Page 27 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” she quipped. “Until we meet again, Finn.”

I stuck to Mordric’s side like a burr for the rest of the evening. Several times throughout the night, a flurry of waiters cleared and reset the tables with new exotic foods, as if performing a choreographed dance. The moment you were about to take the final sip of your wine, a goblet filled to the brim would appear beneath your nose. I couldn’t wait to tell Niamh about what I’d seen here.

Most of the guests remained in the ballroom until a rosy-hued dawn broke through the clouds. I didn’t think I had ever been so content, stuffed with food and drink and hanging on the arm of the King himself. When the crowd finally thinned, Mordric inclined his head toward the door. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers?”

I regarded him for a moment, my mind groggy with wine. I couldn’t imagine his hulking figure in the cellars. Mrs. Cathers might waste away on the spot at the sight of him.

“I hope you like them,” he continued. “After all, they are yours from now on.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “You mean the guest chambers.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I can’t have my new adviser living with the servants.”

My cheeks warmed. Only a few days ago, I had been one of those servants. I brushed off the thought as he offered his arm.

Stragglers lingered outside the ballroom, many of them with drinks still in hand. Lovers, vampires and humans alike, peeled off in search of privacy. I imagined their beleaguered footmen would arrive soon to drag them back to their chambers.

“So, what did you think of your first solstice?” Mordric asked as we strolled through the corridors.

“It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” I admitted. “I felt like I couldn’t want for anything more.”

He chuckled. “There’s a reason Martin has kept his seat on the council for nearly a decade. He’s excellent at what he does, don’t you think?”

I nodded. A clink echoed through the corridor and I glanced over my shoulder to see a trio of guards trailing us. Their hands were clasped behind their backs, and I found it was a small comfort that they didn’t rest atop the broadswords at their belts. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to this.

When we finally reached my door, my heart sank despite the sleep that tugged at my eyelids. I reluctantly untangled my arm from his, hovering awkwardly at the threshold. Nerves twisted my tongue in knots as Mordric stared down at me, his black eyes twinkling. I sucked in a breath as he reached for my hand. His touch alone, circling my pulse, was enough to send shivers down my spine. I stared wordlessly as he brought my fingers to his full lips, brushing a kiss against my knuckles.

“Your skin is quite warm,” he observed, as if to himself.

I stiffened, resisting the urge to wrench my hand from his grasp. “I, er, I run hot,” I muttered.

“And I, cool,” he said, straightening. “We make a fine match.”

I bobbed my head, concealing my grin.

“I’m afraid I must bid you good morning, Miss Erramun,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice that made me want to squeal. He smiled down at me. “Sweet dreams.”

Flames in an otherworldly shade of blue razed through a ramshackle village. The roof of a nearby cottage caved in with a groan, sending its inhabitants spilling into the street. Soot-covered children wailed as their mothers dragged them to safety. Others watched, frozen, as the horror unfolded around them, as if they had sprouted roots where they stood. The earth before my feet was flayed open like a lamb on a butcher’s slab, spitting scorching embers into the air. The anguished cries of the people around me—frightened to their marrow and choking on smoke—were insignificant to my ears.

There was only the heat of the fire. The wrath of the horror I’d summoned to this place.

I woke with a yelp, the stench of smoke in my nostrils. I whipped my head around, my thoughts clearing as my surroundings came into focus. My breathing ragged, I untangled my fingers from the violet sheets.

It’s been three years, I reminded myself. It’s just a dream.

I massaged my temples, easing the dull ache that came from drinking one too many glasses of wine. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I winced as my bare toes grazed the cold stone floor. I rose and pulled on the garments I had worn when I arrived here: a shift and pale blue overdress. I unraveled my hair from its braid, waves hanging loose, before slipping silently into the corridor.

In the cellars, Mrs. Cathers’s beady eyes bored into the back of my head. Her irritation wafted off of her like the vapors from her whiskeylaced tea. “Her ladyship deigns to grace us with her presence, does she?” she muttered as I passed.

I ignored her, taking my usual seat at the table beside Niamh. My friend was more than a little excited to hear about the evening before. She bombarded me with questions, ignoring the runny eggs and crispy bacon on her plate.

“Finn? Have you heard a thing I’ve said?” came Niamh’s voice over the din Nathalie was making in the corner. She was giggling wildly as she flirted with a stablehand at the other end of the kitchen.

My eyes flicked to my best friend. “What?”

She scowled. “What do you think you’ll do in training today?”

I shrugged. “The King hasn’t told me anything, so I have no idea.”