Page 133 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

My flush is hot enough to light a fire in the grate. “I didn’t call you stupid! I said yourmovewas stupid. And I said you were doing it on purpose—that means I’m calling you the opposite of stupid. I’m saying that you’re being clever in a way that annoys me.”

He’s leaning over the gameboard now, bringing his face close to mine. “Why do you assume I did it to throw the game? Do you not think me capable of making mistakes in my Fool’s Circle strategy?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ve been playing this game with you for weeks now. I’ve not observed a single mistake in that entire time.”

“You weren’t a strong player when we started. You could have missed plenty of mistakes.”

I give up trying to rationalize with him and only declare firmly: “You were throwing the game. Deny it.”

He gives me a very Nothril prince smirk. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Fine! Then I’ll make your move for you.” I put the pieces back the way they were before he made his stupid move, study the board carefully, and choose a move.

He shakes his head.

“What?” I demand.

“So it’s not fine if I throw the game, but it is if you do?”

My jaw drops open. “It’s a good move!”

He tilts his head back, loosing a full-bodied laugh. His silvery hair turns golden in the light of the setting sun.

I cross my arms across my chest and glare at him while he laughs. Then he reaches across the table and ruffles my hair, as he used to do. My hair isn’t very ruffle-able, carefully pinned as it is, and he seems to catch himself when he feels the difference. He pulls back at once.

It’s like the reality of our current situation becomes a shroud over our once-easy interactions. I bite my lip and try to pretend I didn’t enjoy him touching me.

He wins the game, as usual, but it involves a long siege against my successful capture of two of the spots surrounding the Fool. We pack up the game and I take my Thief in my palm to return it to my own game.

The sun has disappeared below the horizon, though I don’t notice how dark it has become until the game is over. My eyes strain against the dimness as Rahk returns the game to the shelf. The piece is sharp in my palm. He goes to the mantle. I don’t see a matchbox there, but a second later, the three candles there are lit. They cast a dancing array of light and shadow across the quilted bedspread.

“I will call Mary to help you ready for bed, if you like,” he says as he turns to leave. The way he says it, the tone coloring his voice, indicates he doesn’t intend to stay with me tonight either.

I rub my sleeve with my knuckles. “Yes, thank you.”

He opens the door, then pauses when he’s halfway through it. He does not look at me, his mouth a thin, firm line. It’s only a moment before he speaks, but it feels much longer. “I think I ought to state clearly, Katherine, that I had no objection to marrying you.”

My mouth goes as dry as paper.

“It was the means that troubled me and . . . frustrated me. I did not like feeling like my hands were tied and the only option to pull us out of that disaster was sudden, rushed matrimony with no consideration for the prudence of it.”

I mean to nod, but the muscles of my neck lock up.

He still doesn’t look at me. “There were many objections I had to the marriage, but I think you should know thatyouwere not one of them.”

My heart stutters to a halt. I blink several times.

He moves to shut the door, but I must offer something in return, despite the way his confession has upended my world. “Please call me Kat.”

He pauses in the doorway once more. His gaze flicks to mine and holds it.

“Agatha is the only person who calls me Katherine,” I blather, as if my request is anywhere as near as vulnerable as his confession was.

There’s that subtle shift in his features—a shift I cannot describe because it is so subtle. It’s like his expression remains exactly as it was a moment ago, but it now has a different feeling to it. A softer aura that eludes my efforts to place it in the lines of his mouth or an alteration of the jaw, a refraction of candlelight in his irises.

His voice is low. “Goodnight, Kat.”

I stare at the door long after it shuts. I stare until I hear Mary’s footsteps and remember to move before she catches me like this.

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