Page 9 of How to Marry a Winged King

He coloured, as if he’d shocked himself nearly as much as me. “I, ah, meant to lead into that rather more elegantly.”

I gaped at him but managed to croak: “You don’t even know me.”

“I know that you are bold, intelligent, and kind.” His voice, which had started unsteadily, grew more confident as he spoke, until he was listing off reasons like you’d categorise a horse’s assets. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, and for a moment blood pounded in my ears, but then he looked away and I realised of course desire wouldn’t feature on his list. Why would it, when I was ordinary and human, and he had fae beauties of every house vying for his attention? Why did I even care?

He continued: “I know that you do not lust after the throne for power’s sake. I know that you would rescue a helpless creature if it was in your power to do so, even at some cost to yourself. That puts you ahead of all the other candidates. I have to marry someone, and I have very little time to make that choice. Good marriages have been built on less.”

I stared at him. He seemed perfectly serious.

“You want to tweak everyone’s noses for forcing you into this,” I said slowly. It was the only plausible reason I could think of, and never mind his pretty words.

“Ah … Yes, that too,” he admitted. “It will also avoid giving power to any of the twelve houses over another, which is a greatly desirable outcome. We exist peaceably because we are in balance. If I were to choose your sister Acantha, or the Sweetgrass heir, or any of the other favourites …”

“Be still, my beating heart. And what do I get out of this?” I took refuge in flippancy. It was obvious what I got out of this; I just couldn’t believe it was being offered.

“I am a king,” he said stiffly. “You would be queen of the Golden Wood, with the associated luxuries and powers. But also, if you are bound to me, it will unbind you from this manor. You will be free of your dawn-curse. Not freedom in its entirety, but freedom from that, at least.”

“I already said I’m not holding you to that debt.”

“And I said I would repay it anyway. Will you consider it?” His wings shifted restlessly. “I must go. I will see you tonight?” He remembered to make it a question rather than a command right at the end of the sentence.

I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no either, and he seemed to realise this was about as good as he was going to get right now. He bowed and spread his great wings, transforming as he took flight.

I watched the dark speck of the tūī until it was out of sight, then drew my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs. My heart was still hammering like a wild thing. I needed to think.

SECOND NIGHT

ROYAL LOVERS’ TIFF? was the headline of the morning’s gossip sheet. No one was sure who wrote them—Rose thought it was enterprising pixies with a handpress. Lord Bloodthorn made a point to magically set the papers on fire whenever he saw them, but the ladies of the household had long learned how to disguise them to avoid this.

Acantha had her nose buried in the report—disguised as an improving work of history—when I came across her later that morning. She was muttering to herself.

“How are you, Cinders?” Lady Bloodthorn asked me with a smile. There was an unusual solicitousness in her manner, and I wondered if it was driven by guilt about disowning me in casual conversation last night.

“Fine, my lady,” I said, in direct opposition to my actual emotional state. My nerves hadn’t stopped twisting since Tāwhiri’s outrageous proposal. Had the Lord of the Golden Wood really asked me to marry him?

Acantha flung the paper sideways with a sound of disgust. “This is nonsense!”

I picked it up and began to grin. Apparently, I—or rather “a mysterious masked lady” who’d appeared at the ball—was Tāwhiri’s old flame, come to publicly show my displeasure at his planning to marry somebody else. I couldn’t help scanning the article for details of the rest of his evening after I’d left. He had danced only once with each of the scions of the twelve houses and excused himself after that duty was discharged.

“Who was the masked lady?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“No one knows,” Acantha said. “Lowborn, clearly, behaving in such a way. Probably Tāwhiri told her he was ashamed to see her and that’s why she left so dramatically.”

“He didn’t look ashamed,” Rose murmured.

Acantha scowled at her.

“Now, now, girls!” Lady Bloodthorn soothed. “It matters not. I’m sure we shan’t see her again. It was vulgar of her to come, of course, but I’m sure that’s all done with now.” She got up in a determined sort of way. “We shall make sure the king’s attention falls where it should, next time. Go and get ready. We are going to the Butterfly Market.”

Acantha brightened and bounded to her feet. The Butterfly Market was where fashions were bought and sold, and the wares ranged from beautiful-but-unmagical gowns to elaborate personalised glamours to everything in between.

Rose burrowed defensively into the chair. “I already have a gown for Second Night.”

“Oh, come on, Rosie,” Acantha coaxed. “We can go to the book-lenders afterwards. And don’t pretend you’re above the lure of shiny jewels; I saw you sighing over the display last time.”

Rose gave in with good-natured grumbling and got to her feet. I hovered uncertainly, looking to my stepmother for guidance. Sometimes she took me with them, to carry their purchases, but I didn’t mind it. Well, not much. Being with them in public made me feel as if I truly were part of the family. But perhaps Lady Bloodthorn would not want to be seen in public with a mortal pet so close to the ball.

It wasn’t as if I would be shopping for myself, ball or not. My clothes never came from the same fine dressmakers as my stepsisters. Once a year, the local seamstress took my measurements along with the servants’ and made us all sensible garments in modest fabrics. I was grateful to be so provided for, wasn’t I? It’s not as if you’d have any use for fripperies, Cinders, would you? Such a sensible girl, not shallow about such things.