Page 69 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

He places the Fool in the center and leans back, lacing his fingers together as his eyes run over my face, lingering on my new scars. “The number of strong opinions you hold as a twelve-year-old continues to amaze me.”

You’re acting too much like yourself,I think in self-chastisement.

I must have flinched or given some indication of my chagrin, because the prince adds: “I do not disparage you for your age. I compliment you. Few lads know their own minds. Few men do, for that matter. It’s an admirable thing to be so young and yet so thoughtful.”

He’s teasing me. In what manner, I cannot fathom. But he’s somehow goading me. He has done this before, but there used to be an edge to it that now seems to have . . . softened? It’s as though he was previously trying to catch me in a mistake, but now it’s like he wants to know me better. As if he conducts a curious study of my character.

None of it makes sense, so I shove it from my mind.

“I don’t need to be grown to know I don’t like to be patronized.” The words are muttered, and I mean them in reference to him letting me win, not to what he said. But when he’s silent, I realize just how bad those words sound. “I—I’ve misspoken, Master. I meant—I meant the game—”

“You haven’t offended me.”

I uncurl my tense fingers. Then, I blurt: “You are very kind to me, master. I don’t mean to be ungrateful for your kindness and patience. I know I have much to learn, and I say things without thinking and act foolishly. You are merciful to not punish me. You have the patience of a saint.”

He opens his mouth as though to say something else, but stops himself. “You don’t need to flatter me to appease my moods.”

I sag in further relief. “That is a relief.”

He laughs outright at that. I hide my self-satisfied smile and quickly add: “But I mean what I said.”

To my shock, he reaches across the table, his hand landing on the top of my head and ruffling my hair. “Your turn,” he says.

I blink too quickly and steer my attention down to the game.

We’re halfway through the next round—in which I’m getting thoroughly trounced—when the prince’s face turns more contemplative, as if his mind is elsewhere. I take turns watching the board and his expression, and on one such occasion, he looks up and catches me.

“You look troubled,” I say.

He lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Much is on my mind.”

Like how to quickly hunt me down.I curse myself for enjoying his laughter only a few minutes ago. “Like what?”

He moves his pieces. “Like marriage.”

“Marriage?” I drop the minion I just picked up. It falls to the floor, and I scramble to retrieve it.

He gives a quiet snort of amusement. “Don’t you think about marriage?”

My mind trips over itself for the right twelve-year-old boy reaction and I settle on screwing up my nose.

He chuckles. “Give it some time. You’ll think differently sooner than you think.” He winks at me—and it is a wink like we share some secret, just between the two of us.

“You think differently, then?” I probe, curious.

“It is complicated.”

“Because you’re fae?”

He moves his pieces. “That is part of it.”

“Do fae marry?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“We do. We call itbonding. It’s like a human marriage, but, because we are magical beings, our bonding is infused with magic. It is a powerful bond. Many fae choose never to bond, or if they do, they wait until later in their life. They may have many dalliances before and after a bonding, but once the bond is in place, it can rarely be broken by a force besides death.”

“Is that why you haven’t marr—bonded?”

“In part, yes. It is not something to do lightly.”

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