Page 46 of The Midnight King

“The scythe?” I ask. “Is it the Wraith’s Scythe?”

“Yes.”

“But you said it was deep in Unseelie territory, that you couldn’t access it without putting yourself in great danger.”

“Clearly.” He attempts a roguish grin and gestures to his torn body. His breaths are labored and wet, his voice half-choked. “I may have started a war without really meaning to… but that’s for King Lirannon to handle. We’ve had peace for too long anyway. He could use a little unrest to spice up his life.”

“You idiot,” I whisper. “You half-killed yourself to get this for me?”

“After what she did to you last night, you bet I fucking did.” His lips tremble, fervent emotion blazing in his eyes even as they glimmer with tears. “You’re worth it.”

“Stop,” I whisper. “You’re going to makemecry, too.”

“Just try the scythe. Please.”

“Alright.” Whisking away the tears with the back of my wrist, I pick up the scythe and sit down in the new chair he gave me. “I just—cut the anklet?”

“Try to cut it. If it doesn’t work for you, I’ll try.”

I attempt to saw through the anklet. The scythe makes a small scratch on the charmed metal, and at first I’m hopeful, but after a few seconds, the scratch disappears, as if the anklet healed itself. I scoot over to Killian and let him try, but the scythe doesn’t perform any better for him.

“Well, fuck.” He lets it fall and lies still, staring up at the ceiling of the cellar. Tears slip from the corners of his eyes.

I reach out and stroke the loose waves of purple hair back from his forehead. I want to tell him about my stepmother’s plan to have me marry the Prince and transfer the anklet, but she ordered me not to speak of it to any living soul. Maybe he’ll figure it out on his own. Maybe, once the transfer is complete, Killian can save me from my stepmother, and then we can figure out a way to save the Prince, too.

Or maybe my stepmother will kill me on the night of my wedding, and all this will be over.

Once, not so long ago, death might have sounded like relief, like the sweet end to a bitter struggle—but now, I can’t bear the thought of my life being cut short. In oneweek, I’ve gained three people in my life whom I care about—the Prince, his gorgeous father, and the sweet Faerie who is currently bleeding all over my bed.

“There are things humans can do to help Faeries heal,” Killian murmurs.

I sigh. “Why do I suspect those things have to do with sex?”

“Because you’re as smart as you are beautiful.”

“That’s two compliments in one, motherfucker.” I lean down and press my lips to his.

His mouth is warm, mostly smooth but sticky at one corner with his blood. At first, kissing him is a comforting pleasure, like sunbathing on a warm rock, or snuggling a soft cat, or sinking into a hot bath. But the intimacy of it heats inside me, building until the act moves beyond comfort into something more urgent—a twining of wet tongues, a melting glory of liquid heat and soft mouths.

His bloodied hand comes up and cups the back of my head, deepening the kiss. I lash my tongue inside his mouth, suddenly desperate to explore him.

A guilty voice speaks in the back of my mind, shaming me for doing this when a large piece of my heart belongs to the King. But I need solace, and Killian needs healing, andfuck it.

Reluctantly I end the kiss. “Will it hurt you, if I—” Lightly I touch between his legs. His body seems undamaged below the waist, but I want to be sure I don’t cause him worse agony.

“Do anything you want to me,” he says desperately. “Please.”

I loosen his pants and drag them down to his thighs, exposing his pretty cock. Then I slip off my work dress and my underthings, and I arrange myself astride him on the bed.

He watches me with a look of mingled anguish and awe, as if he can’t believe what’s happening. I stay up on my knees at first and tease myself with the tip of his cock, letting him watch as I use it to manipulate my clit. Then I tuck him inside me and slide all the way down.

He cries out, and I have to lean forward quickly and clap a hand over his mouth. “Sshh, pretty Faerie,” I whisper. I move my hips up and down, using my thigh muscles so I can fuck myself on him faster. I try not to think about how I did this with the King in the greenhouse. I try not to think about my stepmother, or the Prince, or the anklet, or anything else. I blot out every other thought and focus solely on the fullness of him gliding inside me, his lips warm against my palm, his eyes rolling back with agonized bliss.

He comes before I do, whimpering against my palm, groans quaking from his ruined chest. I keep riding him toward my climax, and as I do, I notice that he’s healing. Torn tissue is knitting back together even as I watch.

I did that. I helped him. The knowledge rushes through me in a burst of emotion I can’t describe, and I come on his cock, throbbing with ecstasy. I remove my hand from his mouth and lean back, pressing my fingertips to my clit to coax out every bit of pleasure.

“I love watching you come,” Killian whispers.

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