Page 7 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“Godwitches, that was a rough night.” Cillian dragged a hand down his perfectly symmetrical face. “Did you know that when Fargus is irritated, his right wing begins to twitch?”

“No, because I’ve never irritated Fargus. What did you do this time?”

Cillian shrugged. “Oh, practically nothing. You know how he gets worked up over the littlest things.”

I thought of Margaret’s gossip and wished she had never told me. If Cillian didn’t divulge that information to me, that meant he didn’t want me to know what he was doing last night—and that was fine because I didn’t want to know.

Today had already been chaotic enough, and I didn’t need to go inviting more chaos. Godwitches knew Cillian invited plenty of that on his own.

“Uh-huh.” I walked to the settee and sat next to him. “What are you doing here? You do know you’re getting married today, don’t you?” I wrinkled my nose. “And you smell awful.”

He barked out a laugh. “Tell me what you really think.”

I nudged him. “I always do.”

He shoved a hand through the glossy black waves that fell right back into place. “But do you actually want to know how many times his wing twitched this morning? I counted.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t. You shouldn’t be trying to irritate your adviser. He’s there to help you.”

Something the high prince sorely needed. I loved Cillian, but he wasn’t always the most responsible. He’d managed to get himself into trouble more times than I could count. Less in the decade he’d been high prince, but only because his older brother Wolfe had always kept him in line. Wolfe had been married for four years now and no longer had time to constantly hover and protect Cillian from his own worst impulses. Neither did I—and I had no desire to. I was already a caretaker for one person; I didn’t need to add another to my plate.

Cillian sent me a pointed stare, a thick, dark brow raised.

“What?” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear.

“You love it when I annoy Fargus.”

“No I don’t.” I adjusted the skirt of my green dress, avoiding eye contact. “What gives you that impression?”

His thumb brushed my cheek, and my head snapped up to meet his gaze, which danced with mischief. “Your dimples. One peeks out when you’re trying hard not to smile. Wanna guess how often I see that little dimple appear when I’m irritating my adviser?”

My hand went to my cheek in the spot where his thumb had just been, mystified by Cillian’s observation. He did this sometimes, out of the blue. Reminded me of how long we’d been friends. Reminded me that he knew everything about me. Even things I didn’t know about myself.

“Fine,” I admitted. “I suppose sometimes it’s funny watching you get Fargus all worked up. But I still think it’s a bad idea. He’s going to quit.”

“Perfect. Then I won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

“You need him. You need a babysitter.”

He snorted, more amusement in the sound than annoyance. “I’m a grown man and am perfectly capable of functioning on my own.”

“Really? Then why are you here and not getting ready for your wedding?”

A knock sounded on the window, and we both turned to see Fargus sitting on the sill outside, gesturing for Cillian to hurry. Cillian held up a finger, and if an owl could roll his eyes, that was what Fargus did.

“You should go,” I said. “You have a big day, and did I mention you smell atrocious?”

“Once or twice—” He stopped speaking abruptly, gaze dipping. “Where did you get that cut?”

“I—what?”

Cillian grabbed my hand, lifting the finger the scissors had sliced earlier.

I snatched my hand back. “It’s nothing.”

“Did the scissors escape again?”

“Yes.”