King of Midnight: Rosethorn Valley Fae #1

by Tasha Black

  She hurried now to find him, unsure of what she would do when she did. The dancers were pressing closer again, the scent of perfume overwhelming. At last, she saw the black boots and lifted her face to behold the king.

  He gazed down at her, his expression falling as he did.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded as he leapt from the throne once more.

  “I want to help you,” she told him.

  “No one can do that,” he murmured, taking her in his arms and moving to the music once more. “I am the King of Darkness.”

  Sweet desire curled in her belly and made it difficult to think.

  What did he mean by darkness?

  He swept her around the ballroom expertly, his bored expression at odds with the urgency in his voice.

  “You have to leave here, mortal,” he told her. “This is no place for you. Tamp your magic down and hide it. Never let it see the light.”

  “I-I can’t,” she realized out loud.

  “She’s baaaack,” someone behind her cried out.

  “She’s back,” someone else echoed with a cackle.

  Suddenly, rough hands were all over her, pulling her away from him.

  “No,” she moaned.

  “Help us, halfling,” woman in a frog mask begged. “Sing for us.”

  “Yes, yes, sing for us,” the man with the lion mask purred.

  Sara desperately searched the crowd for the king, but the dancers had pressed in too close. She saw nothing but jeweled costumes and garish masks.

  “Sing,” the bird woman said from close at Sara’s elbow.

  Sara felt the inexplicable urge to obey.

  She opened her mouth and began to sing the song of the rose buds. Her voice joined with the piano and harp that already filled the room. The words were lifted out of her, as if she were a magician with a scarf sliding out of her sleeve.

  All around her, the dancers laughed and cheered.

  After the song was done, she tried to take a breath, but the song was pulled from her once more.

  She sang again, and this time she felt something like pain as the song dragged out of her lungs.

  “You’re going to be one of us now,” the woman in the frog mask giggled.

  Sara tried to stop, to ask the woman what she meant.

  But she couldn’t. She found she couldn’t stop singing, no matter how hard she tried.

  The notes were pure honeyed pain now. It was as if they were pulling her soul out with them and releasing it into the room for the others to consume.

  “You’ll be singing here forever now,” another voice cackled. “Forever and ever, and ever.”

  With a herculean effort, Sara tried again to cut off the flow of the song.

  Her head ached as if she had stuck it in a dam, and she felt her ribs vibrating with the music that longed to explode from her.

  But her voice had gone reed thin and the song had lost its melody.

  She felt it build in her, spasming, a hurricane, but she tamped down on it with all that made her human.

  Sound wrenched out of her in a terrible scream.

  There was an answering scream as the chandelier above her shattered. She closed her eyes and felt the world explode outward into nothing.

  When she opened them again, she was back in her own world.

  The room was silent. The dancers were all gone.

  The mirror had shattered in its heavy frame. Shards of glass littered the oak floor.

  And the King of Darkness stood beside her, larger than life in the dim light of the real-world conservatory.

  7

  Dorian

  Dorian stood in a dusty version of his own ballroom, dim moonlight glittering on the broken pieces of the mirror scattered on the floor.

  The human girl stood beside him, looking every bit as shocked as he felt.

  He was free.

  The reality of it wouldn’t set in.

  “Y-your majesty,” she whispered.

  “Call me Dorian,” he told her generously.

  He liked the way his deep voice echoed in this space, the way he was able to say whatever words he chose.

  He was no longer an actor in a play.

  The girl had unleashed him. Anything could happen now.

  Choosing his first independent action in centuries was easy.

  He strode over to the brave mortal, admiring her curvy figure and the unusual green-brown color of her large eyes.

  She held perfectly still as he reached out to stroke her cheek.

  He could sense her heart fluttering and taste the delicious darkness of her self-doubt.

  When he pressed his lips to hers, he fully expected to feel her melt into him, and he was not disappointed.

  He didn’t expect his own groan of gratification. But her lips were so soft that he couldn’t help it.

  He pulled back, studying her.

  Her eyes were wider now, her cheeks flushed.

  “What are you?” he asked her.

  She blinked up at him as if she had never heard that question before.

  “You’re not fully human,” he said slowly. “That much is clear. So what are you?”

  “This isn’t real,” she whispered.

  “What isn’t real?” he asked.

  “You.” She gestured at the broken mirror. “This. I must be seeing things.”

  “Are you… prone to hysteria?” he asked as politely as he knew how. He hoped the answer was no. He was fond of her already, possibly too fond.

  “No,” she said. “But there’s no other way to explain it.”

  “There are plenty of ways to explain it,” he said. “I could be an actor hired to pull an elaborate prank. This could be a local theatrical production in rehearsal. Or you could explain it by using the truth.”

  “And what is that?” she asked.

  “The truth, mostly-mortal girl,” he explained, “is that you have freed the King of Darkness. And for that, you shall be rewarded.”

  She looked alarmed rather than gratified. It was almost insulting.

  “This place is dirty,” he said. “Do you lack servants?”

  “Oh, this isn’t my home,” she replied.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m tired of it anyway. Let’s retire to your dwelling and we can discuss everything.”

  “You want to come to my house?” she asked.

  He studied her confused look for a moment. She had seemed so sharp as a child.

  She’d certainly been prepared for decisive action back in his castle.

  But now that he was free to get to know her, she merely echoed everything he said.

  Perhaps she was still reeling from his kiss. He was aware of the effect he had on the fairer sex. He had sent many a maiden tottering home, half-drunk with infatuation from kisses that paled in comparison to the one he had just shared with this girl.

  “Yes,” he told her patiently. “I wish to retire to your home.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, looking like she was trying hard to keep up. “Sure, let’s go.”

  He followed her to the foyer.

  The condition of the grandfather clock was disgraceful. Did no one in this world know how to care for priceless objects?

  There was no time to deliberate - the girl had already marched out to the porch.

  He followed her and she locked the door behind him, fiddling with some sort of box hanging from the knob.

  “I thought you said this wasn’t your home,” he said, frowning.

  “It’s not,” she said. “I’m a real estate agent.”

  He knew those words but had never heard them smashed together in this way.

  “A doorman?” he asked.

  “No, um, a person who helps other people look at houses and choose which one to buy,” she said.

  “People build houses, they don’t buy them,” he said, wondering what in the world she was talking about.

  She laughed and he was surprised at how the sound of it made him feel - like a newborn fawn
seeing its first sunrise. Very few people laughed in his presence.

  “In my world, there are few places left where someone could build homes,” she explained. “Most of us buy used homes.”

  She held something up in her hand and moved her thumb, making a clicking noise.

  Something seemed to squawk back, in answer to her click.

  A pair of lights shone briefly, like eyes in the night.

  A horseless carriage.

  He had seen them through the mirror from time to time, back when work was done occasionally in the walled garden.

  “This belongs to you?” he asked her as they walked to it.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s not very fancy but it gets me where I’m going.”

  He watched her open her door and then attempted the same on the opposite side.

  The door gave way easily and he lowered himself into the seat.

  It was small, this carriage, but still a marvel. The things these creatures did in the absence of magic was charming.

  The girl did something and the thing growled to life. They made their way down the drive.

  Oddly, he recognized none of the landscape.

  He hadn’t been gone long enough for the land itself to change so much. Which left only one possibility…

  Had his castle moved during his years of sleep?

  “What kingdom is this?” he demanded. “I do not recognize these lands.”

  “Uh, it’s Pennsylvania,” she replied. “Your house was brought here from Wales.”

  That made some kind of sense.

  Outside the windows, Dorian could just make out the shapes of the trees in the moonlight.

  “My house isn’t really that big,” the girl said after a moment. “Compared to what you’re used to, at least.”

  “Fear not,” he told her simply, allowing her a smile in the darkness of her small carriage.

  He felt the shiver of awareness that went down her spine in response.

  He had never been so alert to another being’s feelings, and certainly never to one who wasn’t within his realm.

  She fixed her eyes on the road ahead.

  It seemed to be made of a single smooth stone, painted with decorative lines and dots.

  When she pulled the carriage into an empty lot he was concerned. She had said her home was smaller than his, but at this rate it must be so small as to be almost invisible.

  “Woman, do you jest?” he asked her.

  “Uh, my house is across the street,” she told him. “It’s one of the mill workers’ cottages, there’s no parking over there.”

  “I thought you said you helped people buy used houses?” he asked. “You also work at a mill? Or is it your father who works there?”

  That made more sense. She was unmarried, or she would not have accepted his kiss so readily. Probably.

  “No, the house was originally built for mill workers,” she said. “I live there now, alone.”

  He frowned. “That sounds unsafe.”

  She laughed again and the bright sound washed over him like sunlight. “I just destroyed your whole ghost ballroom and you think I’m unsafe in my own home?”

  “It’s not a ghost ballroom,” he sniffed.

  “What is it then?” she asked him.

  He followed as she crossed the street and began to climb the stone steps up to one of the smashed-together houses.

  “It was my ballroom,” he said. “More recently it was a prison for some of my less civilized subjects.”

  “Less civilized?” the girl echoed.

  “Let’s just say they were trapped there for a reason,” he told her. “But you managed to free me without releasing the others. I didn’t know it could be done.”

  “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she admitted.

  “I think you have. The adult mind is quick to dismiss what it doesn’t understand,” he explained. “But I do think something is happening in your realm. I’ve never felt its magic at this level before.”

  She was opening the front door now, her dark hair falling in front of her face as she bent to slide the key into the lock.

  What are you?

  The question was in his mind again, though he was beginning to suspect even she might not know the answer.

  The door opened to a modest entryway. From this vantage point he could see through a small living room and kitchen, each with a beamed ceiling, and out into the hillside behind the house.

  She had been telling the truth that her home was not spacious.

  But it was neat and tidy and decorated with houseplants and roughhewn vases of flowers. The scent of baking spices saturated the air.

  He turned his gaze back to the woman and felt the power coming off her, electrifying the air between them.

  There was some touch of magic in her - he was sure of it.

  “I, um, I don’t have a guest room set up,” she said. “So you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

  They both observed the item of furniture in question.

  While it might have been an ample seat for the human, it was hardly large enough to serve as a bed for the King of Darkness.

  8

  Sara

  Sara ran a hand through her hair.

  A person did not let a king sleep on the sofa.

  “You know what, I think you should take my room,” she said. “I’ll sleep down here.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dorian replied.

  “I’m not sure you’ll even fit on that thing,” she added.

  He eyed the sofa suspiciously.

  “I insist,” Sara said firmly, heading up the stairs before he could give her any more trouble.

  It was a narrow circular staircase and very dim. But it opened up to a floor with a nice sized bedroom and bathroom.

  She heard his footsteps behind her and almost pinched herself.

  Was this real?

  It was beginning to feel very, very real.

  She led the way into her room, glad that she kept things neat. It was weird enough having him here. She definitely didn’t want him seeing a pile of laundry on the floor.

  “These are your chambers,” he said approvingly.

  “Yes,” she replied, wondering what there was to approve of.

  “Good,” he said. “I had begun to worry that your world was more fond of dust than mine.”

  That made sense. If he was basing his judgment on the state of the mansion, he probably hadn’t had high hopes for her home.

  “I’ll let you get comfortable,” she said, heading for the door.

  But the desire to know more about him overwhelmed her and she stopped in her tracks and turned back.

  “I was going to make some tea,” she told him. “Can I bring you some?”

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  “I’ll be back then,” she told him. “Make yourself at home.”

  She hurried down the stairs and headed for the kitchen, hoping she had something he might like to eat. His enormous size made her suspect he might be hungry for more than she had in the house.

  She started the kettle and began rummaging around for a snack.

  There were homemade blueberry muffins that she’d made day before yesterday and there wasn’t much else that she could prepare quickly.

  She put them on a plate along with some of the fresh blueberries from the farmer’s market that she’d used to bake the muffins.

  Now there was nothing to do but wait for the tea.

  She pulled two mugs down from the cupboard and placed a teabag in each. She grabbed milk and the sugar bowl and put everything on a tray.

  A song came to her mind and she began to hum automatically, then stopped herself, remembering she wasn’t alone.

  Besides, after tonight, she was starting to think that she might never want to sing again. His words still echoed in her mind.

  What are you?

  It was a fair question. Had she really broken down the barrier between worlds with her voice?


  Impossible.

  “Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast,” she said quietly to herself.

  It was a quote from Alice in Wonderland, but it was beginning to sound like it might also be her personal motto.

  The tea kettle whistled, and she turned off the burner and poured the steaming water into their mugs.

  It occurred to her suddenly that she might climb the stairs with the tea only to find an empty room.

  The tray began to shake slightly in her hands and the mugs rattled against each other as she walked. It had been a long night.

  Sara gave herself a little shake and tried to be careful. She could see the headline in the village newspaper now:

  Delusional Local Realtor Falls Down Stairs with Tea for Imaginary Man

  By the time she got to the top of the stairs, she could hear him singing, his voice echoing strangely. He was singing something about a winsome farmer’s daughter.

  Her room was empty, which meant…

  She turned to see the door to the bathroom was open, steam emerging along with the notes to his bawdy song.

  “Come in, lass,” he called to her.

  The King of Darkness was lounging in her bathtub. His huge naked body rippled with muscles.

  The tub was filled with bubbles, which mercifully covered some of him. She wondered if maybe he had used all of the soap.

  “Join me,” he suggested.

  She felt the blush creep from her hairline to her ankles.

  “Um, I’m good,” she muttered.

  “Suit yourself.”

  He shrugged.

  The sight of the muscles in his chest and shoulders contracting and relaxing was practically hypnotic.

  “I’ll set up the tea in the other room while you finish in here,” Sara said, scurrying away.

  But she hardly had time to place the tea things on the bedside table before she heard the tub draining.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and began to prepare her tea so as to have something to focus on besides his nakedness.

  His footsteps approached. Even after the bath, he carried the pleasant scent of the forest with him.

  She looked up in spite of herself.

  He was resplendent, his long dark hair dripping, water beading on his muscular form, a towel wrapped around his waist, barely covering his manhood.