Page 101 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“Ha!” she cries, triumphantly, pointing at me as I pull myself back to my feet.

I make myself smirk back at her. “Two can play at this game.”

She turns and tries to run, though the waist-high water slows her progress significantly. My amusement fades when my gaze drops to her back. Should anyone glimpse her when she heads to her room to change and dry off, her secret will be exposed.

I pull myself out of the creek and settle on the warm grass. She seems to have realized what I did, for she has already ducked below the stream, keeping herself covered from my gaze. Something about her wet hair and that look of determination to bear something she hates shifts some of my discomfort back into amusement.

“Have you decided you like the cold now?” I tease, marveling yet again that she seems to believe me fooled by her scheme. Perhaps she has not been among men enough to know how they behave amongst themselves. Does she long to believe so much that I am fooled, that no matter how I tease her, she refuses to see the truth?

She lifts her pert little chin, which does not disguise the chatter of her teeth. “It’s . . . revitalizing. As you said. Since it’s so c-cold, all the pain is gone from my ankle. It’s just numb instead.”

I give a small snort. “How much longer do you think you’ll swim?”

Her series of blinks are a smidge too fast. “I d-don’t know y-yet. I’m loving the c-cold.”

Part of me wants to stay here, testing her, knowing she won’t leave the creek until I do, wanting to see how long she’ll keep up the charade. The gentlemanly part of me, however, makes me stand and pull my shirt over my wet torso. “I’ll leave you to your soaking. Just be sure to finish within the hour, lest I be forced to fish you out with a hook and line.”

She shoots me a face and I laugh before I turn around and make my way up the hill.

Chapter 30

Kat

Ihatehowcoldthis creek is! It is true that my wound hurtsfarless, and he was right to drag me here. Still, it’s infuriating that the water is cold enough to freeze my blood and I can do nothing but endure it until Rahk’s tall form vanishes inside the house.

Then, as quickly as I can without hurting myself, I scramble out of the water and shake out my shirt, peeling it from my wet skin. My heart still pounds from how close he came to realizing my lie. If he had found out by my shirt sticking to my chest binding, I would have never forgiven myself for allowing such a stupid discovery.

It wasn’t as though he gave me much choice though, I think bitterly as I wring out my shirt. He threatened to carry me out here, and then he dragged me into the water despite all my protests!

I cannot be completely angry, though. The relief from the constant biting ache of my wound is so tremendous I could sigh.

It’s a quarter of an hour before I feel safe enough to risk going inside. In the beeline I make to my room, I only encounter Edvear, who speaks to Rahk in the dining room about the kitchen incident. I cringe and move past them. In a few minutes, I’m safely dry and dressed in fresh clothes that do not betray my femininity.

“Between the raids and being thrown into the creek, you’re going through clothes far too quickly,” I mutter under my breath to myself.

The day goes by fast, and I find the afternoon rest Rahk insisted upon to be just what I need. I sleep as the dead for several hours. When I come out rubbing my sleepy eyes and recoiling from the sunlight coming through the windows, Rahk smirks at me but withholds any comment.

My leg still hurts tremendously, but the edge of the pain has gone down since the cold plunge. My movements are more inclined to stiffness rather than heavy limping.

It’s one small mercy.

That evening, before I am to serve Rahk his meal, I pass his study on the way to the kitchen. I glance inside and find him standing in the middle of the room, an open book in one hand, a furrow in his brow, and his other arm lifted in midair. Curiosity makes me pause.

As I watch, he keeps glancing between the book and his feet, moving his feet in a pattern well known to me.

I almost laugh. He’s trying to teach himself how to dance! In that second, I forget the deadly arc of his swords last night, my injury, and the certainty that he will be the one to sever my head from the rest of my body. Instead, I think of how adorable he looks—one so mighty and otherwise graceful struggling with the basic steps of the waltz.

My quiet snicker betrays me. Rahk whirls. I duck away from the slim opening in the door, but he crosses the distance and swings it open fully. Revealing me staring up at him and trying to swallow my giggle.

He isn’t angry. If anything, he looks pleased that I caught him. “You’re not a very good spy.”

“I shall improve, master.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I know a sufficient punishment for you.”

“Punishment?” I bow quickly. “I believe Mrs. Finch is ready with supper! I must be going!”

He laughs, blocking my escape by planting his arm on the opposite wall of the hallway and leaning down toward me. I flush despite myself.

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