Page 60 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

In the Outlands, the holiday was also known as Winter’s Bane, as it fell in the middle of what was usually the final unforgiving frost of the season. In Wealdstone, we had celebrated by lighting beeswax candles and leaving them on our stoops to light Iltsar’s way through our village, even though the ground was usually still coated in snow for several weeks afterwards.

Tonight, at midnight, the King would host an elaborate banquet for the nobility. He assured me that it would be a smaller affair than the solstice—with no dancing, thank the gods—but that it would still be an evening to remember.

The prince grimaced as a pair of drunken vampiresses stumbled down the corridor, sloshing wine from their goblets onto the flagstones. He had been unusually quiet this evening and had barely reprimanded me, even when I’d lost control of a small stream of fire and slightly melted the silver caps on his boots.

“I hate these banquets,” he said suddenly.

“Hm,” I replied. I wasn’t much looking forward to it myself, given the prying looks and rumors that had swirled about me at the solstice ball. But Enhart had been surrounded by admirers the entire evening. What did he care?

“You seem perfectly at ease in a crowd,” I pointed out. “The entire court adores you.”

“They don’t adore me,” he muttered darkly. “They want things from me. There’s a difference.”

Before I could muster a retort, my gaze snagged on the familiar sight of Niamh emerging from the servants’ stairs with a bolt of fabric tucked under her arm. Her curls were pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore her own clothes rather than a uniform. She must be returning from the city, perhaps after visiting her mother. Pain lanced through me as I thought of Adele. I missed her terribly. And her daughter.

Niamh stopped short at the sight of us, her eyes wide.

“Your Royal Highness,” she squeaked. She dropped into a curtsy.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly.

Niamh scowled. “I wasn’t doing it because of you.”

Her annoyance pricked at my skin, reminding me of the time I had fallen into a patch of stinging nettle as a child. I tightened my wards to avoid slipping into her mind again.

Enhart chuckled. “Niamh, I presume?”

“You know my name?” she asked, her gaze still trained on the floor.

“I’ve seen you a time or two in this one’s head,” he said, gesturing toward me. I shot him a dark look. “You may rise.”

Niamh straightened, but not before wrinkling her nose at the sight of his boots.

“Admiring my new style?” he replied, sticking out his left foot. The silver had been warped into a wrinkled puddle at the toe. “Courtesy of your friend.”

I grunted.

Niamh appeared to be holding back laughter. “How unfortunate, Your Royal Highness.”

“Indeed. Thankfully, I have plenty of other pairs.”

We lingered awkwardly for a moment, Niamh wringing her hands. “I, er, shouldn’t keep you,” she said finally. “Have a good evening, Your Royal Highness.”

I crossed my arms over my chest as she ducked back into the stairwell without another word. I could practically taste the bitter tang of resentment on my tongue. “Unbelievable,” I muttered.

“What in the name of the gods was that?” the prince asked gleefully.

“Nothing.”

“A squabble between friends?”

“You could call it that.”

“A word of advice?” he said. “You need friends in a place like this. Someone like Niamh, who has no connections at court, is the kind to keep around.”

“I don’t need friendship advice from you,” I replied stiffly. I wondered if he had any friends, or if he just had hapless followers.

“Of course. I only have two hundred years of experience between these walls.” He shrugged, heading in the direction of the royal apartments. “See you later.”