Page 42 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“My apologies that you had to witness such unpleasantness,” he said. “My father taught me long ago not to allow that kind of behavior from my subjects. My great-grandfather would have just fed him to his wyverns.” Catching my eye, he winked.

I laughed nervously, finding myself extraordinarily grateful that I had never invoked his ire. And that he didn’t keep his wyverns in the castle. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

He took my hand in his, running a thumb along my knuckles. “Unfortunately, I’m due back in the throne room in less than an hour, but how about I arrange for your friend to dine with you in your quarters tomorrow evening?” he asked.

My brow creased. “Maxence?”

He laughed. “No, your friend Niamh. It would be my pleasure.”

I beamed at him. “That would be perfect,” I said.

“Perfect indeed,” he replied before pulling me gently by my chin to meet his lips.

I had insisted to Mordric that it should just be a casual supper, but he still had the chef prepare close to a feast, and so Niamh and I shared roasted cod slathered in a butter sauce and sprinkled with fresh parsley. She had practically screamed when she set eyes on the bottle of wine that had been left open to breathe on the table.

“Max is constantly talking about this,” she said excitedly. “He had a sip once at a tasting for one of the King’s state dinners or something and said it was heavenly.” She took a long, slow sip. “I agree.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So he’s Max now, is he?”

She flushed. “I know, I know. It’s the strangest thing, but he’s actually quite charming.”

I grinned. “As long as he treats you well.”

“He does,” she assured me. “I’m thinking of introducing him to Mama soon.”

My eyes widened. Adele could be formidable, and I’d pay considerable coin to see Maxence go toe-to-toe with her. “Really?” I asked, holding back a grin.

“He’s going to take us out to dinner I think,” she mused. “To a little bistro on the river.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“I know, right?” she gushed. She took another swig from her glass. “I find myself imagining the craziest things with him. Getting married, having children.”

“Perhaps you’ve been reading too many romance novels,” I said.

“Just because you’re not a romantic doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be,” she quipped, her words slurring together ever so slightly.

I frowned. “I’m not not a romantic.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? How are things going with the King then?”

I ducked my head, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. “He kissed me last night.”

She choked on her wine. “He what?”

I grinned. “He kissed me, Niamh. And not for the first time.”

“How did you,” she spluttered. “I mean what did you— Wait, you kissed him back, right?”

I shot her a wry look. “Of course I did.”

“And?”

My cheeks warmed. “I don’t know, it’s difficult for me to put into words, but I feel like this could be something really special.”

“It’s more than special, Finn, you’re going to be a queen!”

“Whoa,” I protested, holding up my hands. “That’s a massive leap.”