Page 80 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Dear brother,

Lady Nothril is making me write to you even though you were just here. I don’t know why she doesn’t just do it herself—selfish miscreant. She wants me to remind you about Mirror Tide coming soon. You are expected to be there, of course. Ideally with the Ivy Mask, because I. Do. Not. Want. To. Go. To. The. Human. World. So bring the creature, and we’ll make a spectacle of him at the ball. You know, the whole “deter others from rebellion” and “there is no such thing as hope” spiel our lovely parents adore so much.

I don’t tell you this because I like you, but yes, despite her best efforts, Pavi is still alive and well. There, now will you be a good big brother and catch the vigilante, so I don’t have to come?

Now Lady Nothril should leave me alone. Finally.

Pelarusa

I release a low exhalation, my eyelids shuttering. What am I doing, spending my mental energy worrying about my servant girl? Catching the Ivy Mask is my highest priority—far above even Ash’s task. Pavi’s life is at stake, and the Ivy Mask is proving more formidable than I anticipated.

But I do check my medicines for something for Nat. I grunt when I find nothing, and then shut the lid of the chest with a click.

Chapter 25

Kat

Thequeen’sluncheonisnot in Ashbourne, but in Bellmast, a city on the coast a day’s journey away by carriage.

Mama and Father took me to the coast a few times when I was a child, and while I wait to hear if I will accompany the prince on his journey, I am a bundle of desperation to go and desperationnotto go. What if it’s nothing like I remembered, and that piece of my parents is gone? What if it’s everything I remembered, and I will be flooded with how much I miss them? What if the prince sees through my attempts to hide my emotions? Is it feasible that Nat’s parents would have taken him? Or will I have to make something else up?

My complex tangle of emotions isn’t unraveled when I overhear the prince telling Edvear: “I plan to leave the boy here. I wouldn’t want to take him away from his sister.” That night, I am tempted to silently cry my disappointment into my pillow, but I roll around the Fool from my Fool’s Circle set in my fingers instead, letting the sharpened parts of it—its cap, its long nose, its pointy shoes—bring pain to my palm when I squeeze it.

The next morning, when I serve the prince’s breakfast, he asks, “Would you like to come to Bellmast with us?”

I nearly drop the tray I’m holding. “Come with you? But—but I thought . . . Well, I overheard you speaking to Edvear, and you said you were going to leave me here!”

He lifts his brows. “An honest eavesdropper you are, Nat. Yes, I was planning on it. Upon further consideration, I realized it would be better if I had a human servant with me. Someone who knows more of the culture than Edvear or I do. I will let you decide what you’d like.”

All this time, I thought I didn’t know which I preferred. The second he gives me a choice, however, the words are pouring out of me. “I want to go with you, Master!”

He smiles, pleased. “Then you shall. Pack your things and help Edvear pack mine. I’ll be out the rest of the day. We will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

The question—of where he is going—is on the tip of my tongue. But I’ve learned to be a good servant, so I swallow it back.

The other servants and I work until well after dark to prepare for the journey. It is almost midnight when I finally fall into bed, utterly spent. Hours later, I’m woken by the shuffle of boots in the prince’s room.

He was hunting for me again.

Despite my shiver, my mouth twists upward. He will catch me one day, but that day is not today. A dangerous sort of thrill shoots through my blood—thrill that, if left unchained, will get me killed, and yet I cannot fully suppress it. He lives with me, and yet he still doesn’t know it’s me. I roll over and pull my blankets over my head and let my warm breath fill the cavernous space until it’s almost impossible to breathe.

Thenextmorning,Icome out in my normal clothes, packed and ready, only for Edvear to order me back to change.

“I have the nicer clothes in my bag!” I say, holding it up. “I don’t want to get them messed up while traveling!”

Edvear holds up a firm finger pointed back at my room. “You are representing the staff of your master. This is why you have two sets of your nicer uniform. Change.”

I swallow my grumbles and obey. When I reemerge, dressed in starched black breeches, a crisp white tunic, a black overcoat that scratches, and silly shoes with buckles, I feel more uncomfortable and self-conscious than ever. The pants are tighter, and I’m constantly afraid someone will look at my legs and hips and decide they’re a little too feminine. My chest binding feels especially oppressive. I want to readjust and wiggle it around, so it doesn’t dig into my ribs so much.

I march into the kitchen, hating Edvear’s insistence of my wardrobe, and grab a freshly baked cranberry scone, two patties of sausage, and a glass of milk for my breakfast.

“You look quite dashing today,” teases Clifford while scraping mud off his boots at the door under the watchful eye of Mrs. Banks.

I scowl at him, and everyone—save Mrs. Banks—laughs. I intend to eat quickly and then run out to ensure everything is properly loaded into the carriage. If only I could ride Bartholomew instead of sitting in a stuffy carriage all day!

A hand gently tracing my arm makes me nearly drop and break my glass of milk.

It’s Becky, come to sit on the bar stool next to me. She almost never leaves her seat against the wall with her basket of mending. “This stitching is very fine,” she says, running her fingers up to inspect my shoulder. Her cheeks are pink, and she is decidedlynot lookingat me.

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