The First Midnight Kiss
1017 Words
The Midnight Prince
“Did the princess help him after that?” the little girl asked.
“She tried,” the father said.
The boy narrowed his eyes. “Tried?”
“The princess was very determined.”
“That sounds like Mama.”
The father smiled into the fire. “Yes. It does.”
Princess Moon
The cabin settled slowly.
First, Nara went back upstairs, muttering something about being too tired to care if the world ended before breakfast. Veyra followed her, claiming she needed “beauty sleep for the next century of nonsense.”
Ashen checked the windows.
Then the door.
Then the wards.
Then the windows again.
He moved quietly, but not calmly. I saw the tension in his shoulders, the slight stiffness in his step, the way his left arm stayed closer to his side where the rogue had clawed him.
He was hurt.
Badly enough that he had no business pretending otherwise.
After he stepped outside one last time, I found a wooden box tucked beneath the kitchen bench. Inside were bandages, clean cloth, a jar of green healing gel, dried antiseptic herbs, thread, a small blade, and salve.
When Ashen came back inside, snow dusting his damp hair, I was waiting at the table with the supplies laid out.
He stopped.
His eyes dropped to the box.
Then to me.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Moon.”
“You cannot reach your back.”
“I can manage.”
“You cannot reach your back,” I repeated. “And no, you cannot do it on your own.”
His mouth opened.
I lifted one brow.
He closed it.
A very small victory.
He moved toward the table reluctantly, like the first-aid box was more dangerous than ten rogues.
I softened my voice. “Why didn’t you let Veyra heal you?”
His gaze shifted toward the dark stairwell.
Then away.
“Her healing magic hurts me.”
I paused.
“What do you mean?”
His face closed.
Not harshly.
Carefully.
Like a door being locked before anyone could look too far inside.
“I mean it hurts.”
I wanted to ask more.
Why would fae healing hurt him? Was it because of his wolf? Because of his bloodline?Because of the chains I had seen inside him?
But he looked tired.
And if I had learned anything about Ashen, it was that pushing too hard made him retreat into silence.
So I nodded and picked up a clean cloth.
“Then sit.”
He obeyed slowly.
I tried not to think about how strange that was.
A boy who had snapped a rogue’s neck like breaking a branch still hesitated beneath kindness.
Ashen pulled his sweater off first.
Then his shirt.
My thoughts scattered.
Completely.
His back was broad and strong, marked with old scars and new wounds. Bruises darkened along his ribs. Thin cuts crossed his shoulder. The fresh claw marks were angry and red, stretching from the top of his back toward his side.
I should have focused on the injuries.
I did focus on the injuries.
Mostly.
Storm purred.
Actually purred.
Focus, I told her.
He smells good.
That is not helpful.
He smells very good.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Children, Older Ashen interrupted gently, the princess was thinking about medicine.
The boy snorted. “Was she?”
“She was trying very hard.”
The little girl giggled. “That means no.”
The Older Ashen sighed. “Your mother’s bloodline has made you all too clever.”
I opened the jar of healing gel and dipped the swab into it.
My fingers were steady.
My heart was not.
Ashen sat with his head slightly bowed, damp ash-blond hair brushing the back of his neck. He smelled like frost, clean skin, winter roses, and something warm beneath the cold that made my thoughts feel embarrassingly soft.
I stepped closer.
His shoulders tensed.
Not from fear this time.
Awareness.
That was somehow worse.
My heartbeat picked up.
Fast enough that I knew he heard it.
I lifted the swab toward the cut near his shoulder.
Before I could touch him, his hand closed gently around my wrist.
Not tight.
Never tight.
Just enough to stop me.
“Moon.”
His voice was soft.
I looked at his hand on my wrist.
Then at him.
He had turned slightly, looking over his shoulder at me. His eyes were careful, searching my face like he was trying to understand a language he had never been taught.
“I noticed your heartbeat is dangerously fast,” he said.
My face went hot.
He frowned, genuinely concerned.
“Are you okay?” His thumb shifted once against my wrist, light as a question. “How can I help you relax?”
Oh.
Oh, that was unfair.
He was not teasing me.
He truly meant it.
That made it worse.
I tried to look into his eyes.
I really did.
But my gaze betrayed me.
It dropped to his mouth.
Soft.
Still slightly bruised at the corner.
Beautiful.
My heart tripped over itself.
Ashen went very still.
I should have stepped back.
I should have laughed it off.
I should have remembered I was a princess, a future queen, and not a girl standing in a hidden cabin with medicine in one hand and longing in every foolish part of her body.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Then I leaned down and kissed him.
Just once.
Softly.
My lips touched his.
Warm.
Startled.
Barely there at first.
Then not barely.
The world went quiet.
My fingers trembled around the swab. His hand was still around my wrist, but he did not push me away.
I stopped.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I needed to know he wanted this too.
I hovered close enough to feel his breath against my mouth, my heart beating so hard it felt like it belonged to both of us.
Ashen did not move.
For one terrible, beautiful second, I waited.
Hoping he would choose to kiss me back.
- Writer
