Page 5 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

Sir Arthur kept his sword pressed to my neck. “What’s the password?”

“I don’t know, Arthur.” I planted my hands on my hips. “No one has ever shared it with me, which I’ve told you many times now.”

“Then I can’t let you through.”

“Fine by me.” I’d just tell Prince Cillian the truth: this hunk of metal wouldn’t let me in. I couldn’t very well be blamed for that.

A voice in my mind whispered that was a lie as I remembered the ominous words on the note the prince had sent this morning.

You are hereby summoned to face the High Prince of Fairwitch Isle.

I’d been tempted to crumple the parchment and throw it into the bog, but Vine wouldn’t let me.

It had sounded serious. I assumed I’d broken one of their laws—I wouldn’t know because I’d never bothered to read the bylaws that were dropped off at my door a week after their city had crashed into my bog.

I turned to leave, Sir Arthur still pointing a sword at me as the ground began to shift underneath my feet.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t you do this! Don’t you dare do this⁠—”

But it was too late. The castle was already moving, the walls dropping from around me, the ceiling falling away as wind pushed me forward and up the stairs that were magically forming.

“Stop it,” I snapped at the castle, but much like my bog, it had a mind of its own and apparently wanted to send me somewhere I didn’t want to go.

The stairs continued to build, one after another, nothing around me but darkness. I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to resist or jump, and I had no interest in finding out. When the castle first arrived, I’d been warned it had a mind of its own, that people had died within its walls, getting lost or taken by a random room, stepping through a door, only to never be seen again. Just another reason why I kept my distance as much as possible.

The wind pushed me again, and I lurched forward and onto my knees, pain shooting through them as I squeezed my eyes shut.

Once the pain subsided, I grunted and slowly pushed myself to my feet, realizing I was now standing in the throne room, facing Prince Cillian.

The marble floor gleamed underneath my black boots, pristine and sparkling.

A dais led to Cillian’s white throne. He sprawled lazily over it, his dark waves falling over his perfectly symmetrical face, his skin a creamy pale that was unmarred by any blemishes. The Fair Folk were gorgeous, which made sense, given they were creations of the leader of the godwitches, the Fairwitch. While Cillian was mortal, his beauty rivaled even theirs. If I’d seen him out and about, I might have mistaken him as one of the Fair Folk.

He straightened in his seat. “Well, well, well, it’s the wicked witch of the bog.”

“You think that’s an insult, but I actually rather like the nickname.”

Witch. A derogatory term for someone who twisted the godwitches’ magic into something dark and dangerous. I’d happily be a wicked witch if it meant scaring all these people away.

“And that’s exactly why you’re here,” the high prince said. “Because you like using this sentient bog for ill purposes.” He tsked. “I don’t think the godwitches would appreciate how you’re using their magic. They left us a precious gift before departing from this world, and you’re manipulating and misusing that gift.”

I snorted. He had no idea just how ironic that statement was.

I glared at him. He might’ve been pretty, but he was also insufferable. I stomped forward, and his guard, Harriet, moved her hand to the hilt of her sword.

As if I would actually attack the prince. “If I was going to hurt your precious prince, I’d have done so two years ago when you first arrived.”

Harriet glowered, and Cillian waved his hand. “It’s all right, Harriet.”

The guard’s hand dropped from the hilt, but her gaze kept flicking to Vine, who slithered by my side.

The sun shone on her tawny skin, so dewy and beautiful, so different from my own green skin. I doubted anyone had ever thought of me as beautiful. Not like Harriet with the tight black curls that haloed her head, her high cheekbones, and full pink lips.

“Why didn’t you ever kill me, just out of curiosity?” Prince Cillian asked.

My attention strayed from the prince’s guard back to him.

Oh, I’d thought about it. Right after the city dropped from the sky, I’d considered using my magic to sink Fairwitch to the bottom of the Cragh. But what would that have done? It would have destroyed so much of my home, and if there were survivors, that display of magic would reveal my identity, something I’d managed to keep a secret for thousands of years.