Page 90 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

He sighs, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was frustrated. “Well, I will tell you what I told you last night. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe with me. As long as you are under my roof, you are under my protection. I won’t let anyone hurt you. If you are ever afraid—of anything—you need only to tell me. Understand, Nat?”

I shuffle back one step. I nod, trying to ignore the sinking dread inside me. I wish my fears were so easily soothed by taking them to the prince. I almost wish I didn’t know he was here for the purpose of hunting me down and, likely, bringing me to justice in the Nothril Court.

My stomach turns queasy. I grab my spare change of clothes, cup my hand over my mouth, and bolt out of the room.

I manage to make it all the way outside before I vomit.

Rahk

Istareatthedoor Kat disappeared through. I drop my book, lean back in my chair, and let out a low groan. All the progress we made last night—gone. It shouldn’t surprise me. She was drunk. She said things she wouldn’t have otherwise said. But I wanted her to remember. I wanted her to remember that she kissed me.

I could have just told her everything instead of lying and letting the sting of iron fill my mouth. The picture of her face and its utter horror flashes across my mind’s eye. I had my chance, and I couldn’t do it.

I want her to confide in me when she is in her right mind. I want her to choose to trust me. I want her to feel safe around me. Like she did last night.

It feels like we are back at the beginning again.

When Kat returns, she’s dressed in fresh clothes, her old ones draped neatly over her shoulder as she carries a tray of breakfast for me. She doesn’t meet my gaze, but sets the tray down on my desk and asks, “How else may I serve you, Master?”

I don’t like giving her orders. I don’t like her serving me. Last night, however, that was the one thing she asked for—that she would be allowed to continue serving me.

So I say, “Please ready my clothes for the luncheon.”

She bows and hurries to do it, leaving me to my breakfast.

Theluncheonitselfishosted on the shoreline. The salty air is pleasant enough that I test my ability to go withoutollea. A large white canopy is set up on the green lawn beside the sandy beach. Musicians with stringed instruments sit in one corner, playing a cheerful song that threads through the well-dressed guests and the tables of refreshments.

The queen herself sits on a small white throne, wearing a gown of pastel yellow and a high updo. Her son has his own chair beside her. He wears his own soft-colored finery and an expression of boredom that shifts to curiosity when he spies me.

Kat is dressed in her starched livery and shifts uncomfortably every few minutes to tug on her scratchy collar. I suppress a smile. When she sees the gentle waves of the ocean, however, she brightens. With dilated pupils, she seems to gobble up the sight of the shore. I wish I could ask questions of the woman at my side, and not the boy she’s pretending to be.

Her lips part, and I remember how soft they were on my cheek and chin last night.

I turn away from her, clearing my throat, and focus on the people milling around. Now would be a good time to meet Lady Vandermore, if she is present, though the idea of doing so in front of Kat sits in my gut uncomfortably.

I spot Oliver the moment he sees me. He has just taken a sip of punch when he offers a broad, tight-lipped smile and waves.

“So you got yourself an invitation to the exclusive Queen’s Luncheon,” says Oliver, sidling up to me. Kat slinks to my opposite side and remains quiet. “Impressive, though it doesn’t mean as much as you might think it does. She sometimes invites her enemies just so she can keep an eye on them.”

As though summoned, Queen Vivienne levels a sharp-eyed glare upon the two of us speaking, lingering on me. I incline my head.

“Come, before you address the queen, let me introduce you to my nemesis,” says Lord Oliver.

My eyebrows rise. “Your nemesis?”

“What? Did you think humans didn’t have them?” he asks with a wink. “This particular gentleman is my nemesis—and many others’—because he somehow managed to convince Lady Vandermore’s guardian that he was the most suitable suitor and now she aids his efforts at winning the young lady’s heart. It is a shame that Lady Vandermore is not here.”

She is not here, yet again?

“I will get you refreshments, my lord!” says Kat before running off, even though I gave her no such command.

“Guardian?” I repeat, returning my focus to the conversation. “Lady Duxbury Vandermore is not her mother?”

“Oh, no, not at all. She is Lady Vandermore’s stepmother. I don’t think they get along well.”

“Then your nemesis’s alliance might not aid him well,” I say dryly. “Who is he?”

“That gentleman over there.” Oliver points to a short man with ruffled sleeves and unsteady balance. I recognize him as having been the one to approach Kat in the sparring yard and presumably try to bribe her with coin for information about me. Oliver marches over, expecting me to follow, and offers a slightly dimmed version of his cheery grin. “Lord Boreham, you must meet Lord Rahk.”

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