought it would hurt me, why did she sell Bartholomew early in the morning when she knew I’d be asleep and couldn’t stop it?

Mary appears in my periphery, her pristine red bun a contrast with her starched white and black uniform. I dare not look at her for fear Agatha will take her away too. Just because shecan.

“As already agreed upon, if you accept Lord Boreham’s proposal, I’ll give you the shoes. Perhaps we can even buy your horse back. If it means so much to you.”

“I understand,” I say, glad when my voice doesn’t crack. I haven’t agreed toanyof this. I force myself to keep shoveling bites in my mouth, to keep chewing, but I taste dust instead of the buttery, flaky crust of the pastry I eat.

“He will be here in three days. You can let us know of your decision then.”

I listen to the clicks of her heels as she leaves, and they seem to echo long after the collective sigh of relief goes up among the staff.

Three days to figure out how to get myself out of this mess. Three days to figure out how to break Agatha’s control over me.

Chapter 6

Kat

“Theslippers—theslippersdon’tmatter,” I tell myself, ignoring the pulsating longing of my own heart as I pace over the uneven floorboards of my room. “Bartholomew matters. I need to get her back. But I cannot marry Lord Boreham for multiple reasons.” A shiver of disgust runs down my spine—one reason. For another, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if I allowed such an excuse of a man to claim my fortune. And for a third, he’s planning to marry me before our biggest fae raid! We’ll be off at the coast for a dreadful honeymoon. Which means a dozen people won’t be free of their abusive fae masters.

Mary sneaks in, carrying a basket of folded laundry that she takes to the wardrobe.

“I need to get out of this house,” I say by way of greeting.

“Oh, Kat.”

My throat thickens when she looks at me that way—with so much sorrow and compassion—but I swallow it away. “I need to run away, but I must stay in the city so I can keep doing my raids. Long enough that I can turn twenty-one before I wed and claim my money. I’ll need to be in disguise, so no one recognizes me.”

Mary raises one brow. “You’re going to hide in the streets.”

“No, no, that would be a terrible idea. I need to—”

I stop. It’s like the plan just suddenly floats down from heaven in a glittering cloud, right into my open hands. My grin spreads across my face.

A fae come to live in Harbright . . .

“That face scares me,” mumbles Mary.

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