Page 172 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“I can—I can leave? You’re not going to kill me?” asks the woman, her hands in a knot at her throat.

“Not if you move fast and leave at once,” I reply darkly. She obeys, tripping in her haste to run away. I retrace my steps to where I found her. Is the Ivy Mask nearby?

That is when I catch movement near the edge of the forest. Up the slope, just on the edge of the Wood, is a rider mounted on a horse. Ahorse.

That is her. That is the Ivy Mask.

Her cloak billows behind her, her mask of green ivy tightly against her face. She looks back at me. It gives me a full view of the sad face on her mask. Her clothes are dark, nondescript, and her form is slender. But what else I see turns my blood to ice.

The Ivy Mask’s hair flies out behind her just before she pulls her hood to cover it.

Dark and cropped short.

Suddenly, it is not the nameless Ivy Mask that rides that horse—the horse that I strain and fail to get a clear glimpse of in the shadows—but Kat. My wife.

Great Kings, please let it be anyone else.I have never prayed in my life, but I pray now. Desperately.Please don’t let it be her.My whole body shakes as I release the glamours of my wings and soar through the air to the edge of the forest. I curse that I cannot fly through the Wood without losing my Path, tuck my wings in close, and run harder than I’ve ever run before.

It’s not Kat. It’s not Kat. It’s not Kat.

I pound my way through the Wood, nearly running off the Path several times in my haste. At long last, I burst across the border into Harbright. I ignore the screams of the busy farming people. I ignore the troll bellows and the clang of violence. I leap into the air and let my wings carry me as fast as I can across the fields.

My estate looms before me as I fly low to the ground and drop out of the air, landing in a crouch. I don’t go for the door but run straight for the window of our bedroom.

She’s going to be there,I tell myself frantically.She’s going to be asleep in bed and you’re going to feel terrible for waking her up. You’ll laugh at the idiocy of your own suspicion.

None of those assurances calm me down. I shove open the window and leap inside, feet first.

The bed is empty. The sheets on her side are mussed, but I don’t see her. A quick sniff of the room, and I know she’s not here. Still, I march to her old servant’s room and throw open the door. Nothing. I check the washroom.

Nothing.

My blood boils. My hands tremble violently. I throw open the bedroom door. It smashes into the wall, the handle going straight through the plaster.

“Where is Kat?” I bellow. I don’t care if it’s late and everyone is asleep. I need answers.Now.“Where is my wife?”

I storm down the hallway, throwing open every door I come to. Every room is empty. The dining room. My study. The guest quarters that we’ve never used except when Kat was hurt. The parlor. The library. All the other rooms. With each empty room, my panic builds.

“Katherine Vandermore!” I roar into the emptiness as I throw open the door to the kitchen.

And there she is.

Her eyes are wide with fright, her hair wrapped up in a cloth like she recently bathed, a soft white nightgown clinging to her form. The pleasant perfume of her scent fills my awareness. She has a broken mug in one hand, and a puddle of what smells like hot chocolate dripping over the edge of the counter. Mary sits across from her, clutching her own mug, staring at me with Kat’s mirrored fright. Their gazes shift from me to the swords strapped to my back.

“Rahk!” Kat cries, her voice shaking as she gets up. “What’s the matter? You frightened me near to death!”

Mary sets to work cleaning up the mess of the spilled drink. Kat immediately goes to help her. I’m still staring at her, dumbfounded. My mind tries to make sense of what I saw and what I see now. The scent of her is so unmistakably fresh and feminine—not at all what she should smell like if she’d just ridden across miles of field and forest.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” I demand. I grab either side of the doorframe, leaning forward and back for any sign of a clock. There is one in the kitchen. “It’s well after midnight!”

“Do I have a curfew?” Kat shoots back, frustration and irritation overtaking her fright. “I couldn’t sleep! Mary made us hot chocolate and we’ve been sitting here talking.”

Charity, Mrs. Banks, and Cliffored barrel into the kitchen just then, in an array of nightcaps and candles and nightclothes.

“What is wrong?” demands Mrs. Banks. “What has happened?”

I look between them and Kat. Kat, who clearlywasn’tjust invading the Fae realm at her whims. Kat, whoisn’tthe Ivy Mask. I let out a deep exhalation, running my shaking hand down my face. I could collapse onto the floor in relief. “Nothing has happened. I returned late and found my bedroom empty. I thought something had happened to Kat and I panicked. Please accept my apologies for waking you all up.”

Everyone disperses. Kat’s hand trembles as a mirror of my own as she disposes of the broken mug. I curse myself for scaring her so badly. It just lookedso muchlike her. I know her so well by now—her personality, her form, her face.

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