Page 18 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Ah,” he said. “I will have the seamstress gather some items and leave them in a guest chamber for you. My guards will escort you there tomorrow.” I tilted my chin up to see concern written plainly across his features. “Unless that was a polite rejection?” he asked.

“No!” I cried. “I mean, certainly not, although I worry that I’m not deserving of such kindness.”

“Think nothing of it. I shall take that as a yes and I look forward to seeing you there.” The King stood, pulling me with him. “One last thing.”

“Your Majesty?”

“You want answers about last night, and that’s understandable, but I would be a fool to allow you to go looking for trouble on your own. Please, promise me that you won’t do anything rash.”

I stared helplessly into his face, so inhuman in its beauty. I had no idea why he cared what happened to me at all, after knowing me for so little time. It had been so long since anyone had. But here, under the silvery light of the waxing moon, I found I didn’t care about his reasons.

“I promise.”

I scurried down to the cellars as quickly as my feet could take me, my cheeks aching from the wide smile that was plastered across my face. I skipped down the servants’ stairs, not even bothering to tiptoe past Mrs. Cathers’s door like I normally would. Niamh’s excited squeals greeted me as I burst triumphantly into the bedchamber.

“How’d it go?” she asked, clapping her hands together.

I sighed, collapsing onto my bed. “You won’t believe me when I tell you.”

She giggled. “Then don’t delay!”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “The King wants me to join his council.”

The shock that radiated off of her practically bowled me over. “He what?”

“And he wants to escort me to the Winter Solstice ball.”

“I beg your finest pardon?” came a voice from the door.

I shot up to sitting. I hadn’t realized that Maxence had been lurking by the door. “What are you doing here?” I demanded as he slinked into the bedchamber, pulling the door shut in his wake.

“Keeping an eye on my staff, of course.”

He lingered awkwardly at the foot of Niamh’s bed. I raised my brows at my friend, whose cheeks burned bright pink. “She’s not staff,” Niamh pointed out. “Not anymore.”

By now her shock had faded to the pleasant tingle of surprise mingled with the faintest whiff of an emotion with a sharper edge to it. As I turned to Maxence, I was able to identify it.

“You know, Maxence,” I said. “Now that my secret is out, I’m happy to inform you that I can sense your emotions.” I waved my hand in a circle in his direction. “And you are positively bursting with envy.”

The apprentice harrumphed. “I’m not envious of you.”

I chuckled. “Yes, you are.”

“Fine then. How on earth did you manage it?” he asked indignantly. “You’re an Outlander.”

Niamh batted his arm. “So what? I’m sure plenty of Outlanders have sat on the king’s council over the centuries.”

“No,” he replied flatly. “They haven’t. I’ve worked my tail off for years under Lord Carraway, but you do one silly magic trick and get elevated from maid to noblewoman in the blink of an eye.”

An image of Ewan, freed of his larynx, flashed behind my eyes. “If you’d prefer to take my place, you’ll also have to accept my concussion and years of trauma.”

Niamh chuckled. My gaze flicked between the two of them. They were only separated by a few inches, the air between them charged. It appeared their attraction was equally matched. I suppressed a grin. Who would’ve thought?

I supposed if she was willing to accept his courtship, it was best to make peace.

“You’re not even thirty years of age,” I said to the apprentice. “You have plenty of time to rise to greatness.”

He harrumphed.