Chapter 16
You spend all your time with that wretched human.
I’m fulfilling a duty to the King.
My fingers curled inward as I replayed the conversation in my mind. Weeks had passed since the feast of Iltsar, and yet I couldn’t stop. I tortured myself with the image of Enhart and Genevieve, reminded of what I had seen in the vampiress’s beautiful head every time I laid eyes on the prince.
I hate seeing you with anyone else.
The Outlander is nothing but a duty to me. A nuisance. A pain.
I loathed them. Anger coursed through my veins, so hot that I thought my skin might smolder.
Believe me, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I dropped my gaze from the twinkling stars above my head. The prince sat before me with an unamused expression on his face. The moon had risen high in the sky as he droned on and on about the mechanics of combat magic.
“Well?” he pressed, leaning close.
“Why would I need to be in a physical fight?” I asked. “I’m supposed to sit on the king’s council. That’s all.”
“Kingdoms get overthrown all the time,” he countered. “As royal adviser, you need to be prepared for anything.”
“Well this one’s been standing for millennia.”
“King Sangrey ruled for only a century before he was usurped by his own brother. He and his wife were poisoned at a banquet in front of their entire council, none of whom raised a finger to save them. Have you forgotten your Valenian history?”
“He was overthrown by your grandfather,” I pointed out. “Perhaps you should worry about your own back instead of mine.”
“You’re awfully prickly today,” he said, his voice low.
I nearly laughed. “I just know you have better things to do with your time,” I replied.
“That’s not exactly untrue, but if you can’t stand to hear me speak—” that was an understatement “—then perhaps a practical training exercise will better hold your attention.”
I shot him a questioning glance. “Practical?”
“It means doing something rather than theorizing.”
“I know what practical means.”
“Good.”
“Hey!” I protested as he grabbed me by the wrist, dragging me to my feet. He shoved me roughly into the center of the courtyard. I hadn’t so much as blinked before he shot forward, stopping just short of wrapping his hands around my throat. “And now you’re dead,” he said simply.
“Stop that,” I snapped, swatting his hand away.
He backed off, smirking. “Defend yourself.”
He snapped forward again, this time sending me stumbling back with a shove to my shoulder. I cursed, falling flat on my ass. He shook his head, “Tsk, tsk.”
I scrambled to my feet, panting. He launched another attack, this time landing inches from my face, forcing me back against one of the moss-covered columns that held up the cloisters.
Dampness pressed at the back of my skull as my chest heaved.
He cocked his head. “You need to learn to anticipate your opponent’s movements. ”
“You’re too fast,” I wheezed.
“That’s a sorry excuse if I’ve ever heard one.”
“You’re a vampire!” I cried.
He backed off, drawing himself up tall. “And you’re a witch, are you not?”
My hands curled into fists. He snapped forward again, a smug grin plastered across his features. I glanced down, making a wild gamble about where his next steps would land. As he reached for my throat, I forced the flagstones beneath him to part, sending him stumbling sideways.
His grin widened as he steadied himself. “Now you’re getting it. Vampires are quick on their feet, so your best bet in a fight is to knock them off of them. Use your opponent’s strengths against them.”
“Or burn them to ash,” I mumbled.
“What was that?” he called.
“Oh nothing.”
He shot toward me again. Unsure how to react, I conjured a pulse of cold air. It washed over him, barely ruffling his hair. I retreated hurriedly, tripping over my own feet in an attempt to widen the distance between us.
“You can’t rely on instinct alone,” he warned. “You have to use your head.”
“If I had more time—”
“What are you, a damsel?” he snapped. “Mordric won’t always be there to rescue you every time you’re in trouble.”
Heat rushed through my veins and fire whipped from my palm before I could stop it, nearly lashing him across the cheek like a whip. He shot out of reach, grinning. My eyes widened as the flame dissipated into smoke that floated toward the moon. At least the blaze hadn’t been blue.
“Think, witch,” he urged. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”
My mind whirred. Magic unspooled from my fingertips, taking the shape of a thick, ethereal mist. Stretching my hands outward, I urged it to grow until it filled the courtyard. The prince vanished from sight.
“It’s a decent idea,” he purred, his voice moving around the courtyard, “although it obscures me from you as much as it does you from me.”
The mist shuddered as his voice spilled into my mind. And the moment you make a sound, I’ll have you.
I clamped my lips shut, holding my breath. For a moment, I heard nothing but the distant trill of a nightjar.
I shrieked as cold fingers wrapped around my wrist. I jerked sideways, my toe catching on the flagstones I had forced apart moments ago in an effort to trip Enhart.
“Shit,” he swore.
We tipped backward, falling to the ground with a thud. Enhart’s hand cradled the back of my head, softening the impact against the ground. His body was pressed against mine, the earthy scent of petrichor reaching my nostrils. The mist dissipated, showering us in dewdrops.
“I thought vampires were supposed to be graceful,” I groaned.
The corners of his lips, now only inches from mine, turned upward. “I was just trying to save you from yourself. You have the balance of a drunken troll.”
I chuckled. “Charming.”
Up close, I could trace the rivulets of green in his irises.
Not just emerald green, but the same color as the pines that peppered the hills behind Valnar Castle.
As if he’d been plucked from their very branches.
Dew dripped from the curl that had fallen over his brow, landing on my cheek like a teardrop.
I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.
Sense slammed into me and I scrambled out from beneath him, my cheeks burning as I came to my feet. I beat dust from my breeches, unwilling to meet his gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he jumped to his feet, running his fingers through his inky black hair.
“That’s enough,” he said stiffly. “I’ll, er, see you tomorrow.”
I snatched my cloak off of the table and set off toward the castle without another word. I hurried down the uneven stairs, cursing myself for my misfortune. Of all the ways this evening could have ended …
I could practically hear Genevieve’s cackle when Enhart told her about this. My palms went clammy as I pictured his face lingering just inches before my own.
Gods, how humiliating.
By the time I finally arrived at my chambers, I was fully prepared to drown myself in the bath.
But as I stepped inside, a crunch sounded underfoot.
I frowned. A crumpled bit of parchment poked out from beneath my boot.
I stepped sideways and reached for it, my eyes racing over the words that had been scratched across its surface.
I have news. Stairwell. Midnight.
Maxence
My heart raced. Finally. I cast a forlorn glance at the washroom door.
My muscles screamed for a hot bath after the events of this evening, but it was nearly midnight already.
I turned on my heel and hurried toward the servants’ staircase.
The corridors on the third floor were busy at this hour, so no one cast me a second glance.
When I arrived at the staircase, Maxence was already waiting for me. I sucked in a breath at the sight of his companion.
Niamh bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet. I hadn’t seen her since our brief interaction on the night of Iltsar, and the sight of her now irritated me like a splinter to the thumb.
Maxence’s brows shot up the moment he laid eyes on me. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I replied flatly.
“Enjoying your new post?”
“Not lately.”
He cleared his throat, glancing awkwardly at his companion. “Niamh wanted to make sure you were doing alright. Isn’t that right, Niamh?”
I glared at her. “Has she lost her tongue?”
“No,” she bit back, crossing her arms over her chest. I nearly smirked at the anger that flickered off of her.
“No matter,” I replied icily. “You said you had news?”
He nodded. “Don’t kill the messenger, okay? We paid a visit to the blacksmith’s yesterday.”
My gaze flicked to Niamh. Why would she bother? I supposed it was just an excuse to spend more time with Maxence.
“The Lord Seneschal sent me to provide compensation for the loss of Brummings’s apprentice,” Maxence continued. “And to quash any grumblings about the King’s … excessive use of force, as it were.”
I winced, the memory of Mordric ripping out Ewan’s throat still fresh in my mind. “And?” I urged.
He shrugged. “By all accounts Ewan never raised any suspicions. He worked hard, obeyed his master without complaint, and never showed up late.”
“The blacksmith’s wife reported seeing him conversing with a shady fellow a few weeks before he attacked you,” Niamh added. “She couldn’t tell us what they spoke about, but mentioned that it was a heated conversation.”
I scoffed. “That’s what you found out?”
Maxence’s satisfied smirk faded. “You try getting these people to talk.”
“They’ve all heard what the King did to Ewan,” Niamh pointed out. “They’re terrified that one wrong look at the castle staff could get their own heads torn off.”
I groaned. “Mordric didn’t tear his head off, and what about what Ewan did to me?”
“What did I say about not killing the messenger?” Maxence asked.
“And if the messenger is useless?”
“Why don’t you trot along and investigate for yourself then?” Niamh challenged. “Instead of criticizing the ones doing your dirty work.”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything,” I snapped. She huffed. My eyes flitted down the narrow staircase, which thankfully remained empty. “And you know why.”