Page 28 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I’mnotgoing in there while they are speaking. I will wait here. Awkwardly. In the hallway. And I shall pray that when Edvear leaves the study, the prince does not follow him.

My prayer is answered. Only a few minutes later, Edvear shuts the door to the study behind him and spies me with a pair of startlingly yellow eyes. His pupils are slitted like a cat’s. They dilate upon seeing me.

“I am here to do your bidding,” I say, ducking my head.

He sniffs—disapproval? He strides down the hallway past me, speaking as I launch myself forward to follow him.

“You will oversee setting out his clothes. I will check your work until I am satisfied with your skills in this area. You will serve his tea first thing in the morning. He is used to Faerie brews, so you must learn to prepare them properly. Any meals that he does not wish to take in the dining room, you will serve wherever he wishes. You will attend him on errands and outings. You will draw his baths for him and help him dress as he requires. “

My eyes bug. I can only imagine how brutal my death will be once the prince learns it is not a young boy, but a full-grown woman who helps him bathe.

He will absolutely murder me.

“Your primary job is to ensure he is comfortable and happy in all circumstances,” Edvear concludes.

A Nothril prince—happy? I almost snort at the ridiculousness of the notion.

It’s just at that moment that I realize we’ve been walking these fine hallways, and I’m supposed to be an urchin who has never been inside such a building. I quickly arch my neck and feign gawking at the intricate, gold-painted designs on the ceiling panels. My gawking quickly turns real. These arebeautifulceilings. I cannot remember the last time I specifically looked up and admired a ceiling.

“Deliver any communications he wishes,” Edvear continues. “Most will come through me, but he might send some directly through you. You will keep his chambers clean, his fire filled with wood and stoked as necessary. You must be available to serve him whenever he needs anything. More tasks will be added as needed, and as your competence grows.”

“Where do I begin?” I ask.

“Unpack his clothes in his room and get everything ready for him.”

He shows me to the prince’s bedchamber. It is the largest, most opulent room I’ve encountered in this manor so far.

It’s a dark room, with walls of plastered stone. Thick red curtains with corded gold tassels are drawn over the arched windows. They match the large stretch of woven red rug covering the cold stone floor. The bed, with its ornately carved headboard and footboard, is situated against a recessed arch. A great chandelier of wrought iron holds a host of unlit candles. It’s going to be my job to light those things, isn’t it?

Near the door is a large space occupied with a low table, surrounded by cushions for seating. The far side of the room is fitted with a luxurious vanity, a private bathing chamber with a clawfoot tub, and a mysterious door I don’t explore in front of Edvear.

“There are his things.” Edvear points to two trunks arranged against the wall near the table. “I expect you to be finished readying his room by the end of the day.”

I survey the room. It is tidy, but having been unoccupied for some time, it is not clean enough for someone like Agatha, and this prince is well known for his sensitive nose. Considering that I can even smell the must, this room will be intolerable to him. My life and hope for the future depends on doing a good job—and not getting dismissed. As I note the dust balls in the corner, the dirt gathered in the grout of the stone floor, the stale angle of the curtains, I summon my will.

I’m going to work harder than any of these other servants.

I won’t make the prince regret giving me a second chance.

I throw myself into my work. Returning to the kitchen, I collect a broom, duster, rags, and a bucket of soapy water. The first thing I do is pull back all the curtains, letting sunlight flood the dark room. I open all the windows and let fresh air circulate. The spring air is fragrant and cool. The chirp of birds outside becomes my companion as I endeavor to remove every single speck of dust in this room.

Edvear returns an hour later to find me on my hands and knees, scrubbing relentlessly at the floor.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Cleaning the grout,” I say, tucking away the butterknife I was using for precision.

“That is not necessary. Unpacking his trunks is your first priority.”

“I will stop.”

When he’s gone, I continue what I’m doing, sweat beading down my forehead. He might think I am being ridiculous, but Agatha was always fastidious about grout and I’ve heard dozens of lectures from her aimed at the unfortunate staff back home of the vast importance of clean grout.

I’m almost done, anyway.

Before I started on the grout, I cleaned out the wardrobe and opened all of its doors and drawers for the spring air to purify. Now that they are dry, I flip open the prince’s trunks. The first thing that greets me is a bandolier of sharp, gleaming knives. I sweep away my momentary flinch and carefully set the bandolier on the ground. His clothes are beneath it. I set to work organizing them in the wardrobe. They are all distinctly fae make.

He will need proper human clothes if he wants to be accepted into society here.

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