The food for humans in Midnight is limited—canned or usually on the cusp of expiration, but I remember those stale sandwiches tasting better than almost anything else I’ve known.
Not willing to pull the massive dress back over my body, I open the closet and find a plethora of clothes, including a silk robe. Pulling the cold material around my too-hot body—must be the stress—I remember the stretches of my childhood filled with fear and loneliness. In this kingdom where darkness reigns supreme, it's easy to feel lost and forgotten.
Once my father became engaged in one of his pieces, he barely came up for air. Without any friends or other humans, it was often just me and my thoughts.
When I learned he would marry, which meant a new mom and not one but two new sisters, I thought my solitude would come to an end.
Boy, was I fucking wrong.
Flinging the nostalgia off like a tattered blanket, I remind myself this place lacks the greatest things of all—my friends, autumn, and pumpkin spice.
I rummage through my small clutch, fishing out the bottle of iron pills I never leave home without. Swallowing them dry, I hope they'll give me enough energy to make it through the day without collapsing. The constant battle against fatigue is exhausting in itself.
I still mean to get my hands on the Ember of Midnight, but right now, I was cutting it close to getting back to the Common World. Yesterday was my night off, but I had work tonight. Royal engagement or not, I wasn’t going to miss my shift.
A metal jangling precedes the creak of a door that was locked a minute ago. I instinctively tense, my nerves spiking with alertness as I ready myself for anything.
Prince Charming leans against the doorjamb in a tight black T-shirt and jeans. With a black eye and a split lip.
My brows knit. “Holy fae fucks, what happened to you?”
He brushes a thumb along the red line on his lower lip, his eyes turning unfocused. “A little run-in with a lover’s significant other.”
How terribly predictable. It thankfully reinforces my ideas about him that he can’t take anything seriously or keep it in his pants. My Iron Maiden needs the reminder to keep cool. Even with a busted face, he trains that unerring gaze on me which threatens to suck me under his fuck boy spell.Not today, Satan.
“Don’t worry, it’ll heal soon enough. I just need a little breakfast,” he adds.
I suppress a shiver. He means a little blood.
There is something absent-minded about his words that makes me doubt what he’s telling me, but why would he lie?
“That’s what you get for being a slut,” I give him a pointed look.
Despite what I said, I can’t ignore the fact that my dark clam of seduction tingles whenever he’s near. I might even fuck him if it weren’t for the one big thing that has me wary to keep my distance.
Those flesh piercing fangs.
My gaze drifts over his carved triceps, admiring the intricate tattoos that wind their way out from beneath his shirt and over the backs of his hands. Elegant lines of detailed snakes, dragons, and lotus flowers adorn his skin. It’s a maze of patterns that I want to follow to their conclusion.
The ones creeping up from his collar are like a living work of art, swirling gracefully around a larger lotus flower at the base of his throat. Some people get tattooed to remember something significant in their lives, but for Prince Kaison, it seems likeevery inch of his body is a canvas for personal expression. He is a masterpiece in motion, and I can't help but admire that.
Then I see past him to another bedroom. His bedroom. “Wait, our rooms are adjoined?” A flood of dread shoots through me.
Charming begins to smile but after he winces in pain, he works harder to suppress the smirk. As his eyes flow over my body.
“Worried, my little spooky babe?”
“The hell did you call me?”
He pushes off from the door frame and saunters into my room. “Would you prefer goth girl? Gloom cookie? Shadow pup? Sparky?”
“Wh-what? Are you having a stroke?” Each nickname is worse than the last, so bad they make my teeth hurt.
“If we are to be engaged, we must present as a couple. Endearments are a must.” He attempts a stern look, but he can’t hide the sly smirk threatening to break through as well as split his lip again.
Crossing the space between us, his lithe muscle flexes under his shirt. Like a panther moving in on his prey.
“But if you don’t like those, how about my dark angel, my spooky darling, my ghost boo?”
