Page 57 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

My hands shake as I press the cloth to the wound.

“You can go back to bed,” he says quietly. “I will handle this.”

There is nothing I’d rather do! But I need to confirm what happened . . . even though I already know. Even though I knew the moment I saw those footprints in the Revar Court. “Please, master, I wish to learn.”

He sighs. “Very well. The first step is to get better access to the wound.”

A second later, he’s stripped off his cloak, doublet, and linen tunic, until candlelight gleams off the chiseled edges of his bare torso. Blood runs down the toned muscles of his massive arm. I swallow and desperately hope he takes my discomfort as unease with the wound. I step closer and dab the wound with my cloth until it’s stained red.

“Does it hurt much?” I ask.

“It is only a shallow wound.”

“Will it need stitches?”

He shakes his head. “Even if it did, I wouldn’t make you do it.”

“I would do a rotten job of it, Master.”

He chuckles, though his mind seems to drift elsewhere, his amusement fading into consternation. “It would be foolish of me to expect more from you.”

Silence falls. I dab away the blood from the torn flesh. He’s right—it’s only a nick, really. Like an arrow came right for his heart, but he dodged it just in time, and it only grazed his biceps.

I am going to throw up.

“I will finish,” the prince says, uncharacteristically gentle. He must have noticed my face changing colors.

But I still haven’t gotten the information I need. I shake my head firmly and command my stomach to settle itself. I turn over different questions in my head, until I finally land on: “What sort of person stabs someone at a ball?”

His eyebrows shoot up, and I think he might be suppressing his amusement. He leans closer to me, his breath tickling my ear as he whispers conspiratorially: “Only the blackest of fiends.”

“In Harbright?” I squeak, pulling back as fast as I can so his nose doesn’t detect any traitorous scents lingering in my hair.

He’s smirking again. Enjoying my naivete. But he doesn’t offer an explanation.

It could just be a coincidence,I think desperately.

“I assumed humans at a ball would be no match for a fae prince,” I say.

“Your curiosity won’t be sated, will it?”

“No, master, but I can shut up if you like.”

His smile is quick to vanish. “Did Edvear not bring the bandages? There are some in my study in one of the drawers.”

“I will fetch them at once.” I am all too glad to put some distance between us. My legs ache, but I refuse to let it show as I take a candle and hurry from the room.

The light from my candle trembles erratically as I open the study door and go to the desk. I curse my fumbling fingers as I struggle to get the first drawer open. No bandages. I open the second one.

I keep glancing up while I search, expecting the prince to suddenly be in the doorway, a catlike smile revealing long canines.

It might not be him, Kat. You have no proof.

I yank open the bottom drawer. Bandages roll toward the back of it from the motion. I grab my candle and bring it closer to locate my quarry at the back of the drawer.

A face stares back at me.

I swallow my scream and leap backward. The candle hits the ground. The room pitches into black.

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