Page 51 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“I should have warned you,” I whispered.

“Warned me?”

I nodded. “I have nightmares nearly every night. Niamh slept like the dead, so it never mattered before.”

He cupped my jaw, dragging my gaze to meet his. His brows were knitted together, but his tone was soft. “You don’t need to warn me. Or apologize.”

I swallowed. “Thank you.”

“What did you dream of?” he asked.

I hesitated for a moment, taking a steadying breath. “It was Ewan on the night of the attack. Except then he, er …” I faltered, my cheeks warming. “He turned into some sort of monster.”

I braced myself for his laughter, but it didn’t come. Instead, the sheets rustled as he pulled me close. He pressed his lips to my brow, unfurling the tension that had formed there.

“What you went through that night was terrible,” he said. “I can see how it might follow you into your dreams.”

“I think I dreamed of it because I don’t understand it,” I whispered. “It’s been a month, and we still don’t know what happened to Ruby or Alice. Sometimes I wish I could go back there and figure it out for myself.”

He said nothing and his hand traced circles on my back, leaving cool trails on my hot skin.

“Wait!” I grabbed his hands, tugging him in close. His brows rose expectantly.

“What if you went with me?” I proposed. “To where it happened.”

His gaze softened. He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m certain my council would strongly advise against it after what happened the last time I wandered into Valnar alone.”

“But you’re the King,” I pointed out.

“Precisely. Which means that I have other things I need to focus on. As do you.”

My enthusiasm faded, replaced with the dull throb of disappointment.

“I told you that I’d put my best people on it, didn’t I?” he asked. “Professionals.”

If Maxence could hear him, he might squeal. I kept the thought to myself. “Have they found anything?” I asked. “Some kind of connection between the disappearances or a motive?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

I sighed, tipping sideways onto my pillow. Mordric lay down beside me, his scent reaching my nostrils. I breathed it in greedily.

“Promise me you’ll leave this alone, alright?” he said. “The solstice grows closer and closer each day, and you need to prepare for it, not run off into the city on a whim.”

I repressed a retort. His expression was placid, but there was a sharp edge to his tone. As if I’d insulted him by bringing it up. I was tempted to dive between the folds of his mind, but the memory of my earlier interaction with Niamh warned me against it. “But I—”

“How about this,” he interrupted. “I’ll send a message to Dr. Murrows and ask him to deliver us a tincture of valerian root.”

“Valerian root?” I echoed.

“It helps with sleep,” he explained. “Dreamless sleep.”

I held his gaze for a moment, my protests still on my tongue. I wasn’t pleased that he wanted to keep brushing aside what had happened. Especially when his so-called professionals had turned up nothing. But dreamless sleep? I would give anything for it.

“Alright,” I said finally.

“Consider it done,” he replied, kissing me between my brows.

Following Enhart’s instructions, I unfurled my fingers. A fine mist rose from my palms, dissipating slowly into the cold evening air. “What now?” I asked.