Page 134 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“I had to do it,” he insisted. “Iron is the only thing that can keep the witches out.”

“What about keeping me in?” I snapped, planting my hands on my hips. “When did you even find the time to build this place?”

“While you were away,” he explained. “As a precautionary measure.”

My eyes narrowed. “Before or after I was taken captive?”

The sheepish gleam in his eyes infuriated me. “Before.”

I recalled what he’d said to me after our fight over my visit to the blacksmith’s cellar. I swear sometimes I wish I could lock you away like a damsel of legend. The only thing missing was the wyverns. A flush blossomed on the skin of my chest as I realized how naive I’d been. “I should have left with Enhart when I had the chance,” I snapped.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I don’t know what he said about me, but you are safest by my side.”

“He never said a word against you,” I bit back. “But I wish he had so that I would have known how foolish it was to trust you.”

A beat passed between us. I glared up at Mordric, my thoughts turning violent as I seethed about what he’d stolen from me. Not just my freedom, but my magic. He was a liar. A manipulator.

What else had he lied about?

Betrayal splintered through me, chipping away at everything I felt for him. “Let me out,” I demanded. “Immediately.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I pressed.

“Because your life is at risk, Finn. Don’t you see that?”

“This is because a handful of witches threatened me? How am I supposed to protect myself in here if I can’t access my magic?”

“You won’t need to,” he insisted. “That’s the beauty of this place.”

I stepped backward, unable to believe my ears. “There’s nothing beautiful about this,” I whispered.

“There are more powerful forces at play here,” he said, his tone measured. “If you will just allow me to explain, then it will all make sense.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, sizing him up. I thought of everything I had learned about the King and his court over the last six months. He was governed by his need for control, hardened by a lifetime under threat, and surrounded by conniving sycophants.

There was only one way to best him in this game.

I inhaled slowly through my nose like Ivor had instructed me to do on the lake beside Hollybrook, exhaling through my lips. As my heartbeat slowed, I forced my face into what I hoped was a placid expression. “Enlighten me, then,” I said, doing my best imitation of a noblewoman of court.

He strolled to the far wall, pausing before the towering bookcase. “Have you taken a look at the books here?”

“Yes,” I said shortly.

He turned, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to resist. That’s why I had these volumes moved here.”

It was almost impressive, how every move he made was so calculated.

He searched the books, his fingers trailing over their spines. When he found what he was looking for, he peeled open the tome, the fragile calfskin pages rustling between his long fingers. Curiosity getting the best of me, I stepped closer.

“This account is kept in my private collection,” he explained. “It’s dated nearly two thousand years ago, from the court of my great-grandfather.”

I thought of the tapestry outside the library that depicted King Daemon’s triumph over the old kingdom. His cold stare, immortalized in the brocade, as he stood on the ruins of the city he had conquered.

“Why keep it private?” I asked.

“Because of this passage.” He stabbed the page with his finger. “May I read it to you?”