Page 10 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Did he say anything to you?” he continued. “Before he attacked?”

“I don’t think so,” I whispered.

“Come,” he said, offering his hand. “Allow me to escort you home.”

I stared at his offered hand. Fortunately, it was not the one that had torn out a man’s throat mere minutes ago, and so I relented, gingerly placing my fingers in his palm. As he pulled me to my feet, I staggered sideways, my vision swimming. The vampire caught me in his arms before my knees could buckle. My skull throbbed, the pain emanating from where I’d hit it when Ewan threw me to the ground.

“I should take you to the Court Physician,” he said, his tone laced with urgency.

I glanced sideways at him, narrowing my eyes until there was only one of him. A faint line creased his smooth brow. I could hardly picture the look on the faces of Maxence or Mrs. Cathers if word got back to them that this vampire had wasted his time taking me to the King’s healer. I straightened as much as I could, but his grip was firm. He pulled me closer, the corners of his lips curling upwards.

“I’m fine,” I protested weakly. “I can walk.”

“You clearly can’t. Let me help you,” he replied.

I yielded, leaning against him. The dizziness stoppered any further protests as he swept my legs out from under me. My cheek flush against the folds of his cloak, I inhaled the scent of fresh ink. His heart beat steadily beneath my ear. We moved swiftly through the streets, the cold air stinging my eyes. Too swiftly, I thought as my surroundings blurred. I choked down a wave of nausea.

The vampire cupped my cheek in his hand, his black eyes flashing. “Stay with me, Finn.”

My head lolled backward and the stars above blurred like fireflies streaking across the night sky.

The King’s face was the last thing I saw before the darkness pulled me under.

When King Mordric slowed to a stop, his footsteps beating against stone, I blinked my eyes open with great effort to find myself at the threshold of the palace. A gasp escaped me as I heard the belltower toll two in the morning. Crossing the entire city in so little time should have been impossible.

The King stared down at me intently. His cold fingers were still flush against my cheek and a shiver coursed through me as our eyes met.

I had never entered Valnar Castle through the main gate. It sat under a pointed arch, the doors made of polished mahogany with burnished brass rings for handles. The arch was wrought of iron and rigged to drop bars into place to barricade the door in case of attack. Two guards were stationed there in shiny steel armor. They bore a crest on their breastplates in the shape of Valnar Castle.

We breezed past them, the King carrying me down an empty corridor and coming to a stop before another arched door. He set me gingerly on my feet with one arm wrapped firmly around my waist, and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Dr. Murrows,” he barked.

Hurried footsteps sounded just before the door swung open, revealing a small man with bushy gray eyebrows. He blinked up at us through a pair of round spectacles that nearly hung off the edge of his nose. He expressed no surprise at the sight of the vampire towering above him or me, balanced precariously as I was on unsteady legs.

“She’s injured,” said the King. “Attacked in the city.”

The physician raised his bushy eyebrows. “On the table,” he ordered.

I dropped my satchel unceremoniously to the floor as he waved us in, the King leading me to the middle of the room. “I think she hit her head,” he added. I avoided his gaze as helped me onto the simple wooden table, his hands grasping me by the waist.

“Did you lose consciousness?” asked the physician.

“Yes,” answered the King before I had the chance. Heat seared my cheeks.

Dr. Murrows nodded knowingly. The King lingered over me, watching the physician with narrowed eyes as he ran his hands over my tender skull. My ears rang as I awaited his assessment. I exhaled sharply as he prodded the spot where I had hit the cobblestones.

“That’s enough,” hissed the vampire, startling me.

“I have successfully served the court for forty years, Your Majesty, perhaps you might permit me to do my work?” responded the physician, unfazed.

My eyes flitted to the King. His expression was merciless, tracking the physician’s every move as he further prodded my wound. “There’s some swelling,” Dr. Murrows concluded. He pressed a palm to my brow, frowning. “You’re a bit warm. Are you experiencing any headaches? Dizziness?”

“Only a little,” I replied.

“Fetch me a cold compress from my store in the cellar if you please, Your Majesty.”

The King’s brows knitted together and his gaze flicked to meet mine for a moment before he retreated into the shadows without protest. I paused, holding my breath to hear his footsteps recede as the physician continued to examine me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers curling over the edge of the table. What in Letlas’s name had the King of Valen been doing wandering around the city alone? Especially somewhere as unsavory as the alleyways. Perhaps this was a dream.