Page 44 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“No!” she shrieked. “I’m perfectly sober.”

“Oh please!” I cried. “I should call for Maxence to come and collect you as you’ve clearly had enough.”

“Truce?” she said, flicking a grape at my head, I stopped it midair, sending it spinning around the room.

I grinned. “Truce.”

Memories flashed before my eyes so quickly that my head ached. Mama spinning me around the kitchen, her laughter echoing through our cottage. Jem breaking Yakob Faustin’s nose for pushing me down outside the schoolhouse. Niamh hastily mending a tear in my skirts after they got caught on a loose nail, her needle weaving wildly along the hem in a frantic effort to keep Mrs. Cathers from docking my pay.

No.

Panic seized me as another scene came into focus. Smoke stung my nostrils. Mud seeped through the flimsy fabric of my skirts. The muscles in my body tensed as I tried desperately to drive out his influence. My surroundings shuddered and swirled.

Fear merely tightens the bonds, Enhart’s voice echoed in my mind.

A sob echoed as I wrapped my hands around the back of an old woman’s head, my fingers coming away tacky with her blood.

No, I thought again. Not here.

The walls shuddered and collapsed around me, giving way to darkness. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the courtyard. My chest heaved like the wind had been knocked out of me.

My head snapped up as a groan sounded. The prince lay sprawled out across the flagstones some distance away. “Shit,” I exclaimed.

Enhart climbed steadily to his feet, brushing dirt off of his freshly laundered clothes. “That wasn’t exactly subtle,” he said.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, bracing myself for reproach.

“Certainly not suitable for court,” he continued. “You don’t want to send someone flying across the room in the middle of a council session.”

I nodded, unsure of what to do. I clasped my hands together. “I know.”

“And if I were my brother, you’d find yourself in an iron cell in no time.”

His words stoppered the apology in my throat. “I hardly think that Mordric would have me thrown in the dungeons,” I said, indignant.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Although I’d be more worried about Ansell if I were you. He’s quite protective of the King.”

I cleared my throat.

“In any case, a heavy-handed approach, while imprudent, is still effective. It’ll be useful in our future sessions.”

“Our future sessions?” I echoed.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that there are two more tenets to tackle once you’ve mastered psychal.”

I shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re concerned that they will be even more difficult than psychal, given how much time it’s taken,” said the prince.

My gaze flicked to his. “Are you—”

“Yes,” he said. “I can hear the thoughts you dare not speak aloud, but only because you dropped the wards we’ve been so carefully constructing after you tossed me out of your mind.”

I cursed under my breath. “Fine then,” I said, my wards sliding firmly into place. “It’s been weeks of this, and at this point, I don’t see how I’ll have mastered the three tenets before the solstice.”

“I have a theory,” said Enhart.

“Of course you do,” I replied, choking back the venom on my tongue.