Page 34 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Enhart shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“Good.” Mordric took me by the arm, leading me away.

When we arrived in my quarters I excused myself to wash up in the bathroom, hastily grabbing a pile of garments from my wardrobe on the way. I peeled off my soaked clothes, letting them fall heavily to the tile. I then dipped into the lukewarm water in the tub, scrubbing my hair hurriedly beneath it, conscious that the King was waiting for me just outside my door.

Once I had washed away the grit and grime, I rubbed my skin dry with a towel and ran a comb through my tresses. I winced as it snagged on the knots that had formed when I dropped into the lake like a stone.

Returning to the pile of garments on the floor, I pulled on a woolen shift and dark overdress, lacing the bodice down the front. Once I was dressed, I exited the washroom to find Mordric lounging in a chair by the fire, flipping through one of the tomes that Enhart had tasked me with studying. This particular volume detailed the mechanics behind defensive psychal magic, something that I evidently was not very good at.

I dawdled by the washroom door, unsure how to act with the King of Valen in my bedchamber. I supposed that anyone else might look awkward idling alone in the chambers of someone they barely knew, but this was his domain, like all else, and he could never look out of place.

He placed the book face down on the table, turning his black eyes to me. “I hope Enhart didn’t frighten you off,” he said.

I smiled. “I’m more stubborn than he realizes.”

“Excellent,” he replied, coming to his feet. “I actually came to look for you because I wanted to borrow you for the rest of the night.”

“Really?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

Despite his request at the solstice to call on me, we hadn’t spent time alone since. He’d asked after me plenty, often stopping me in the corridors to inquire about my training, and he’d even invited me to dine with him and a handful of his friends one evening this week, but I’d been seated at the opposite end of the table beside a boisterous vampire lord who feigned sympathy—unconvincingly—at my apparently heartbreaking upbringing in the Outlands. Something he’d learned from the Duchess of Altwater, of course.

The lord spent the rest of the evening talking about himself, only ever pausing to take concerningly long swigs of wine. I’d stolen glances at Mordric as the evening went on, my heart fluttering when I caught him staring back at me more than once.

“Indeed,” Mordric said, offering me his arm. “I thought we might venture off the grounds this evening.”

“Sounds lovely.”

He helped me into a deep blue coat with a fur trim and I held my breath as his fingers brushed the nape of my neck. Heart pounding, I steeled myself before folding my damp hair into its hood. Leaving through the main doors without an escort, we hiked up the winding path that led to a thick tangle of trees on the eastern edge of the grounds. The crescent moon lit our path, the bare branches of the trees waving in the bitterly cold wind and casting shadows around us. I had never felt at ease in these woods, the few times I’d ventured into them, but it was different by Mordric’s side. Safe. The sentiment was new to me.

After some time, the light steadily grew. I glanced up, stifling a gasp. Chandeliers hung from the trees above our heads, their crystal skeletons clinking together like wind chimes. Through the thick tangle of branches, I spied a small clearing. A table sat in its middle, covered with a white lace cloth and adorned with flickering beeswax candles and holly branches. Fire pits flanked either side of the table, presumably for my warmth rather than the King’s.

“What do you think?” asked Mordric, beaming.

“It’s breathtaking,” I said.

“I originally intended to call on you on a far less trying evening, but perhaps this is for the best and will take the sting out of my brother’s actions. His style of teaching is a little …” He trailed off before settling on, “Brusque.”

My pulse quickened as he pulled out my chair, waving me into it. Beneath the table, I fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth in a pathetic attempt to calm my nerves.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, settling into the chair opposite me, “I can tell that it’s working.”

“What is?” I asked.

“The training,” he said with a wink. “Your wards are strong.”

I flushed, recognizing the cool imprint of a vampire’s will tapping against my mind. “Thank you.”

A waiter materialized as if from nowhere, lifting silver cloches from our plates. My stomach growled at the sight of roast beef smothered in gravy, with leafy greens in a tangy vinaigrette on the side. The waiter popped open a bottle of red wine, tipping a generous serving into my glass. When I took a sip, it fizzed over my tongue.

“Sparkling red,” explained Mordric, grinning at the confusion that was plain on my face. “A specialty of the priestesses of the Florin Isles.”

The isles were a tiny, self-governing nation that lay outside of Valen, somewhere in the middle of the Great Sea. “Have you ever been?” I asked, still marveling at the unusual taste.

“Many times,” he said. “It’s unlike anywhere in Valen. The beaches are covered in black sand, and it’s warm year-round.”

“Sounds magical,” I replied, remembering the cold, icy water of the lake only an hour ago.

“You should join me on my next visit,” he said over the rim of his glass.