Page 7 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Ash offers another bright grin. “Noted. Your service to the Crown will be rewarded.” He squeezes my shoulder and gives me a look that seems to say:“Enjoy your time away from home, my friend.”

Normally, I’d return the gesture.

He strides out of the hall, whistling as he goes. The doors shut with athudthat resounds through the entire space. I keep my gaze fixed above the thrones, not moving an inch.

Nothing I do or say, however, will overcome the suspicion now lingering in Lady Nothril’s eyes as she regards me. It is like my friendship with Ash, and all I did to put him on the throne of Faerie—even aiding his overthrow of the last High King—suddenly come crashing back to the forefront of our relationship. No matter how unshakeable I have always proved my loyalty to be, no matter that overthrowing the last High King directly strengthened the Nothril Court, I am forever tainted in their eyes.

They wonder if I entertain notions of working with Ash to overthrowthemtoo.

“As I was saying, I have a different assignment for you,” says Lord Nothril irritably. “One that you can tendwhileyou are in the human lands on business for the High King.”

I breathe out slowly through my nose.

He flings something to the ground at my feet. Something he had crumpled in his fist this entire time. I watch it skitter to a halt. My pulse leaps with recognition.

A mask covered in ivy.

I lift my head. “The Ivy Mask struck while I was gone?”

The vigilante is not well known, but I am familiar with how he sneaks into the Fae Courts and breaks human slaves free. Because of his neglect of fae slaves, it’s assumed that he is a human too, though his proficient navigation of Faerieland has always struck me as a curiosity.

“His mask was found in Lord Nothril’s chambers. He stole several of our slaves, including your father’s favorite,” Lady Nothril says. “He has trifled with our Court long enough.”

“I will apprehend him,” I say.

Lord Nothril sits back on his throne, his perpetual frown deeper than normal. Caspar better be glad that the Ivy Mask infuriated him so much tonight—otherwise the Star City might have become a desolation within a fortnight.

“You will apprehend him under blood oath,” says Lord Nothril.

A chill races through my blood, followed by a thick cord of irritation. Must they always be so paranoid? I keep my gaze from straying to Pavi. “Have I displeased you, Lord Nothril, that you would require such a guarantee on my word?”

I do not ask the question because I do not know the answer, but to remind them of my proven loyalty.

“It is nothing that you have done,” Lady Nothril says with another light tapping of her fingers. “But your association with High King Trenian and his hideous human wife poses a conflict of interest. We wouldn’t want anything to . . .distractyou from your mission.”

I translate this to mean:We don’t trust you unless you have collateral at stake.

“You will swear the blood oath,” says Lady Nothril firmly.

“Very well.” I take a knife from my belt and hold out my wrist, pretending to be oblivious to what they intend. “What are the terms of the bargain?”

“We will not swear on your blood.” Lady Nothril’s gaze trails away from me and lands on Pavi, who hasn’t stopped fidgeting in her chair since she sat down.

And this is why I wish I didn’t have any collateral at all.

I briefly close my eyes, and that is all the vent I give my frustration. Pavi hasn’t been safe for even an hour, and now she is back to being at risk.

No one is allowed to hurt a Nothril heir . . . except Lord and Lady Nothril themselves,I think derisively, but I bite my tongue. This is punishment for Pavi, too, for her reckless behavior and continued refusal to fall in line. I’ll just have to fulfill the terms of this bargain to the letter—something I would have done without the blood oath anyway.

“Come to your mother, Pavi,” says Lady Nothril.

Pelarusa doesn’t move a muscle, despite the weighty gaze she levels at me. Pavi obeys at once, coming to kneel before Lady Nothril. Without a word, she offers her palm.

She winces at the pain of Lady Nothril’s long, taloned nail raking across her palm and drawing a line of blood. If she is afraid of the instant death, the consequence of this bargain not being upheld, she doesn’t show it.

Lady Nothril drags the pad of her finger across Pavi’s cut and paints a rune across the back of her own left hand. Pavi gets up and, without looking at me, offers me her bloody palm. I am careful not to aggravate the wound as I take the blood I need to paint a matching rune on my skin.

“You will bring the Ivy Mask to us for rendered judgment within three moons, measured by the human lands,” says Lady Nothril.

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