Page 98 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I keep waiting for Rahk to come, for his shadow to appear beneath my door, for him to rip me out of bed and hold up proof in front of my face. Some mistake I made, something I overlooked, something I forgot. Something that betrays my identity.

Then he will drag me to my knees, take one of those great swords, and break his promise of protection.

But he never comes. It’s not until dawn do I realize that I have successfully lived another day.

As I swing my wounded, aching leg to the floor, I do not feel comforted at all.

Chapter 29

Rahk

Mywoundsfromkillingthe kravok are minor. My frustration stings much sharper. I had the Ivy Mask right there. He was in my grasp—I had touched him.

And yet, he got away.

When I first realized the Path he’d taken, I assumed it was by mistake after the likely fright of running into Ymer the Indefatigable, who is now officially a problem. I was afraid I would lose my chance to catch him because he walked right into a monster’s lair. But that was hardly the case. The Ivy Mask knew exactly what he was doing. It was a ploy to outsmart me—and it worked. I grudgingly admire his tenacity and quick thinking. It does reveal that he knows I hunt him. How he figured that out, I do not know.

My spells alerted me exactly when the rescued slaves got onto the coach and fled the city. I could not have made it in time due to the time lost fighting the kravok. Still, I would not have stopped their flight.

This wasn’t supposed to be a difficult assignment. But I’m already nearly three weeks in Harbright, and I’m no closer to catching him than I was at the beginning.

The tattoo at the back of my neck burns. Pavi’s full-lipped pout returns to mind.

I’m going to get the Ivy Mask. No matter what.

Kat brings me breakfast first thing. The skin under her eyes is darkened and saggy, as though she slept little. She says nothing as she places the tray before me and moves to leave.

“How did you sleep?” I ask, watching her instead of the cup of tea I bring to my lips.

She shrugs, her eyes skittering to mine and away. “Not very well, I confess.”

The tea is too hot. I blow on it and set it down. “Then you must rest this afternoon.”

She winces, and at first it strikes me as though from a physical pain, but then I realize I must have activated her fear of dismissal. “I wouldn’t want to leave my work undone.”

“You will work better if you are properly rested. You will rest.”

She nods once. “Yes, my lord.”

No more arguments? I breathe through my discomfort at her address, and stare at the door she disappears through long after she’s gone.

There is far too much on my mind, too many matters of greater weight, and yet the thing I find myself thinking about is Lady Vandermore. I haven’t yet gone to Vandermore Manor to withdraw my addresses. I can always change my mind—perhaps the heiress’s alliance will be exactly what I need to earn the queen’s favor and shorten my stay in the human lands. What if courtship isn’t enough, though? What if the only way to gain the queen’s favor is to actuallymarrythe girl?

If Ymer the Indefatigable leads me to such drastic measures, I might defy Ash’s orders not to kill him.

The thought of bringing a human wife into this house, into this very room, all while Kat serves me in charade, is far too repulsive to be considered. My relationship with Kat would become different. I couldn’t sit with her each evening and play Fool’s Circle. I couldn’t even keep her so close in the room adjacent to mine. I couldn’t tease her, watch over her, or enjoy her presence while I was married to another woman.

I couldn’t think about what she said to me in her drunken haze.

“You are good. I didn’t think so at first, but I see it now.”

“Edvear!” I call.

My steward comes at once. His cheeks are reddened, his ears bent backward, and his crisp shirt is untucked slightly.

“You look upset,” I say, instead of issuing my order.

“Well, of course I’m upset!” he declares, wringing his hands. “The cow isn’t producing much milk anymore, so we don’t have enough cream to make butter for tonight’s rolls. Mrs. Finch is at her wit’s end. She is doing her best, but I’ve hardly given her enough to work with. Apparently with these cows, if they stop producing milk, they are useless until they have another spawn—which will take months!”

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