Page 38 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“And launched straight at poor Margaret?” my father mumbled into his tea.

I settled back into the couch, munching on my scone. “You two are insufferable.”

I wanted to ask Margaret how she’d managed to get a castle painting into our apartment. Knowing her, she’d probably convinced someone else to do it. She liked to be in as many places as possible around the city of Fairwitch Isle. Her paintings had popped up in the bakery, our local tavern, and even the blacksmith’s shop. Several people had a key to our apartment in case of an emergency, so any one of them could be who’d brought her painting, but I did wonder why she’d want to come here. She already had a painting down in the dress shop, and surely she didn’t just want to visit with my father.

I was about to ask when the city bell rang in the distance, signaling that it was midmorning.

Godwitches be. I needed to get myself together and open the dress shop. Thankfully I hadn’t had any early morning appointments.

“Oh my!” Margaret’s eyes widened. “I have errands to run for the prince. I should probably get going, but I’ll be back next week!”

I narrowed my gaze. I’d question her later.

My father raised his cup of tea. “Come with more stories!”

Margaret winked. “I always do.”

She dashed out of the painting, and I turned to face my father. “Since when do you get visits from Margaret?”

He stroked his stubbled jaw. “Oh, today was the first one. Quite a surprise. I came out here this morning, worried when you weren’t awake, but Margaret was in the painting, chattering away. I got so distracted, I didn’t even realize how late it was.”

“It sounds like you’ve made a new friend. Are you going to tell me more about her visit?”

His shaggy white brows bunched together. “Well, I don’t share every part of my life with you, Ceri, dear.” His gaze bore into me. “Just like I’m sure you don’t share every part of your life with me.”

I squirmed as I remembered last night—Cillian coming into my room, his arms around me as he showed me how to hit with that ridiculous club. Both of us falling asleep on the rooftop. Wait a minute. We’d fallen asleep on the roof. How had I ended up in my bed this morning? There was no way Cillian could’ve carried me off the rooftop and through the window without waking me. I shook my head. I’d have to ask him the next time I saw him.

“I suppose there are some things I don’t share with you.” I took another bite of the scone. “Where did these come from?”

Father’s face brightened. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. They were sitting on the coffee table this morning, along with a steaming pot of rose tea and plates and cups. I thought you’d arranged it all for me, but then you were still sleeping, so I really don’t know.”

My brows furrowed. It had to have been Cillian. No one else would’ve brought us food.

I patted Papa’s hand. “Well, I’m glad you have a friend to talk to.”

“Oh yes, she’s so entertaining. I always loved the stories she’d tell you in the dress shop, and now I get my very own. You know, that Sir Arthur is a lively one.”

I thought of the sentient armor that basically threatened everyone who walked through the castle’s doors and never seemed to remember who anybody was. “Yes. Lively is one word for it.”

“So what were you up to last night?” My father peered at me. “I heard some clomping on the roof.”

The memory of the brush of Cillian’s hand against mine burned through me, and my cheeks heated. I felt like a schoolgirl instead of the thirty-five-year-old woman I was. His hand had accidentally touched mine, for godwitches’ sake. It certainly wasn’t worth blushing over.

“I was just star gazing, getting some fresh air.” Thinking about my best friend in ways that were completely inappropriate.

“Mmm,” Father said as he took another sip of his steaming tea. “Sounds like a lovely night.”

“It was.” I kept my voice as airy and unbothered as possible.

These trials were affecting me far more than I wanted them to, putting romantic ideas in my head that I had no business having. I reached for a cup of tea and took a sip, determined to banish these thoughts from my brain once and for all. How hard could it really be?

CHAPTER 18

Cillian

Iwas sick of pretending, and I wasn’t going to do it any longer. I’d shoved my feelings away for far too long, and that brief respite from my tonic had shown me that I needed to feel again. And it would start with Ceri.

The town of Fairwitch Isle was quiet, the sky black and filled with clouds. I stood outside Ceri’s dress shop, staring up at her bedroom window like I had so many nights in the past. I used to sneak into her room all the time, and we’d stay up late, sneaking candies that I’d taken from my mother’s kitchen and giggling and talking until the early morning when I’d have to sneak back out. That had been when we were children, and it had also been when I’d first started falling in love with her.