Page 39 of This Prince Is Not Charming

I didn’t know if she felt the same, but I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was going to tell her. Tonight. I climbed up the trellis and knocked on her window. Ceri appeared, swinging it open as I climbed inside and took in that nightgown, the same one she’d worn the other night, with skimpy straps and sheer fabric and a plunging neckline. It swayed around her curvy body, and godwitches, I wanted to grab her.

“Ceri, I have to tell you something.”

Her plush pink lips parted, and she pressed a finger against my lips. “I already know. I’ve known for a long time. And I love you too.”

I didn’t even have a chance to respond before her mouth was on mine, her hands grabbing at my shirt and ripping it open as she pushed me against the wall. And then I was devouring her too, hand slipping inside her nightgown and brushing over her soft skin, skimming up to cup her heavy breasts. Godwitches, I’d wanted to touch these for so fucking long.

My cock was hard and aching within seconds, and I hadn’t been this turned on in a long time. Maybe ever.

“I love you,” I said between frantic kisses. “I love you so fucking much.”

Our tongues tangled as her hand moved down to my cock, stroking it in a fast motion that made me feral.

“On guard,” she whispered.

“That’s an interesting thing to say while your hand is on my cock.”

“On guard, you scoundrel!”

Her hand stopped, and my cock ached from the lack of friction. “Scoundrel? That’s a new nickname, but if it gets you to keep touching me, you can call me anything you want.”

Something hard jabbed between my ribs.

“Ow!”

Ceri stepped back, staring at me, motionless now.

“Did you just punch me?” I shoved a hand through my hair, not sure what was happening. “That’s not quite the kind of foreplay I imagined.”

“Intruder!” Ceri said, voice deep and gravelly.

“I’ll leave if you’ve changed your mind⁠—”

“What’s the password?”

“I-I didn’t know we had a password.”

“Tell me the password or I’ll shove this sword straight through your gut!”

I jolted upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat soaking my silk trousers and shirt, and found Sir Arthur standing over me and brandishing his wooden sword. Thank the godwitches I’d taken away his actual sword months ago.

“Sir Arthur, what are you doing in my bedroom?”

He pointed his wooden sword at my throat. “I know you’re an impostor. You’re not the real prince.”

His words sent prickles up my spine. The knight never seemed to recognize or remember anyone other than me and the other sentient objects in the castle. If he was starting to forget who I was, then Castle’s magic might have been weakening even more than I’d realized. Fuck.

“If I’m an impostor, then where is the real high prince?” I asked.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Good godwitches, are you admitting to murder?”

“What?” I yelled. “How is that the conclusion you came to based on my question?”

“Murder!” Sir Arthur yelled. “The high prince has been murdered!”

“Will you stop it?” I hissed.

“Arthur, what are you doing in here?” Margaret appeared in a painting of me, blocking my face. Her gaze traveled from the knight to me, and she immediately covered her eyes. “Oh. Oh my goodness. Um, there is a situation happening under you sheets that I don’t think I was supposed to see.”