Page 50 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“I’m not wearing a weapon, no matter how impractical and silly the weapon may be.” He then turns to me, spreading his arms wide. “Well, Nat, lend me your human eyes. Do I look presentable? Am I sufficiently humanlike?”

I look him over. In his new garb, tailored perfectly to his form, he looks human from the neck down. A very large human, yes, but still human. He followed my suggestion to wear his hair in a queue and cover his long ears. The color of his hair is very noticeable, but that cannot be helped.

The main problem, however, is his face.

It’s like I realize for the first time just how overwhelmingly beautiful he is. Fae are always beautiful beyond imagination, and over the years I’ve learned to see past their glamours to their wicked core. I don’t even notice their beauty anymore—only their power. Looking at the prince now, though, I do see it. It is a rugged sort of beauty, hard-edged and flintlike. One can scarcely look into his endless black eyes and think he was anything short ofother.

I find my voice with difficulty. “I think we’ve done the best we can to make you look human.”

Edvear shoots me a sharp glare, wordlessly chastising me to always praise. But the prince seems to appreciate my honesty and nods consideringly.

“You both have done well tonight. Are you ready, Edvear?” he asks, turning toward his steward.

Edvear wears his own finery, though it is significantly plainer than the prince’s. A smart feathered cap hides his horns. “Yes, my lord.”

The prince’s gaze returns to me. His mouth tilts upward. “Don’t stay up too late reading.”

“You don’t want me to wait up for you?” I ask. Mary always waited up for me.

He shakes his head. “Edvear and I will manage. Take your rest.”

With that, the two of them head out to the waiting carriage. I run to the window, pushing aside the curtain to peer into the dusk as they climb inside the cabby and the footman clicks the horses into motion.

An enormous sigh whooshes out of me.

It’s time for my raid.

I close the doors to the prince’s bedroom and my own. Once it is fully dark, I push open my window and climb out.

I sneak to the outhouse and dig up the small box Mary left for me—my Ivy Mask costume andollea. I dress quickly, keeping watch for signs of movement, and replace my uniform in the box. Theollea, I smear on the bottoms of my shoes and rub across my hands. I don’t know how long it lasts or how much I need, but judging by the size of the bottle, a little goes a very long way.

Then I’m off. I rotate between jogging and walking the several miles across farmland to the Wood’s edge, mourning the loss of Bartholomew once more, hoping she’s doing well, panicking slightly but remind myself that I’ve just got to get through this month, claim my inheritance, and then I can buy her back.

If she’s still alive. If I can even find her.

Stop thinking about the horse.

I make it to the edge of the Wood before midnight, panting and dripping in sweat. How dare this night be as hot as it is? I’m only hoping myolleahasn’t lost its effectiveness yet.

I stop before the Path I usually take, an image of the destination shining across my vision in fragments. It’s so strange to be on foot again after all these years. It takes me back to that moment I stood here, on the edge of the Wood, as it came rushing toward me and Mama. I can still feel that cold sweep of wind that threatened to devour me, the gangly tree limbs that shot toward my throat.

I grit my teeth.

The cart is where I left it. I don’t bother with it this time. Everyone will just have to try not to step off the Path.

I pull my mask over my face, yank my hood low, and plunge into the Wood.

Chapter 16

Rahk

IfIhadthoughtthe scent of the human lands was overwhelming, this ball is vastly worse.

I haven’t even stepped inside the palace before the perfume, the soaps, the hair oils, the boot polish, and the melting candlewax is too much. I pull my vial ofolleaout of my pocket and swipe one drop under my nose. My pulsing headache eases at once. I hold it out to Edvear.

He shakes his head, politely declining, but when his eyes linger on the vial, I pass it to him. Relief melts across his face as he applies it.

“It was too much even for you,” I say with a smirk.

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