Page 119 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

My feet go still. Then, in a huff, I right the chair, sit, and cross my arms over my chest. Waiting for him to speak.

He pulls his hand away from his face. “Nat—Katherine—whatever I’m supposed to call you. I’ve been worried about you from the day you showed up here. I knew from that moment that you were a woman. At first, I feared that you were a spy sent to be my undoing.”

“What convinced you that I wasn’t?”

A muscle twitches near his nose. “Watching you handle that axe.”

I give a humorless snort.

“As long as you were here,” he continued, “you gave me some cause for worry. First your poisoning, then when I accidentally hit you, then when you got drunk. And another thing you lied about . . .”

I’m not expecting him to lean forward suddenly, to grab my left ankle and bring it to his lap. I startle, trying to pull away, but he swishes aside the fabric of my nightgown to reveal the long, jagged cut down my shin.

His jaw works as he looks at the crooked stitching, the way my skin bunches and folds around the edges of the wound like misaligned fabric. Then he lifts his gaze to me, and it is the Nothril prince who looks at me. “Tell me what happened.”

I curse inwardly. I have no choice but to lie. I lick my lips. “It’s not much of a story. I had a mishap while chopping the wood and I was so embarrassed . . .”

“You stitched it yourself,” he says flatly.

“How can you tell?”

“Aside from the fact that you never summoned a doctor? Anyone who stitched an injury like this would be accused of malpractice. Look at these stitches! You’ll be scarred for life—and an ugly, jagged scar at that. I could have stitched you myself, had you asked!”

I yank my foot free of his hold, and he lets me. I cover my leg with my dress once more. “I can suffer an ugly scar. How did you even hear of it?”

“Charity told me.”

“Ah yes!” I cry. “When she inspected me like chattel!Unblemished virgin!”

His gaze flashes. “I did that to protect you.”

“Oh really? And I suppose if she hadn’t found me sufficientlyvirginal, you would have canceled the marriage?” I fling the words at him, too humiliated to acknowledge their unfairness.

“I didnotstipulate those requirements because I cared about them.” Rahk pinches the bridge of his nose, massaging his furrowed brow. “I stipulated them becauseyoubegged me not to return you to your stepfamily. Do you remember that?”

The sheer desperation of that moment, the way I turned my face into his wrist and begged him not to send me back . . . I am forced to look away to compose myself.

Rahk’s tone gentles slightly. “They have not treated you well—that is easy enough to gather. I did not know the . . .mannerof their ill treatment, and I had to make sure no one would lay hands on you while you were out of my protection. I couldn’t take you back into my house, knowing who you were, without ruining both of our reputations here in your human circles. All that I could do was create barriers that your stepfamily or whoever else was mistreating you would be unlikely to cross.”

“It worked,” I say dryly, laughing humorlessly. “My stepmother nearly ordered me horsewhipped.”

His black eyes shoot to me, a violent flash in their pupils that startles me. But he does not move.

“I wish we could have spoken before you signed that marriage agreement,” I mutter. “She hoodwinked you out of your twelve thousand crowns.”

“I was not hoodwinked.”

“You were!” I cry. “We don’t have bride prices! I’m not sure we’veeverhad bride prices, no matter how far back in history you—”

“I know you do not have bride prices. I did my research. I knew they intended to take advantage of my ignorance of your culture. At first, I visited them to cancel our arrangement and discussions. Then your identity was exposed, and suddenly I had no choice. I let them take advantage of me. Because, once again, you were going to be under their roof. If they were giving up you and your fortune, they wouldn’t be incentivized to deliver on their promise. If I promised to pay a handsome sum in exchange for you, however, they wouldn’t dare renege on their promise.”

He sits in that chair, coolly regarding me, and I see reflected in his expression the same frustration I feel: the anger over having our hands tied, and that this sudden, horrible arrangement between us was the only option to rectify the situation.

“Well, I suppose that means you bought me!” I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat—likely because it’s true. I try to recover myself and fail miserably. “You’ve bought yourself a bride you didn’t want. Just think—if only you’d cut off Agatha instead of tolerating her politeness when we visited, things never would have changed.”

He clasps both his hands together, leaning his forearms on his legs. “The discovery would have been made. Sooner or later.”

“But it might have been made in such a way that didn’t make us get married.”

---