Page 35 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

This man is relentless! “Of course not,” I lie, anger snapping back the emotion and making me pull myself under control. “It was too dangerous. You have to be a fool to walk into the Long Lost Wood.” I almost letCaphryl Wood—the fae’s term for the Wood—slip past my lips.

I’m not sure how many graves I can dig myself out of if I keep wagging my stupid tongue. I should take his advice and keep my mouth shut.

The prince regards me in silence for several minutes. Then, he says almost casually: “I’m sorry for what happened to your family.”

Sorry, is he? The comment is more insulting than anything. I sniff. “It is what it is.”

“You seem very accepting of your loss for a child.”

“I’m not a child,” I growl, because it seems like the sort of thing a twelve-year-old boy would say. And because I don’t like it that he keeps referring to me as a child.

He nods, acquiescing. “I forgot. You are a grown man.”

He says it with such a straight face that if I actually were twelve years old, I would have missed the gleam of amusement in his eye. He has the gall to press me about my family’s losses and then mock me a moment later?

“I am a youth,” I correct stubbornly, offended on behalf of the lad I’m pretending to be. If I let the silence linger, he will come up with more painful questions to ask. I’ve got to flip the dynamic. There is a reason I came to work for him. I need information. It’s time to play the curious young boy. “What’s it like living in Faerieland?”

His brow twitches. “It’s never boring.”

“Why? Because there’s always war and such in Faerieland? I hear there are lots of wars.” I do my best to sound ignorant and boyish.

“Faerieland is very vast,” he says with a sigh. “I’m sure there are many parts of Faerieland that are always at war. My side of Faerieland, however, doesn’t often have outright war. Instead, there is usually the looming threat of it.”

I find it curious that he indulges my questions. It is not what I expected from someone who previously refused to have humans even attend him. “Is it exciting? The threat of war?”

He trails his finger on the edge of his teacup, and I tense as he regards me. “For some, I imagine.”

“But not you?”

“I do not find it particularly enjoyable, no. I hear you humans love war so much you can hardly restrain yourselves.”

“I do love war,” I say, hoping that’s the sort of thing a young boy would say. “I hope Harbright attacks someone soon so I can go to war.”

To my shock, the prince snorts, his mouth twisting into a surprised smirk. “Do you, now?”

What’s so funny? I cross my arms over my chest and scowl.

“What draws you to the idea of battle?” the prince asks, leaning forward slightly. He pulls his smirk away, but the shadow of it remains. Mocking me with his innocuous question.

“I want to fight.”

“For what?” he presses.

For justice. For hope. For the chance the future can be brighter than the past.

I scratch the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Anything.”

“Not everything is worth fighting for.”

“I would fight for my sister,” I say, lest he think too little of Nat.

He nods slowly. “So would I.” That glint returns to his irises. “We men have to protect our sisters.”

“You have a sister?” I ask, even though I know of the Nothril princesses.

“Three.”

“And you would go to battle for them?”

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