Page 144 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

I grimaced. “You mean it would rob me of my magic.”

“As I said. Now, the decision is yours.”

“And you’ve agreed to this?” I asked Mordric, raising my brows.

“I have.”

Enhart snorted. “Tell her the truth, brother.” The prince’s jaw was tensed, his arms crossed tightly before his chest.

“What truth?” I pressed.

An awkward silence descended upon the room. “If you choose to wear the device, instead of staying in the suite that was designed for you here in the castle,” said Mordric slowly, “then I’m afraid I cannot allow you to remain in Valnar.”

I sucked in a breath, the angry jeers of Wealdstone’s people ringing in my ears. “You’re sending me away?”

Sir Raltisse huffed, his armor creaking as he shifted from foot to foot. “Did you expect that you could walk the halls of Valnar Castle freely after making an attempt on the prince’s life? Attend the next solstice ball in a pretty gown, perhaps?”

“Bite your tongue,” Enhart snarled. “Or I will cut it out.”

“Please,” said Mordric, holding up a hand to silence them both.

“Where would you send me?” I demanded.

I jumped, my shackles clinking together, as a shadow peeled off from the wall. As they stepped forward, I recognized the dark hair and yellow eyes of Victoria, the king’s Keeper of Secrets. Her hands were clasped neatly behind her back, her expression unamused. “That information is confidential, Miss Erramun.”

I balked, glancing at Mordric. “You expect me to make this decision without knowing where I could end up?”

His expression softened. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his throne. “I would hope that you know I have your best interests at heart, Finn. I would hope that you trust me to send you somewhere safe, if banishment is what you choose.”

Trust. How dare he even say the word. It took everything in me not to look in Enhart’s direction. If I did, Mordric and his entire council would know that he was the only person I trusted now.

“What is your decision?” Lord Volorthen pressed.

My gaze drifted toward the circlet hooked around the Chief Adviser’s forefinger. So little time to make a life-altering decision. The quarters Mordric had prepared for me were nothing more than a cage. If I stayed, I had no idea how much freedom the King and his council would grant me, if any. Still, the thought of what awaited me outside of the confines of the castle sent a chill down my spine—wightgasts and witches eager to rip me apart, control me. They weren’t the only ones. Everyone wanted to control me now. To decide my future.

An idea sparked to life in my mind like an ember.

“If I were to destroy the athame,” I mused aloud, “the one that the witches anointed with my blood, and sever their ability to use me as a weapon, would I be free then?”

A stunned silence descended upon the room. The council stared at me with blank expressions, save for Victoria who simply narrowed her eyes. Beside Mordric, Enhart winked at me.

The glance that Victoria shared with Mordric stung.

“I have been unable to locate the witches myself,” said the vampiress, “but if you somehow manage to do what I cannot, then I suppose you would.”

“Of course,” Mordric assured me.

The shackles clinked together as I squared my shoulders. After everything I’d been through to get to this moment, I refused to let a paltry band of witches, or the godsdamn king’s advisers, win. My defiant stare bored straight into Mordric’s eyes.

I had made my choice.

Lord Volorthen volunteered to secure the circlet around my wrist. A dozen soldiers surrounded me inside the beautiful cage, their crossbows nocked and pointed in my direction. A precautionary measure, according to Sir Raltisse, lest I regain my powers for even a moment without the shackles to stop me and go for the King’s throat. Mordric and the Master at Arms lingered by the bars beside an irritated Enhart, who watched the proceedings like a coiled viper about to strike.

I eyed the circlet that hung from the Chief Adviser’s bony finger. I tried to remind myself that this was nothing more than a temporary measure. That Mordric would order the cursed thing removed the moment it was no longer necessary. But I couldn’t ignore the greedy glint in Sir Raltisse’s eyes, nor the indifference in Lord Volorthen’s. I wondered if they truly only cared about Mordric’s safety, or if there was some hidden agenda lurking behind their words. Enhart had warned me a thousand times about the perils of court. It was a delicate system built on lies and deception, and the king’s advisers pulled its strings.

Lord Volorthen inserted a small key into the latch in the center of the circlet, its two halves springing apart with a click. My stomach churned as the vampire’s fingernails brushed the delicate skin of my wrist.

“Wait,” I cried, jerking backward.