Page 26 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“Are you willing to learn?”

“Yes, sir. I might be clumsy at first, but I work hard.”

I turn to the scowling Mrs. Banks. “Has he worked hard today?”

“Aye, my lord, but hard work doesn’t mean much when you’re using the day’s milk to water the grass!”

There’s something about the boy, about his earnest freckled face, and the unexpected flash of will in his gaze. He wobbles slightly on his feet, his shoulders stooping from strain, his chest heaving from exertion.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

The boy hesitates, the rest of his face turning the color of the handprint across his cheek. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, that’s half your problem,” I say to Mrs. Banks. “The lad’s growing. Look, he’s shaking with hunger.”

The boy’s eyes go wide—with horror—and he hides his revealing hands behind his back. “I can work. I don’t—”

“What’s your name, lad?” I ask.

The boy scratches the back of his neck. “Nat.”

“Go to the kitchen and eat, Nat. Then report to my study. You will be my personal attendant. This should be a better arrangement for everyone.”

The boy stares at me, dumbfounded. Then, at the snap of Mrs. Banks’s fingers, he follows her inside. When he does, he comes closer to me than he has been this entire conversation, and I get a hint of his very human scent.

I am already turning to go, but that scent—mostly dirty clothes and sweat—shocks me so much I freeze and look back. Nat’s scent is, unsurprisingly, distinctly human.

But it is also distinctlyfemale.

I watch Nat’s retreat with new eyes, following every inch of the supposedboy’sframe. It’s a good disguise. I wouldn’t have caught it if I relied only on my eyes. But now I see the truth: the narrow shoulders, narrow waist, the way the shirt is slightly untucked to hide the definition of hips. The cut hair. Nat’s face flashes before my mind’s eye, and I watch as it transforms into a young woman’s.

No wonder she’s hungry. She’s a grown woman, and she must have starved herself to aid her disguise.

I watch until she disappears inside the house, my mind spinning. Who is this woman? Not a skilled servant, that is for certain.

My mind turns over Queen Vivienne’s requests for our meeting. Has she sent this woman to spy on me? If so, why would she send a woman disguised as a young boy? There are far more effective forms of subterfuge. Why would the queen set up an operation like this if it had so many points to fail? Surely, she has a capable spy who could masquerade as a stable hand or a maid.

What am I thinking?I shake my head and dismiss the idea. I’m thinking like a Nothril prince, looking for cutthroat politics at every turn. She is probably completely harmless, poor, and in need of work. Maybe she is unskilled and felt she had a better likelihood of landing a position if she were perceived as younger and more trainable.

Or perhaps she wears the disguise because she is afraid of being recognized. Has she accumulated debts or committed crimes? Does she fear being discovered and exposed?

Or . . . is she in danger?

It is odd, though, that of all places she would come to work, she would comehere.

I’ll keep an eye on her.

I will have plenty of time in her company, now that I’ve made her my personal attendant. It will not be difficult to unravel her secrets. A slight huff comes from my chest as I shake my head. I do not need yet another concern on my mind right now, but here we are.

Edvear’s voice startles me from my thoughts. “How long will you stay in Harbright, do you think?”

I rub my jaw, still watching the door the young woman disappeared through. “I do not know.”

“The human world will take some getting used to.”

“Indeed, it will.” I consider confiding my realization in Edvear, then decide to keep it to myself for the time being. “Help the boy out, will you? I’m afraid I’ve made him an enemy in that woman.”

“You know, you could have dismissed him, my lord.”

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