Chapter 12
Cillian
One minute the contestants were here with me in the throne room, and the next they were gone along with Morton, disappearing before my eyes. I didn’t know what Castle had done with them, and I felt like I was losing my fucking mind.
The doors burst open, Sir Arthur standing there, clinking and clanking as the suit of armor lurched forward. “Sir, assemble the horses! Seven people have gone missing, and I must ride to find them.”
Fucking Margaret. She was the only one who could spread gossip that quickly.
The last thing I needed was to deal with Sir Arthur, yet another sentient object from our castle’s magic who, unfortunately for literally everyone, believed he was a real knight.
It would be wonderful except for the fact that he didn’t trust anyone, thought everybody was an intruder, and followed the laws from thousands of years ago.
“We’ve got it handled, Sir Arthur.”
That was a complete lie, but I wanted him to go away.
“Your Majesty, as the resident knight of this castle, I must insist you let me search for them! Get my horse ready!” he called to . . . no one. “Where’s the stable boy?”
I sighed. “We don’t have a stable boy.”
We had a few horses on standby, but we rarely used them since we couldn’t leave Fairwitch Isle and all.
“What?” He gasped. “Did someone kidnap him too? Godwitches be, this is worse than I thought.”
“No.” I held up my hands. “Nobody has been kidnapped. Can you please just go back to your post in the foyer?”
He unsheathed his wooden sword. He used to carry a metal one, but after stabbing one too many people, we switched it out. He had yet to notice, thank the godwitches.
“This is preposterous,” he said. “Why would we not have a stable boy? And I’ve been meaning to ask, where is my squire?”
“What?” I asked. Sir Arthur had never mentioned a squire before.
“Yes, I was speaking with Miss Margaret of the paintings, and she mentioned something about Sir Arthur’s squire.”
I held back my groan. I was going to have a strong word with Margaret. Records indicated there once was a real Sir Arthur, and this armor belonged to him. But he’d died a long time ago. So maybe he’d had a squire, but this suit of armor certainly did not.
“Your squire is gone,” I said.
Sir Arthur stumbled back. “My word. Another missing person?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Good fucking godwitches. “No one has gone missing, and I don’t want you going on a search for anybody.
Arthur, you are our most esteemed knight, and we can’t afford to lose you.
If you went searching for them and something happened to you, our castle would fall apart. ”
“I suppose you’re right. I have been gone from my post for far too long. I must return and guard the castle.”
“Yes, yes, you must,” I said, watching the knight turn and clunk away, his movements cumbersome and awkward.
Right as Arthur disappeared through the doors, Morton finally reappeared with a pop, perched on the armchair of my golden throne.
“The first trial has begun,” he announced.
“Morton! The first trial—what? Is that where everyone went? How can you be so calm about this?” I asked, mind spinning. Now that Arthur was gone, I could finally focus on the most important matter at hand.
What if Castle didn’t bring them back? I’d never see any of them again.
I’d never see Ceri again. My stomach tightened into a knot that I suspected wouldn’t loosen until I saw my best friend and knew she was safe.
Morton had claimed these trials weren’t dangerous, but I didn’t trust Castle. I hadn’t trusted it since the moment it had chosen me as High Prince of Fairwitch Isle. Since its magic had started failing, which had also happened a few days after my coronation.
That had been a fun day. Getting crowned and then discovering we’d lost our armory, our access to our best weapons.
Then the day got even better as Wolfe informed me there were cracks in the magical barrier that had always kept Fairwitch Isle safe, invisible to the outside world and free from invaders like the Brotherhood of Magic.
“That’s odd,” Morton said.
“What is?” I snapped.
“You’ve got a wrinkle between your brows.”
“What?” I stopped pacing, staring at the pink bookwyrm. “No I do not have a wrinkle. You take that back.”
Morton blinked. “I don’t know why you’re so afraid of wrinkles. It’s a natural sign of aging. It means you’re alive another year, gaining wisdom.”
“I can be alive another year and gain wisdom without getting tiny creases in my flawless skin.”
“Except you already have a crease.” Morton pointed his tail at my forehead.
My hand went to the spot, and I rubbed it, then shoved my hand into my pocket, feeling for the empty tonic bottle. I wouldn’t have a crease if I’d been able to get my fucking tonic yesterday.
“Are you all right?” he asked, stretching his long neck forward to peer at me.
“Stop that,” I said.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me.”
He blinked. “All these years with you humans, and I still don’t understand any of you.” He snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils. “I have a mind to fetch Enid right this moment to give you a checkup.”
I whirled to face him. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re sweating, your eyes are red, and you look pale.”
I clenched the empty bottle in my pocket tighter. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about the contestants.”
About Ceri. And maybe some of those symptoms had to do with me missing a dose of my tonic, but I’d correct that tonight.
If I made it to tonight. I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I hated these feelings bubbling up between the cracks. Like if they got too big, I’d explode. I’d kidnap Fargus tonight if I had to and force my adviser to portal me out of Fairwitch.
In the meantime, I couldn’t stand still and do nothing. “That’s it. I’m going to find them—”
Before I could finish my sentence, the room started quaking. I flew backward into my throne, attempting to get out of it, but a strong wind held me down.
Castle was at it again, and right now, it wanted me to stay put. I struggled anyway, refusing to just let it push me around.
The floor split open, jagged lines cracking through it and running all the way to the doors at the end of the long room. The yellow and gold stained-glass windows rattled, and I stopped struggling, clutching the arms of my throne as I gaped.
“What in the godwitches’ name is happening now?” I yelled at Morton, who looked far too calm, still sitting on the arm of my throne.
From the cracks in the room, figures appeared, being spit out like pieces of food.
My heart hammered in my chest as I watched all the contestants, one by one, landing safely back in the throne room, except the one I cared about.
Then I saw her. Blond curls and a full figure, and those familiar dimples peeking from her cheeks.
Ceri had returned, and with her reappearance, so had my full range of emotions.