Page 28 of This Prince Is Not Charming

I swept her up in my arms. A sharp exhale escaped her as her heavy bosom rose and fell with quick breaths. She pressed her palms against my chest, her brown eyes sparking with surprise. My throat opened, and I could breathe again with Ceri in my arms.

“Cillian?” she asked, voice so unsure, so confused.

I wasn’t confused at all. I knew exactly what I wanted in this moment. I squeezed her tighter against me, studying her round pink cheeks, her button nose, and those mahogany eyes, flecked with green. In this moment, I could handle these feelings. I didn’t entirely hate them. That was something.

Morton cleared his throat from the front of the room, still perched on the arm of my throne, and Ceri quickly shoved herself out of my arms.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked, a faint blush on her cheeks as she straightened her dress. I hadn’t made her blush in a long time, and it sent a thrill through me.

“Hey,” I said, voice low while Morton began talking. “Let’s go somewhere tonight. After your father is asleep.”

Like we used to before I became high prince.

She frowned, whispering back, “I can’t. My father is already going to be worried.”

My throat closed again, sweat breaking out across my forehead, and suddenly, all of this was too much. My emotions were a wildfire, and the more I felt, the more they grew and spread. “Right. Yes, I know that.” That had always been the problem. Not Ceri’s father or the fact that she took care of him—but that I was the high prince and Ceri could never be my queen.

I stumbled slightly, dizzy and queasy and needing to get out of here. Ceri grabbed my arm, holding me steady.

“Prince Cillian,” Morton said with an edge to his voice.

I looked around, realizing everyone in the room was quiet and staring at me and Ceri.

“Would you like to share what’s so important that you’ve been chattering away to Miss Morgane instead of listening to me?”

Just like that, I was a schoolboy, back in class, passing notes to Ceri while she glared at me and mouthed, “Stop it.”

Ceri’s lips twitched while she tried her best to look contrite, one of her dimples peeking out. I desperately wanted to trace it. Fuck, I needed to get a grip on myself. As soon as this stupid announcement from Morton was finished, I’d get Fargus and be on my way to getting my tonic and ridding myself of all these godwitches-damned emotions.

Morton narrowed his gaze. “Is something funny, Miss Morgane?”

Ceri let out a snort and covered her mouth.

“No,” she said. “Please. Continue.”

Morton grunted. “The winner of today’s trial and the one who gets a coveted date tonight with Prince Cillian is Meera.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Date. Tonight? Meera. That was not part of the marriage trials book. No one told me I was going to have to court the contestants. Morton definitely left out the part where I’d be courting a fucking cat.

I turned to look at the black cat, who was licking her paw, not remotely excited that she’d won. That made two of us.

“Meera was the one holding the lantern of eternal light. It’s been buried in this castle for a long time, and she brought it back to us.”

Fuck me. Tonight was like the worst kind of whiplash.

Ceri nudged my ribs. “Looks like you have plans tonight after all. With one very charming cat.”

The glee in her voice made my frown deepen.

“I’m going to need a drink,” Marsten said with a sigh. “Who’s up for going to the local tavern?”

Everyone raised their hands . . . except Ceri, whose lips were pressed into a thin line. I still remembered the first time I’d noticed her do this, when we were kids, after her sister had died. Some of our schoolmates had invited us to sneak out of Fairwitch Isle with them, go to the cliffs, and swim in the ocean. One minute Ceri had been by my side, and the next she was gone. I’d found her in her dress shop, with her father, who was having yet another anxiety attack. I didn’t have to ask why she’d left. I knew that she wouldn’t leave her father to do something reckless. So I’d stayed with her, played word games with her and her father. Then I’d kept doing it.

Every time Ceri said no to an invitation, I said no too. And I’d never once regretted it. I couldn’t stand seeing her sad, seeing the way she stared longingly at our schoolmates during class, the way she’d look away when they shared inside jokes that she didn’t understand.

All these years later and she was still doing it.

“Ceri?” Marsten asked. “You coming with us?”