Page 28 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Well, what did he tell you?”

I fiddled with the end of my braid. “He asked if he could call on me.”

Her jaw nearly hit the table. “What? When?” She leaned toward me. “Where?”

“On the terrace,” I said. “We left for a breath of fresh air, and he told me that he was fascinated by me and asked to call on me.”

I winced as a high-pitched squeal escaped from between her lips. “And what did you say?”

“Shhhh. Well, after standing there dumb as a statue for a few moments because I could scarcely believe my ears, I said I wouldn’t mind.”

She yelped, grabbing my hands from across the table. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

“No.”

She giggled. “It means that the King of Valen is interested in you.”

A flush crept up my neck. “I know he’s interested in me. He asked me to be on his council.”

She rolled her eyes. “Finn, I’ve never known you to be dense, so I know that you understand what I’m saying. You told me that he called you beautiful!”

I made a disbelieving noise. “I suppose.”

She squeezed my fingers between hers. “I don’t understand why you’re acting this way. What’s wrong?”

I shrugged. “I suppose I just find it difficult to believe that he—” I paused. “That Mordric would be interested in someone like me.”

She guffawed. “You’re a pretty, fearsome witch, remember? Perhaps the last witch in Valen. What’s not to like?”

I avoided her gaze.

“The only thing that I find difficult to believe is that you call the King by his given name,” she continued, grinning.

“He asked me to!” I cried as the clay cup before her shattered, shooting a stream of water down her front. She squeaked as it hit her, jumping to her feet.

“Careful!” she scolded, dabbing the damp spot with her apron. “Some of us have to work today.”

“Shit,” I murmured, offering her a cloth. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “It’s only water.”

I eyed the splintered cup warily, imagining that the prince would be far less forgiving if I let my magic get out of hand in his presence. “I think I’m just nervous,” I said.

“I can imagine,” she replied. “He is the king, after all.”

“It’s the prince,” I murmured. “You should have heard him last night.”

“He couldn’t be that different from his brother, could he?” she asked.

I shrugged, tapping my toe rapidly beneath the table. “He seems pretty full of himself.”

“With a face like that, who wouldn’t be?”

“Niamh!” I cried as she broke into a fit of giggles.

“Come on, he’s practically a work of art!” she said, her cheeks rosy. “And those eyes could make a girl melt on the spot.”

“When have you seen his eyes?” I asked. “Besides, I thought you were frightened of vampires.”