“Like having a threesome with some chick and her mom?” I ask, cocking a hand on my hip.
He doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to look ashamed. His eyes glaze a little as if remembering something pleasant, while he runs his tongue over his teeth.
Um. Gross.
“Something like that,” he muses before his focus sharpens back on me. “My father will annul the engagement himself, leaving you blameless. You'll be free with a sigh of relief from the court, and I’ll be the prodigal son who can't do anything right, once again.”
Kaison shrugs, a cavalier lift of his shoulders that somehow conveys both the weight of his position and the lightness withwhich he's learned to carry it. “Of course, we’ll time it right—after you've had a chance to investigate and get whatever information you need about your father. And after the social season has passed. That way I won’t spend all season as chicken bits baiting the piranhas of Midnight society.”
I stare at him, trying to piece together the man before me. There's a dance of shadows and light in his words, a delicate balance between the persona he projects and the gears turning behind the façade. And in that balance, I find a sliver of common ground.
He’s offering a partnership of sorts, one with an endgame that serves us both. And though I don't trust him, there's an honesty in his plan that resonates with the part of me that wants answers.
“I understand your plan,” I say slowly, going over all the angles and curves of it in my mind.
“So you’ll do it?” His voice ticks up with hopefulness as he practically bounces on the balls of his feet.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
Chapter 8
The Shitty Steps
CINDER
Stepping back into the Midnight realm is like slipping into a recurring dream that is as opulent as it is dangerous. Last time I was caught up in the spectacle, but tonight I'm a ghost moving through the crowd, dodging anyone who might notice me.
Ornate carriages drawn by pairs of elegant horses arrive at the castle gates, depositing finely dressed guests for the evening's festivities. I transported directly into the castle in a corridor I knew would be deserted to avoid the grand entrance space.
I’m back to my original mission—to find the Ember of Midnight and reclaim the family I lost the only way I can now that they are dead and gone. With an added objective—avoid the crazy Prince of Midnight and stay out of his insane plan at all costs.
Despite the logic of how our common interests could line up, there is no denying that sex, blood, and fame have turned hisbrain into warped mush. How else would he come up with such an idiotic plan?
Besides, I don’t like the way I feel when he’s near. My skin heats, my breathing trips, and I. . .
. . .want.
I want stupid things, like for him to keep teasing me, to keep feeding me attention like I’m the only being in the universe. I want to discover the full expanse of his tattoos. I want to press my lips to the curve of his grin.
Whoa, Cinder. What is that hot tingling between your legs? That special feeling is reserved for when we sweep brush over canvas and guzzle pumpkin spice lattes.
Both of which I did avidly after my shift last night, well into midmorning until I was dizzy and a little high from the fumes trapped in my small bedroom. I glance down at my fingertips, still stained with acrylic paint despite my attempts to wash it off.
Despite my base attraction to the prince, I’ve not forgotten what he is. Not for a second.
Once a bloodsucker, always a bloodsucker.
My throat tightens, choking off my breath as it grows heavy and labored.
I don’t want to be here.
Summoning every ounce of will, I shove aside the suffocating thought that I’m utterly surrounded, an island of isolation in a sea of glittering hostility. The last remaining piece of my family is hidden somewhere in these castle walls, and I’ll bring them all down if that’s what it takes to find it.
A part of me drifts away as I navigate the ballroom, watching from a chilling distance. Is the girl in the black ballgown really me? Fear seems to peel me out of my body, leaving only a specter in my place, detached and numb, hovering just out of reach.
Candlelight dances off crystal chandeliers, throwing shadows across the ancient stone walls that blend with the soft murmur ofconversations and the rustle of silk and satin. It’s like witnessing a scene from another world—one where I don’t belong.
My gaze darts as I scan the crowd, searching for the source of my unease. For a fleeting second, I spot a familiar silhouette—a flash of dark hair framed by cruel, pink-painted lips. I blink, and she vanishes, absorbed by the swirling mass of gowns and jewels.
