Page 6 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

I shrugged casually. “I enjoy torturing you all far too much to get rid of you now. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” I shot him what I hoped was a feral smile, and he shot me a lazy one in response.

“Mmm, that’s why you’re here, actually.” Prince Cillian sat up and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his perfectly pressed black trousers.

I stiffened at his words. What did that mean?

Harriet’s hazel eyes widened and bounced between me and her prince. So she didn’t know either.

“Enid, the thing is . . . how do I put this nicely?” He tapped his clean-shaven jaw. “You’re a menace. Since we arrived in this bog, you’ve done nothing but terrorize my people.”

I wanted to argue that I’d done nothing wrong. I’d simply been existing and living my life when they invaded my home. They were the ones terrorizing me, and I was simply defending myself. But arguing would be pointless with these people.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave,” Prince Cillian said, his words yanking me back into this conversation.

Vine hissed and reared back, and Harriet’s hand once again went to her sword. I held up my hand, and Vine slunk backward. The last thing I needed was my python vine attacking right now.

“Leave?” I echoed. “You can’t kick me out of my home.”

Icy dread filled me at the thought of it.

Cillian held out his hand. “Harriet.”

Harriet reached for a thick book that lay on a pedestal next to her. She handed it to the high prince, who opened it and flipped through the pages until he came to the one he wanted. “Uh, let’s see. Law of 199945, blah, blah, blah, ruler has the power to blah, blah, blah . . .”

I tapped my foot, wondering where he was going with this.

“Aha. Here it is! The ruler of Fairwitch Isle has the power to remove any citizen who poses a danger or threat to other citizens.” He glanced up at me. “Sound familiar?”

I yanked up the skirt of my dress to reveal a golden key tattooed on my thigh. “You can’t kick me out. I’ve got the key.”

The hideous thing had appeared on my thigh one day, which was when I’d learned that everyone who lived here had one. That it meant the castle approved of me and would let me stay. Apparently there were people the castle hadn’t approved of in the past, and it had kicked them out of the city, kept them from reentering. But this key meant I was safe here.

Prince Cillian grimaced. “Yes, I’m aware you have the key. Unfortunately, this is an executive decision. You’re a danger to our people. You won’t work with us, you won’t help us to understand this bog and its magic, which you clearly have some kind of command over. You won’t tell us anything about yourself. You won’t even smile at anyone.”

“That’s a reason to exile someone? Because they don’t smile?”

Prince Cillian raised one of his thick dark brows. “Did you hear anything else I said?”

I huffed. “I’ll behave, okay? You can’t kick me out of my bog.”

The truth was, if I had to leave this place, I had nowhere to go. My heart pounded wildly, the same way it had that morning I’d woken up and discovered all the godwitches and demi-godwitches were gone. That they’d left me.

Vine curled around my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just give me a chance. Your castle gave me this key for a reason, so it must want me here. You don’t want to upset your little castle, do you?”

I was scrambling now, scrambling for anything that would stop the high prince from exiling me. Cillian tapped his chin, and Harriet widened her eyes at him, trying to convey some message I couldn’t understand.

I lunged forward and grabbed the book off his lap.

“Hey!” he yelled.

My gaze frantically darted over the page, looking for anything that could save me. Any exception to the law—and . . . I gasped and pointed.

“There. Right there. It says the only way to exile someone approved by the castle is through a vote. A town vote.”

“Oh.” The high prince shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Okay, we’ll hold a vote.” He leaned toward Harriet, whispering out the side of his mouth, “Though I have a pretty good feeling which way it’s going to go.”

Shite. What had I been thinking? That wasn’t any better. Nobody liked me, and I hadn’t exactly tried to make friends in the last two years.

“Eight weeks,” I said, not even knowing why I picked that number. Just that I had. My heart was pounding so hard my chest ached. “Eight weeks before the vote. Give me a chance to turn things around.”