Page 37 of This Prince Is Not Charming

When did this painting show up in our apartment? And who had brought it? My father certainly wouldn’t have gone to the castle and taken a painting, and that was the only way Margaret could travel—through castle paintings.

Father chuckled, taking a bite of a scone. “So what happened next?”

“Ambrose dueled the knight, but poor Sir Arthur, well, you know he’s just a piece of armor brought to life by Castle’s magic.”

“Mm-hmm,” Father said through a mouthful of scone.

I peered at the scones. I hadn’t baked those. Where had they come from? Was I the one losing my mind? Imagining all of this? I pinched myself just to be sure, but I didn’t wake up from a dream. I was still standing here, watching my father and Margaret chat like old friends.

“Ambrose purposely let Sir Arthur win the duel.”

“How did he manage that without getting stabbed?”

Margaret waved a hand. “Well, they took away Sir Arthur’s real sword months ago, after he accidentally stabbed Wolfe.” She paused. “Actually, he purposely stabbed Wolfe, but because he’s just a sentient piece of armor, everyone was more forgiving, and Prince Cillian decided we should take away his metal sword and replace it with a wooden one. Sir Arthur didn’t even notice.”

“Ah, so he stabbed Ambrose with the wooden sword.”

“Exactly! And then Ambrose was so nice about losing, Sir Arthur declared that he was the best opponent he’d ever faced and let him pass.”

“I would’ve loved to see that.” Father shook his head, still chuckling.

“You should visit the castle sometime,” Margaret said.

“No, no, I don’t think so.” Father shook his head. “Though I do like your stories. It makes me feel like I’m out there, living life with all of you. I like the visits too.”

My heart swelled, and I had to swallow back tears. I had no idea how any of this had happened, but it brought me so much joy to see someone visiting Father, talking with him, not just forgetting about him, which was what it so often felt like in Fairwitch. Like I was his only connection to the world. Other than Cillian, who visited as much as he could.

I strolled out into the living room. “Well, good morning to you two.”

Margaret beamed. “Ceri!”

Father turned to give me an assessing look. “Someone slept in this morning. Did you have a late night, dear?” He sipped his tea, and I could smell the hints of rose and cardamom.

My cheeks heated, and I had no idea why I was blushing. “I must have just been tired after yesterday’s events.” I came to sit next to him on the little couch in front of our fire, the piece of furniture upholstered in yellow floral daisies that I’d stitched myself.

My father’s face darkened at the mention of the trials, and I winced, wishing I hadn’t said that. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“I heard you all had to put together a puzzle!”

Father’s brow lifted as I reached for a blueberry scone with a dusting of sugar on the top that added the perfect sweet crunch. “You didn’t tell me that! Your trial was a puzzle?”

That was a very mild way of putting it, but I was thankful to Margaret because I could already tell that little detail put my father more at ease.

“Well, yes. We were in a tower, and there were loose stones in the wall. Well, we—I—discovered the stones fit together like a puzzle, and once we completed the whole picture, that was our way out.”

I didn’t mention how we’d had to descend steep stairs in the dark or how we’d fallen down those stairs or how Liadan had disappeared and we had no idea where she’d gone. But he didn’t need to know all those details.

Father smiled wide and looked at Margaret. “That’s my girl. She can solve any puzzle you put in front of her.” He reached out and patted my knee. “I’m proud of you. Though it doesn’t exactly sound like you were trying to lose.”

Margaret let out a laugh, and I glared at her. She quickly covered her mouth.

“Why does everyone find it so hard to believe I could lose at something on purpose?”

Margaret and my father shot each other looks, a secret conversation happening between the two.

“You just get a little excited when it comes to games and challenges,” Margaret said. “I’ll never forget when you almost hit one of my paintings with your game piece after losing in the castle library.”

I scoffed. “It slipped from my hand.”