Page 24 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Mordric scowled. “I’d much rather remain out here with my beautiful companion.” I glanced up at him. Beautiful? “Still,” he said, “I suppose I must allow you to whisk me away. Come, Finn.”

“You look like you need a drink.”

I blinked up at the source of the voice, the din of the ballroom coming back into focus. I had trailed awkwardly inside after the two men, but my mind was still on the terrace with the King. With Mordric. My breath caught in my chest as I recognized the dark-haired vampire I had watched from across the room earlier.

He shoved a crystal tumbler into my hand. “Thank you,” I said, wrapping my fingers around it. The acrid tang of whiskey nearly wrinkled my nose, but I welcomed the warmth that blossomed in my chest as I tipped it down my throat. The stranger turned to Mordric, whom Geoffrey was desperately trying to escort across the hall toward a rather drunk-looking Master at Arms.

“My king,” said the dark-haired vampire, bowing exaggeratedly at the waist. “Humans are a fragile sort, you know. Sensitive to the cold. You shouldn’t allow your guest to freeze.”

Fragile?

Mordric chuckled, clapping his guest roughly on the back. The vampire didn’t flinch. “Welcome. How long has it been?” he asked. Geoffrey groaned, nearly clipping a waiter in the shoulder as he stalked off into the crowd.

“Seven years, perhaps?” the stranger replied.

“Too long. You have been missed.” Mordric turned to me. “Allow me to introduce Miss Finwal Erramun, my newest adviser-in-training.”

The vampire inclined his head slightly in my direction. “Adviser for what? Relations with the common folk?”

A sharp exhale escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“I didn’t see you when we arrived,” Mordric mused, unfazed by the obvious gibe.

“Deepest apologies, Your Majesty. I was held up on the road.”

The King grinned. “A likely story, though I imagine it would be corroborated by at least one of that rabble following you around. Perhaps more than one.”

I rolled my eyes as I sipped my drink.

“King Mordric,” the Master at Arms interrupted, bowing unsteadily at the waist. Sir Geoffrey was by his side. “Might I have a moment?”

“Of course,” Mordric replied, before turning back toward the stranger. “Could I trouble you to keep Finn company?”

The vampire smirked. “I would be honored.”

“Take her for a dance,” suggested Mordric, relieving me of my glass.

“Excellent idea,” he said. “You look like you could use the practice, Miss Erramun.”

My protest snagged in my throat as he swept me into his arms, spinning me toward the center of the ballroom. I flashed Mordric a questioning glance as I was pulled away, but he was already in deep conversation with his Master at Arms, who was waving his own arms exaggeratedly. I lost sight of them as we whirled across the floor in sync with the other dancers.

“I don’t believe I’ve met an Erramun before,” said the stranger, his head cocked. “From where do you hail?”

“I’m from—”

“Let me guess,” he interrupted. “Some desolate hamlet far away in the Outlands? You certainly have the look.”

“I wouldn’t call it desolate,” I said stubbornly. I didn’t often find myself coming to Wealdstone’s defense, but everything about this strange vampire set my teeth on edge.

He tutted. “Of course you wouldn’t. How did you come to know the King?”

I hesitated. I didn’t think that anyone would ask me that. In fact, I hadn’t expected to speak with anyone apart from Mordric this evening. “His Majesty came to my aid after an … an incident in the city,” I admitted.

“Incident?”

I swallowed. “I was attacked.”

“Ah yes, I overheard the Confluent Criers’ latest number on my way into the city,” he said. “I’m not overly familiar with their work, but they’re quite funny when they want to be.”