Page 81 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

If I were actually a boy, I would think nothing of it except irritation. But I am very much not a boy, and I know flirting when I see it. I cast a helpless glance at Charity, who rolls her eyes and bangs her wooden spoon on the edge of the pot.

Becky yanks her hand back but persists. “When you are finished wearing them, may I borrow your clothes? To study the stitching better?”

That’s enough. I down my glass of milk and stuff my mouth with the rest of my scone and sausage and shove to my feet.

“Becky, help me carry this to the sink,” says Charity.

I turn to leave and nearly spit all my food back out.

The prince stands in the doorway of the kitchen, smirking at me and Becky. “Master,” I garble around scone. I clamp a hand over my mouth so no food escapes, bow, and run outside before anyone can stop me.

The prince only follows me and once I’ve swallowed the rest of my breakfast, says blandly, “I was coming to see if you were ready, only to find you dashing in your uniform.” When I make no reply, furiously red-cheeked, he adds, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Or are girls still unappealing at your age?”

In lieu of an answer, I whack him with my bag. Immediately, I yank it back, horrified as I blurt, “I shouldn’t have done that! I am thoughtless and foolish, Master!”

But the prince is laughing as he climbs into the carriage, his dark eyes sparkling and his white hair catching the earliest glints of sunrise.

Theroadislongand boring. The carriage rattles so much we cannot play Fool’s Circle, and any attempts at conversation soon fizzle out. I’m sore and bored out of my wits by the time we finally arrive at an inn in Bellmast for the night.

The sun hangs low in the sky when we arrive. As the prince’s only attendant, I spring into action with the footman, wrestling his trunk off the back of the carriage. It lands harder on the ground than I intended. I cringe, feeling Rahk’s eyes on me, and hoist it up.

But he is at my side the next minute, grabbing the trunk in one hand.

“My lord!” I cry, attempting to wrestle the trunk out of his grip. “I must take this for you! You must let me serve you!”

“I do not like things being grabbed from me,” Rahk says.

I let go at once and step back. “Forgive me, Master, I—” I trail off when I find him smirking down at me. I slam my mouth shut.

Rahk’s smirk isn’t like Sir Alsbee’s: devious and with a hint of cruelty. Neither is it like Lord Oliver’s, which is just shy of a grin. Rahk’s is subtle, and it is easy to miss. One half of his mouth remains in that unreadable flat line, but the very corner of the other side lifts slightly. There is a dry-humored amusement in that lift.

I turn my back on that amusement and gather the rest of the load before following him inside the inn. I give one forlorn glance toward the shoreline I can see between buildings—it’s so close!—with the sun sinking into the horizon, and force myself to be satisfied with the salty air playing with my hair. It smells like happiness. I miss running on the beach and throwing myself into the waves despite Mama’s anxiety that I’d be dragged away in a riptide.

The inn is lovely, with a pristine emerald carpet leading to a wide, grand staircase. The rooms are on the second floor, gold-inlaid doors visible behind the balcony rails. It occurs to me as I walk in that I should be the one getting the key from the innkeeper—but Rahk has already obtained it, and strides toward the staircase.

I’m such a terrible servant,I think shamelessly, as I consider how glad I am to not have to carry Rahk’s trunk up an entire flight of stairs.

“The innkeeper said there is a door on the other side of the room that leads to the servants’ staircase and kitchens,” Rahk tells me as we reach the line of doors. He pulls the brass key from his pocket. “You can fetch us supper that way.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He unlocks the door and pushes it open.

It suddenly occurs to me that this room might not have a small adjoining room for me. It’s a large space, with its color scheme of sea green and sky blue, canopied bed, separate bathing chamber, and living area with chairs around a table. There is one door at the far side of the room. I bolt toward it in desperate hope, only to open it and find an outside staircase that leads to another door on the ground floor.

It is confirmed: there is no separate room for me.

How oneartham I supposed to keep my gender hidden when I have not a shred of privacy?

The prince shows no sign of thinking anything of the arrangement. He deposits his trunk beside the wardrobe, pulls a small book out of his breast pocket and settles himself at the table to read. A moment later, he pulls a small blue vial out of a different pocket.Ollea.He swipes a drop under his nose and the line between his brows eases away.

I dump my own bag in the bathing chamber to keep it out of Rahk’s way.

There isn’t even a servant’s cot. Am I expected to sleep in the copper tub in the bathing chamber?

Well, I amnotgoing to bring attention to the problem and ask about it.

There is one window, facing east, so none of the dying sunlight makes its way into the room. I light the candles above the fireplace and beside the bed. Maybe if I keep myself busy, I won’t have time to work myself into a tizzy about this arrangement.

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