Page 23 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

I nodded. As the largest city that far west, Bard was the unofficial capital of the Outlands. I supposed there would be no reason for a king to visit a place as remote and insignificant as Wealdstone.

“It is. It’s not too cold, and all the trees at the foot of the Sovereign Mountains turn brilliant shades of gold before their leaves fall.”

Nearby, a nightjar trilled its lonely song into the empty midnight air. I glanced up at the King, the silvery moonlight gilding the sharp edges of his jaw. The idea of him strolling the streets of Wealdstone almost made me giggle. There would be no other vampires for miles around, and he would look extraordinarily out of place in all his finery. “I feel like everyone in there was staring at me,” I admitted.

“They’re staring for good reason,” he said.

“They are?”

“You look beautiful.”

The King was as tall and imposing as any god, and so I was forced to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze, but still we locked eyes, my breath catching in my throat. “You’re not what I would expect of a king.”

He cocked his head. “How so?”

“You run your own errands,” I pointed out. “Even your speech is less, er, kingly than I expected.”

“I doubt my council will allow me to wander into Valnar on my own again after what happened,” he said, winking. “And I prefer to save the formal vernacular for my missives.”

I smiled.

“I suspect they’re also surprised to see me attending a ball with someone on my arm.”

“You don’t escort all your newest advisers to such things?”

His expression became serious, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold. “No.”

“No?” I echoed.

He shook his head.

A question burned at the tip of my tongue, although the very idea of how he might respond made my heart thump against my ribcage. Still, by some twist of fate I had earned the King’s ear, if only for the night. If ever there was a time to be bold, it was now. “If I may ask,” I said, my voice a whisper, “why have you done so now?”

His black eyes sparkled. “I’m not certain I can fully put it to words, except to say that I find myself fascinated by you, Miss Erramun.”

I balked. “You do?”

“Indeed. And I would like to call upon you again after tonight, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The hairs on the back of my arms stood at attention, as if balancing on their tiptoes to hear my reply. “I would like that very much, Your Majesty,” I whispered.

A smile played on his lips. “Please,” he said. “Call me Mordric. Your Majesty is far too formal.”

“Of course, your … er, Mordric,” I corrected myself.

“Perfect.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty— Oh!” came a cry as a figure appeared. I leaped away from Mordric, my chopines skidding on the flagstones.

“Sir Geoffrey, this better be important,” said the King. He cast only a fleeting glance at the intruder, his black eyes returning quickly to me.

I, on the other hand, stared blankly into the round face of the Captain of the Royal Guard. Mordric hadn’t pointed him out to me earlier, but I had seen him around the castle over the years. He was usually shouting at the guards—when he thought no one was looking—for slouching or not keeping their armor polished. Now, he was bright pink from the tip of his nose to the peak of his hairless scalp.

“Deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” he stammered, his eyes raised to the sky as if he had stumbled upon a far less innocent spectacle. My cheeks burned.

“What brings you out here, Geoffrey?” asked Mordric.

“The Master at Arms wanted a word, Your Majesty,” he said. “And apparently thinks he can order me around like one of his soldiers,” he grumbled under his breath.