Page 79 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

“Lord Boreham has stopped by several times,” Mary replies grimly. “He and Agatha were yelling at each other in the parlor only last night. It was horrible. Bridget and Edith come up with every excuse to stay out of the house as much as they can, and then Agatha noticed and demanded to know if they weresullyingtheir reputation with men. Bridget cried for an entire day after that accusation, saying shewishedthere were men trying to sully her reputation. Edith took it better, but she spent the day drilling her harpsichord again—a punishment for the entire household.”

I wince. “Poor girls.”

That night, after Mary leaves, the prince returns from an errand and knocks on my door. I shoot up in my bed—only to regret the movement when my head starts pulsing like a drum—and make sure my shirt is pulled all the way down as he enters.

He has a wrapped package under one arm. Without a word, he hands it to me.

Curiously, I take the package and unwrap it. It crinkles loudly in the quiet. When the wrapping falls away, a small round tin sits in my palm. “Is this—” I tear off the lid. Then I stop.

There are the pieces. The tall and goofy looking Fool. The green-painted minions and the opposing, red-painted ones. Rahk’s version has silver and gold minions, but I like the bright colors better.

“Fool’s Circle!” I cry happily, grinning as I pull the pieces out so I can inspect the board.

“It’s a miniature version. It is easier to carry in your pocket. It was hard to find, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

It’s an apology.

His distraught voice from only a few days ago echoes in my mind:“Please, Nat, please accept my thanks and please accept my apology. It upsets me that you seem disinclined to do so.”

A strong part of me wants to argue against him giving me this gift, no matter how much I love the gift, but that voice makes me swallow my words. I’ll only make him feel worse if I refuse to accept this.

“I’d gladly get punched ten times over for one of these!” I cry, instead of protesting, and dump all the pieces on my bed and arrange them.

The prince gives a rueful twist of his lips. “Next time, you can just ask for what you want. No need to be punched to get it.”

A new piece catches my eye. It isn’t as large as the Fool, but neither is it as small as the minions. It has a painted brown cape and a hood. “What is this?”

“It’s a variant. That piece is called the Thief. You can play it the original way, or if you want something new, you can add this piece.”

“Is that in my book?” I slide the book from under my cot and start flipping through it. “I haven’t—oh,here it is! At the end of the book. I haven’t gotten this far. We should try—”

The door shuts before I can finish my sentence. A muffled, “Sleep. You need extra rest. Your master commands it,” comes through the door.

At first, I shoot a glare at the shadows of feet beneath the door. Then, when they’ve disappeared, I inspect my present again. My smile cannot be suppressed. I set both of my treasures by my bedside, my throbbing head forgotten, and I stare at them until it’s so dark I can see nothing but the whites of the Fool’s eyes.

Rahk

Iwillneverforgetthe sound of Nat hitting the fence.

She might have forgiven me, especially after the gift, but I will never forgive myself. Though it wasn’t my full strength, I hit hard.

I slump into the chair at my desk and lean my face on one palm.

What am I going to do with her?

She isn’t a spy of the queen’s—I’m sure of that by now. She’s far too harmless and good to have been sent to hurt me. I’d bet my blade that she isn’t here for any reason to do with me. She is hiding from something, and the estate of an unknown fae was an easy place to do it.

Butwhois she hiding from?

The temptation grows stronger every day to pull her aside and tell her I know she’s a woman and make her tell me why she is here. I want to know if she is in danger, if she needs my protection. I’ve tried to indicate in every way that I can without words that I know her secret. Either she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, or she truly believes she has fooled me.

In the end, however, the reason I don’t ask is because—for some inexplicable reason—I want her tochooseto confide in me. She’s made me trust her. I want her to trust me. Maybe it is because I want to show her that, even though she is an orphan because of Faerieland, not all of us hate humans. Not all of us enjoy seeing them degraded. And that, no matter what Court I hail from, I am truly sorry for what she has lost.

But she won’t trust me now. Now that I’ve struck her.

My attention falls to the chest of fae medicines Edvear brought back from Faerieland. Is there something here that will help a human’s concussion? I press my thumb to the lock mechanism. It clicks. I flip open the lid.

There, on top of the various jars and bottles, is a sealed missive. The stamp on the seal is of a star and fang. The Nothril crest.

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