The Midnight Prince

The Lesser Evil

The Midnight Prince

“Did the princess kiss him?” the little girl asked.

There was a pause.

A very suspicious pause.

Then I cleared my throat. “This is a family story.”

“But did she?”

“She was grateful.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the safest answer.”

The boy groaned. “Papa, you are avoiding.”

“I am preserving innocence,” I said. “There is a difference.”

Princess Moon

Ashen caught me before I hit the floor.

One moment, I was tripping backward like a court-trained disaster in borrowed shoes.

The next, I was in his arms.

His hand was firm against my back. His other hand held my wrist carefully, like he was afraid I might break and even more afraid I would realize how easily he could keep me close.

I should have stepped away.

I did not.

His damp hair fell over his forehead, darker from the shower. His shirt was on now, thank the Goddess, though it did nothing to help me think clearly. The fabric clung slightly to his shoulders, and I could still see where bruises shadowed the edges of his throat and wrists.

My heartbeat betrayed me.

Fast.

Too fast.

His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.

Or maybe I imagined it because I wanted him to.

That was worse.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

His voice was low, almost rough.

I nodded.

A lie.

I was not all right. I was standing too close to the boy who had heard me across distance and danger. The boy who had come when I asked for help without knowing how, without knowing why. The boy who had fought through rogue wolves with frost smoking from his hands and lifted me from the snow like I weighed nothing.

And he smelled—

No.

No, that thought needed to behave.

Frost. Winter roses. Clean skin. Rain-cooled air. Something ancient beneath it.

Storm stretched lazily inside me.

You are staring.

I blinked.

Ashen’s hand loosened from my back, and I stepped away before my dignity dissolved completely.

Then I remembered.

“The ring,” I said.

His whole body changed.

Not dramatically. Not in a way most people would notice.

But I did.

His shoulders went still. His breath paused. His eyes sharpened with a pain so old it had probably lived with him longer than kindness.

I reached into the pocket of the borrowed skirt.

The silver-white ring rested against my palm, cold and beautiful.

“I took it from Dorian before I ran,” I said. “I don’t even remember deciding to. I just saw it and knew I couldn’t let him keep it.”

Ashen stared at it.

For a moment, he did not move.

Then he reached out.

Stopped.

As if he was afraid it might vanish.

I stepped closer and placed it in his hand.

The second the ring touched his skin, frost curled gently around his fingers.

Not biting.

Not punishing.

Welcoming.

The air in the room changed, soft and cold and full of something I did not have a name for.

Ashen closed his fist around it.

His throat moved.

“Thank you,” he said.

Two words.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Not enough for what passed through his face.

I understood then that the ring was not only jewelry. Not only a clue. Not only a royal bloodline secret.

It was his mother.

His promise.

The last warm thing she had left in his hands.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered.

For one breath, we only stood there.

Too close again.

Not close enough.

Then Nara’s voice rang from downstairs.

“Dinner is getting cold! And Veyra says if you two do not come down, she is starting without you!”

Veyra’s voice followed. “I never said if!”

Ashen’s mouth twitched.

A real smile.

Small, but real.

That smile ruined my good sense.

I leaned forward before courage could abandon me and kissed him on the cheek.

Close to his mouth.

Too close to pretend it was nothing.

Not close enough to be what I wanted.

The lesser evil.

Ashen froze.

So did I.

His skin was warm beneath my lips.

Soft.

He smelled impossibly good.

I pulled back before I did something very unprincess-like and very satisfying.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” I said quickly.

Then I fled.

Not walked.

Fled.

My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my throat. I closed the door behind me and hurried down the hall, one hand flying to my lips like the kiss had happened there instead.

It had felt amazing.

Too amazing.

If that was only his cheek, what would a real kiss—

“Children,” Older Ash interrupted, voice suddenly firm, “the princess was thinking very respectfully.”

The boy snorted. “That means she wasn’t.”

“She was,” Older Ashen said. “Respectfully overwhelmed.”

The girl giggled. “Mama says that means flustered.”

“Your mother has always enjoyed dangerous accuracy.”

I reached the kitchen with my face still warm.

Nara looked up from the table and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It is warm in here.”

Veyra glanced around the cabin kitchen, where the fire was low and frost still clung to the window corners.

“Scorching,” she said dryly.

I sat before either of them could ask another question.

The cabin table had been set with mismatched plates, chipped cups, and a stew that smelled better than anything I had eaten since the ball. The rabbits Ashen and Nara hunted had been cooked with winter greens, dried herbs, and some kind of root vegetable Veyra claimed was not poisonous “anymore.”

Comfort lived in the room uneasily, as if none of us fully trusted it.

Then Ashen came downstairs.

The ring was back on his finger.

My heart did something foolish.

He entered quietly, hair still damp, sweater pulled over his shirt, sleeves low around his wrists. His gaze flicked to me once, then away.

But not before I saw the faint color on his cheeks.

Good.

At least I was not suffering alone.

He sat between Nara and Veyra.

Storm made a sad little sound inside me.

I ignored her.

Mostly.

It was ridiculous to feel jealous. Nara was his sister. Veyra was his guardian. They were his safe people, the ones who had earned the right to sit close to him without making him tense.

I had no right to want that place.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But I wanted it anyway.

Not only beside him at a table.

Closer than that.

In his trust.

In his thoughts.

In whatever locked part of him still expected every gentle hand to turn into a fist.

Nara ladled stew into his bowl first.

Ashen frowned. “Princess first.”

“No,” Nara said.

“Nara.”

“You eat first.”

“I am fine.”

Veyra reached over and took the bowl from Nara, then set it directly in front of Ashen. “There. Family democracy.”

“That was not democracy,” Ashen said.

“No, but it was efficient.”

He sighed but picked up his spoon.

Nara looked pleased.

I took my own bowl and watched them quietly for a moment.

The warmth between them was strange. Not easy, exactly. Too many old habits lived in the spaces between words. Nara watched Ashen’s plate like she would refill it by force if he stopped eating. Ashen watched the doors and windows like danger might knock politely before entering. Veyra watched everyone and pretended not to care.

Still, it was family.

A wounded one.

But real.

“What was he like?” I asked.

Three sets of eyes turned to me.

I swallowed. “Before. In SilvaFrost.”

Ashen lowered his spoon.

Nara answered before he could dodge.

“Annoying.”

His brows lifted.

She nodded seriously. “Very bossy. Always telling me to eat, sleep, study, stay away from Callan, stay away from the east stairs, stay away from the stables after dark, stay away from anything fun.”

“Most of those things were reasonable,” Ashen said.

“You once told me to stay away from a broom.”

“It fell on you twice.”