Bennett Turns Into a Cat (Tales from Witches of Olderea)

1

I had sat through many dull events in my life. History lessons and soirees. Tea parties and balls. Yet none had been quite so dull as this.

“There are mice in the leafy yews?” shouted Sir Oliver, the ambassador of Riverhollow.

“No, sir, it is nice to meet you,” Bennett said calmly.

“Iced meat hues?”

“It is nice to meet you . ”

I resisted the urge to drag a hand over my face.

To celebrate one hundred years of peace between our neighboring kingdoms, King Maximus had decided to host an Ambassadors Ball at the Olderean palace. In the absence of Queen Cordelia, Bennett and I had taken over the role of greeting the foreign ambassadors as they arrived.

It was a matter of great importance, but the subject of our conversations couldn’t have been more frivolous. The weather. Their travels. How the ambassadors liked Olderea in comparison to their own kingdoms. Bennett received each of them in the throne room with polite inquiries and composure. I followed suit. At first I was worried about what sort of impression I’d make as the future crown princess, but my nerves soon dissolved after the fifth ambassador, who rambled at length about the differences in Olderean seagulls.

After that, all I could manage was a passive smile.

Two days of this passed. By the end of the third, I barely contained a yawn before the door of the throne room swung shut behind Sir Oliver, the thirteenth—and last—ambassador.

I slumped into my seat, fanning my cheeks. Olderean summers were never pleasant, but there was hardly a bead of sweat on Bennett’s forehead as he stood from his throne.

He turned around. “You should sleep early tonight, Cissa. Tomorrow will be a longer day.”

I sat up. “Aren’t we done greeting the ambassadors?”

“Yes, but Father wants us to keep them entertained until the Ambassadors Ball,” Bennett said with a shrug. “Ulysses organized the social calendar for tomorrow. Have you received it?”

My mind blanked as I struggled to recall whether the royal steward had given me anything of the sort. “I...I think so.”

Bennett nodded. As he straightened his lapels, he pulled out a few papers from his waistcoat. They were covered corner to corner in his neat hand. Was it something else I had forgotten?

“Notes about the ambassadors,” Bennett said when he caught me staring. “You can read these over tonight, if you’d like.” He offered them to me.

I hesitated, eyeing the dense paragraphs. Notes about the ambassadors? I didn’t find anything about them noteworthy.

Bennett began to retract them. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No! I do.” I grabbed the papers, crinkling them in my speed.

My cheeks felt hot. This time, it was not because of the weather.

Bennett regarded me for a moment, his expression shadowed by the growing dimness in the throne room. My stomach clenched. I only hoped he wasn’t thinking about that.

Last month, the notorious gossip columnist Sister Scarlett published yet another article about me, detailing her theories about my responsibilities—or lack thereof—as crown princess.

Beauty Without Brains: How Will Lady Narcissa Wear the Crown?

Ever since Lady Narcissa Greenwood and Crown Prince Bennett reunited this spring, the people of Olderea have patiently waited for the future princess’s next move. From her pro-witch efforts to stopping a dangerous villain in the Grand Alevine Opera, Lady Narcissa had certainly raised the bar for herself during the winter tour.

However, instead of taking her efforts to the royal halls, rumors have it that Lady Narcissa has returned to Greenwood Abbey, more focused on breeding kittens than assisting in palace duties. It brings to question whether her efforts toward the kingdom were merely an act to win the crown prince’s favor. And now that she has won it, what is behind her fa?ade of duty?

I predict it is what lies behind every young miss with beauty and a handsome fiancé—vanity. How will a princess preoccupied with gowns, rouge, pets, and the comfort of home ever be ready to run a kingdom with such a formidable leader as Crown Prince Bennett? Will her crimson lips lead him astray? Or will she be the next Queen Cordelia, merely a beautiful figurehead behind the throne?

The article stung, to say the least.

“Do you need someone to escort you to your suite? I’m going to my study,” Bennett said.

I started. “I-I can find my way. Shouldn’t you retire early too? Since tomorrow...”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

Of course he would be.

I trailed behind Bennett as he strode down the velvet carpet that spanned the length of the throne room, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. When we approached the door, he held it open for me.

I hesitated at the threshold.

For nearly a month, Bennett and I had parted ways here. He turned left to his study and I turned right to my suite. His goodnights consisted of a squeeze on the hand or a short bow. He was all princely politeness these days, but tonight, I found myself craving more. Perhaps a kiss, or an inquiry about how I was feeling. Any scrap of the affection he had shown me during the end of our winter tour.

I touched Bennett’s wrist. “Wait.”

He glanced down. “What is it?”

My mouth went dry. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t related to ambassadors or the upcoming ball. Perhaps the weather? Olderean seagulls?

Bennett looked at me expectantly.

I couldn’t bear to let him go. Without thinking, I rose to my toes and leaned in for a kiss. Just as our lips met, he stepped away.

I nearly stumbled into the door frame.

Bennett steadied me. “Apologies, Cissa. Not right now.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or say he was only teasing.

He didn’t.

“Oh,” I said. The sound was achingly pathetic to my ears. I looked to the floor, realizing that I had dropped his notes.

Bennett retrieved them and handed them to me. My hand closed around the papers mechanically.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave me a tight smile before he disappeared into his study.