Page 49 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“Open it.”

Curiosity overtakes me. I tear open the wrapping to reveal an embossed title.The Complete Guide to Fool’s Circle.My lips part. I stare at the book in my hands, comprehending and yet more confused than ever. “I—what is . . . This is for me?”

His mouth is lifted in a smirk again, but this smirk is different than his others. There is no lurking danger behind it. “Yes, Nat, it is for you. I think you will like it. It’s written by a human who lived in Faerieland most of his life as a slave. His story at the beginning is quite fascinating.”

I run my fingertips over the title and stitching along the thick spine. Are my cheeks turning warm? “Oh,” I say stupidly. Then I look up. “Do you want me to beat you, Master?”

He laughs. The sound is quiet, but deep and rich. It’s far more pleasant than I ever anticipated a fae’s laugh sounding. “I like to encourage potential when I see it. Now, sit down with me while I eat and play so I might trounce you once more before you become too good for me.”

A smile spreads across my face despite my best efforts. The last thing I wanted to do last night was play Fool’s Circle. Now, it is all I want to do. I sit down quickly and set aside my present.

We play until it grows dark. I take his dishes to the kitchen and then return to my own room for sleep. He seems to only rarely come to bed, and when he does, it is much later than when I do. Finally alone, sequestered safely inside my room, I hold the book to my chest and inhale the scent of ink deep into my lungs.

Then I dive into its pages, devouring the contents. The prince was right—the story at the beginning isfascinating.I’m immediately drawn in. This man, Abraham Felton, stumbled into the Long Lost Wood by accident and wound up a slave for “invading”the fae lands, like most of the people I rescue during my raids. He served a cruel master who decided to trick him by bargaining that, instead of fulfilling his sentence, he could remain a slave just until the day he beat the master in Fool’s Circle. The master was the best in all the Courts at the game, and opponents would come far and wide to play him. Abraham served his refreshments during the games, and while he stood silently and awaited his master’s bidding, he observed. He quickly figured out the rules and began assembling different players’ strategies. Soon, he could see the flaws in his master’s opponents’ games. He constructed his own board with a large leaf and smears of mud. Once every week, he would play his master, and every time, he lost. But soon he shifted from losing on accident to losing on purpose. He carefully wove different strategies into his attempts, testing how his master would counter each one. He finally acquired ink and paper and catalogued his findings until, at last, it was time to play the master in earnest.

He knew he had to be careful, however. If he wasn’t, he could easily end up being killed the second he won the game. So he faked illness to be dismissed from service until he had recovered. Then, he disguised himself in tattered rags and smeared mud over every inch of himself. He fashioned a cane, made his voice crackly and thin, and made his appearance in front of all the Court of Valehaven, when his master was entertaining his challengers. Everyone thought this stranger, who gave no name, was curious. The master let him play.

Abraham played better than the master. So much better, that he made the master believe he was winning, until the very last second. When he claimed the Fool.

Silence fell in the court.

Abraham got up immediately and fled. Everyone was so shocked, and the Court was in such an uproar trying to find out who this mysterious stranger was, they lost themselves to confusion and no one could stop him. He’d smeared himself with fae mud, so they’d lost his scent and when he disappeared into the forest, no one could find him again.

He vanished, until the day his book was published in the human lands—

“Your candle is about to burn out. And you need sleep.”

The voice startles me so hard I drop the book, knocking my candle, and snuffing it out. “Master!”

The prince’s white hair stands out in the dimness, as does the flash of his pearlescent teeth when he smiles—a sight I am still adjusting to. “Do you have any clue how late it is?”

I blink.

“It’s past midnight.”

“Saints!” I cry, shoving the book away from me as the prince chuckles. “I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t keep you awake with the candle!”

“Get some sleep.”

Then he shuts the door. I mentally kick myself. But when I lay down, my mind is so full I can barely let my exhausted body fall asleep.

Thequeen’sballfallson the night of my next raid. I couldn’t have picked better timing. Prince Rahk will be gone all night and won’t notice my conspicuous absence. I don’t know how I will handle future raids when he is home, but I will deal with that problem later. For now, I count my blessings.

I am a bundle of nerves helping him get ready. He wears human fashion—a blousy linen shirt with ruffled sleeves, blue velvet doublet embroidered in silver thread, straight legged trousers, and leather shoes—and I watch Edvear struggle to fasten a bejeweled cravat to his throat.

Don’t intervene,I instruct myself severely. I cannot reveal how familiar I am with upper class fashion.

Edvear steps back. It’s a little lopsided. Prince Rahk looks at me. “Is it correct?”

I tilt my head, getting a better look at it. I shrug. “I think so?”

“It’s not right,” the prince interprets. He marches to the mirror and fiddles with it himself. Then he turns around. “Is it right now, Nat?”

It is, indeed. “That looks better, Master.”

“Excellent.” He turns as Edvear holds out a decorative knife for his belt. He shakes his head. “The queen doesn’t want me wearing weapons.”

“It’s decorative,” says Edvear. “It barely counts as a weapon. All the human men wear them at balls—as I’m told.”

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