Page 184 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Myglamour,asIdiscover when I pass a window reflection, is not at all what I expect.

I look like I’ve been stretched out—I am about six inches taller, and my weight has not shifted to accommodate that. I am as thin as a reed, with arms the size of twigs, and a neck so long that if flexibility allowed, I could tie it in a knot. My gown, if it can even be called that, is a puffy array of gauzy black fabric draped and fastened at my shoulder and my hip, leaving one arm and one leg mostly bare. My glass slippers, thankfully, are hidden by the glamour, so it appears I wear a dainty pair of black vines that curl between my toes and up my ankles.

My face is long and angular, my skin a smooth, pale sheen unmarred by freckles or scars. My eyes are completely unrecognizable as a startling, catlike violet. I touch my hair briefly, which is a sleek, electric blue.

Well, one thing is for certain: there is not achanceI will be recognized.

It takes some finagling to unsuspiciously slip into the throng of fae proceeding deeper into the Nothril palace. The ground tilts downward, the cavern swallowing us whole. I try to keep my gaze focused forward to not look at those around me—wearing outfits as wild and black as mine—lest my eyes betray my trepidation. I place each step carefully for fear that my bumbling awkwardness will give me away as not belonging to the majestic, gliding fae surrounding me.

At last, our silent procession reaches a part of the cave that flattens and opens, revealing a great and terrible cavern by the black river. I am pulled along by the currents of the throng toward that river. As I watch, the fae before me kneel beside the water and mix it with soot to paint designs across their faces.

I do the same, stealing a covert glance at the gentle wave most fae draw on their foreheads. I copy them and then, to my relief, the fae begin dispersing across the shoreline. Tables of polished ebony have been erected, laden with abundant arrays of strange, colorful foods and tall glasses of drink.

Low horns blast through the cavern. I whip my head toward the entrance, away from the ripples the sound casts across the water.

The Nothril family has arrived.

Two princesses enter first. One is tall, with dark hair, her mouth twisted at a haughty angle. The other is much younger and shorter, her silver hair a match to Rahk’s, her pink cheeks standing out like roses in this cave. Both wear gowns of deep blue—a contrast to all the black of the court. I watch the younger one—Pavi—and desperately wish she would separate herself from the group so I can reach her. She doesn’t.

My heart catches when Rahk appears next. He wears a crown of stone, his tall, broad frame filling the entrance of the cavern. His face is carved as though from polished marble. Cold, unreadable, and harsh. It does not look like him at all. Instinctively, I withdraw a step, finding refuge in a slight overhang of stalactites. A drop of water lands on my bare shoulder, making me shiver.

He cannot see you. Remember the glamours you wear.

The low horns blast again.

This time, it is Lord and Lady Nothril who come through the entrance. My mouth goes dry. I thought Rahk was tall—but these twomustboth be over seven feet tall. They wear trailing robes of silver like stars, crowns of obsidian so towering they could brush the ceiling, and their beauty is incomparable.

They glide as one toward two great black thrones on a dais, allowing them full view of the celebration. Everyone falls to their knees as they walk past. I desperately want to keep my spine straight, stupid as it is, but I bow like everyone else.

“Rise.” Lady Nothril’s voice rings across the throng. “Eat, drink, and see what mysteries Mirror Tide will reveal to you.”

That is the signal for the festivities to start. The deathlike silence becomes a steady hum of conversation, laughter, and arguments. The feasting and drinking begin. I pretend to be occupied with a silver goblet of saints-knows-what and hang back in my little nook. Fae pass me. Some give me strange looks, and I give them my best Nothril smirk.

I watch from my spot as Rahk approaches the river. Everyone pulls away, clearing the bank for him. I expect Pelarusa and Pavi to follow him, but they do not. Is it because Rahk is the heir?

He kneels on one knee at the bank. He takes his thumb and swirls it in the dark river before smearing it across his forehead in a fat line that drips onto his brow. Then he moves to the far wall of the celebration, leaning against it, with arms crossed over his chest and one knee bent. I follow his every movement, trying to read his thoughts beneath the coldness of his expression. I find nothing.

Except—the woman I am trying to reach brings a tray of delicacies to him. She keeps her head bowed, her hair bound up in a modest bun. My heart quickens. I must make it over to her. But to approach her is to approach Rahk.

I drag in a deep breath. There’s nothing to it. He cannot see through my disguise. And I’ve got to get word to this woman of the plan.

I set down my goblet and get up. I have no idea if my effort to appear lazy and meandering works, but I manage to dodge the rowdiest groups of fae and make it to the servant’s vicinity. Which is also Rahk’s vicinity.

I sit down nearby and wait, counting the seconds. Then I lift my hand and say imperiously, “Slave! Give me one of those things immediately!”

She comes. Her head remains bowed, her eyes on the ground. She offers me the tray.

I sniff. “You think I shall sully my fingers to pick it up myself? Put it on the table for me.”

She doesn’t say a word, but hurries to obey. When she bends over to place the small flute of liquid beside me, I drop my voice to the barest whisper to avoid being overheard: “Get out of the palace as soon as you can. I’m freeing you tonight.”

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine for the first time. Something swims inside those irises—fear.I offer the only encouragement I can: the tiniest of smiles.

She leaves.

A hush falls upon the gathering. Lord and Lady Nothril have risen from their thrones, and now stride down to the river’s edge. She carries a large, shallow basin and stands on the bank. He swirls his fingers above the surface of the water before lifting them slowly. I watch in amazement as the water follows his fingers in a stream. He guides it into the basin and then releases it back into the river with a splash.

Lady Nothril lifts the full basin above her head. She closes her eyes, leaning back her head so her long, dark neck is exposed. She releases a string of incantations from full lips.

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