Page 48 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“Sorry,” I said, digging my fork into the mashed potatoes harder than necessary.

Siobhan flinched. “What is the matter with you? You’re on a date with the most beautiful woman in Fairwitch Isle, your future wife, and you’re not even paying any attention to me.” She gestured at the sequin dress that molded to her slim figure. “This is one of my best dresses, and I’m wasting it on you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Bold of you to assume you’re my future wife.”

She gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Of course I’m your future wife. This is just your castle’s way of testing me, making me prove myself.” She raised her chin. “And I’d say so far I’m doing an excellent job.”

Godwitches. “Can we just talk about something else?”

Her violet eyes flashed with a promise of violence. “That is what I’ve been trying to do all evening. It’s not my fault you’re not listening.”

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be here. I needed to find Ceri and talk to her, apologize for what an ass I’d been.

“Oh, for godwitches’ sake. Did you just hear what I said?”

“That I’m not listening.”

Siobhan’s eyes bugged. “I said that a full minute ago!” She slumped back into her chair. “I cannot believe this. I’m going to disappoint her again.”

“Welcome to the club,” I said.

“You’re going to disappoint your mam?” She raised an eyebrow.

I laid down my fork. “No.” I paused. “Well, yes, probably, since nothing I do seems to make her happy, much like everyone else. But that’s not who I was talking about.”

Siobhan eyed me for a moment. “Ceri. That’s who you’re talking about.”

“How did you know that?”

She scoffed. “After your yelling match today at tea, I’d imagine everyone knows that she’s unhappy with you. The question is why do you care so much?” There was a tremble in Siobhan’s voice like she was afraid to hear the answer.

“Because she’s my friend, and I messed up,” I said.

She held my gaze as if daring me to tell her the truth, except I couldn’t because the truth would wreck me. It would wreck Ceri. It would wreck everything.

Siobhan’s gaze dipped down, her eyes glassy. “Why do you keep doing that?”

Godwitches, I hoped I wasn’t about to make her cry. “Why do I keep doing what?” I asked, wary.

“Reaching into your pocket. You’ve shoved your hand inside your pocket no less than fifteen times since we sat down.”

I winced, instantly letting go of the vial I’d been gripping, telling myself I didn’t need another sip. That the last one had been enough. Except it wasn’t fucking enough, because all my emotions were starting to slip through the cracks, and I wasn’t sure why. I already felt guilty about leaving Fairwitch Isle once a month to procure this tonic. I couldn’t leave again, and yet, I might have to because ever since I woke up after the dream about Ceri this morning, I’d felt like a fire was raging inside me, trying to get out.

“Just a tick, I guess,” I said, and her gaze narrowed.

“Stop lying.” She threw out her hands. “You’re lying. About everything. About Ceri just being a friend. About being sorry that you’re not listening to me.” Her eyes homed in on my pocket. “And about whatever is in that stupid pocket.”

Suddenly Siobhan was launching herself across the table with a war cry, plates and goblets crashing to the floor, wine splattering all over my clothes, and Siobhan landing on top of me, both of us toppling backward in the chair.

“What are you doing?” I yelled as she clawed at my shirt, ripping a few buttons while I batted her hands away.

“Figuring out what’s in your pocket!”

She jabbed a hand toward where I had my vial, and I caught her wrist. “Siobhan,” I warned. “Stop.”

Her jaw was set. “No.” Purple magic swirled around her hand, and I realized too late what was happening—not that I could’ve stopped it.

The magic dissipated, revealing my vial pinched between her fingers.