Page 114 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

I’m marrying Prince Rahk of the Nothril Court—the prince and fae warrior sent to kill me.

Why did he agree to marry me? He certainly doesn’twantto. Our unusual friendship will be gone, replaced by something neither of us desired.

The thought of marrying someone who does not want me makes me sick.

The gown is heavy and very, verywide. Are gowns always this heavy and wide? It’s been so long since I’ve had to remember the size of my skirts before I go through a door. While I prefer the familiarity of stays over the rib-digging discomfort of the chest binding, the rest of the ensemble is vastly less preferred to trousers and collared tunic.

“This is my nightmare,” Mary grumbles, fussing with my hair. “Having to arrange someone’s hair for their wedding when it’s been recently chopped against the scalp!”

I wave my hand. “Just leave it. No one cares.”

She shoots me a look of such venom, it actually makes me crack a smile. “And what are these scars on your forehead? You know what—I don’t want to know!”

I shake my head. “No, you don’t.”

Once I’m ready and we are unexpectedly alone, Mary says, “By the way, I have a wedding present for you. It’s from the staff.”

That perks my interest at once.

Mary holds up her palm to stay my hope. “It’s not Bartholomew.”

I shrug, trying not to give away the pang in my chest. Mary produces a parcel wrapped in unassuming brown paper. She places it in my lap. Curious, I open it quickly.

My mouth drops open.

Inside the box, carefully protected by cloth and paper, are a pair of soot-darkened glass slippers. My mother’s slippers!

“We managed to rescue them when her ladyship was occupied,” Mary says, smiling. “It wasquitethe feat to convince her they’d melted in the fire. Charles went all the way to the glassblower with a pair of glass vases to have melted versions made that we returned to the fire.”

A laugh bubbles free of my lips. “You were betting a lot on my stepfamily knowing nothing about glass!”

“They are wise in other ways,” says Mary with a wink. “They don’t look pretty as they are now, but between your fortune and that fae’s, they shouldn’t take much to restore.”

“You are so good to me!” I cry, flinging my arms around her neck.

She pats my back affectionately. “Aren’t I? I’ll give them to Charity to take to Lord Rahk’s estate.”

When I’m finally ready, my dress feels even heavier and more claustrophobic when the footmen hand me into the carriage. I considered making a mad bolt for freedom when I stepped outside, but I cannot get far in this dress. Agatha sits across from me in the carriage, silent and statuesque.

I curse the queen the entire ride to the palace gates.Whymust this be at the palace? If I must marry in disgrace, why must I do it in front of my sovereign and probably the entire gentry of Harbright?

There is a chapel inside the palace. A unit of guards meet us at the palace entrance and escort us there. Bridget is already seated inside, and apparently Edith is to play the organ as I walk down the aisle. Agatha shows not a stitch of emotion on her face as we come to the arched doors.

It’s happening so fast. I have no means of processing it all. It’s like I’m a ghost trapped in someone else’s body, watching through her eyes as the doors swing open into a thunder of sustained organ chords. Agatha steps backward, leaving my side. I never thought I would miss her absence, but I miss it now as my feet root to the spot before the full pews lining the chapel on either side. I cast a helpless glance at her. Her mouth is drawn in a thin line as she jerks her head, motioning for me to move.

I am supposed to walk down the aisle by myself?

The organ drones loudly, filling my entire skull, as I face the chapel.

The first thing I see is Rahk. He stands at the end of the aisle, beside the priest. His back is straight, his form tall. His hands are clasped behind him, his jaw set forward. He wears a formal doublet with creamy lace at the throat, dark breeches, and tall boots. His long hair is half pulled back the way I did it just yesterday, revealing his long, pointed ears. Despite the human fashion of his clothes, he has an otherworldly beauty that I usually try to ignore. I cannot ignore it now. He takes my breath away.

I barely remember to move my feet forward.

I’m marrying Rahk.

The sentence doesn’t even make proper sense in my mind. There is no space for fear or gladness. Only a dull sense of disbelief dictates my feelings.

It is heightened by the fact that he isn’t looking at me. His gaze, which sweeps over me in a split second as the doors open, fixes just above the fake bun and pearls Mary worked into my hair.

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