Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CYRENE
I’d never seen so many magical ingredients in one place before. Not even in the Elder’s workshop back home, and she’d been collecting for years.
“Look at this,” I whispered, running my fingers along a shelf stocked with jars of preserved mandrake root, moonflower nectar, and what appeared to be dragon’s breath captured in crystal vials. “This can’t be real.”
But it was. All of it. The tower room Kieran had given me stretched three stories high, with a spiral staircase winding to upper levels filled with more bookshelves than I could count. Morning sunlight poured through tall windows, making everything shine.
Quandary swooped down from his perch, landing on my shoulder with a happy chirp. I told you he likes you.
“He likes having a witch in his castle.” I couldn’t deny my heart. Not after Kieran had personally delivered breakfast, complete with a single daisy that now sat in its vase near the eastern window.
The breakfast itself was a revelation. Honey scones that had melted on my tongue, fresh berries dusted with sugar so fine it could be powdered starlight, and a pot of spiced tea that had tasted exactly like what my grandmother used to make.
“You remembered,” I’d said after taking a sip, unable to hide my surprise.
His eyes had softened in a way that made my heart flutter. “You mentioned that your grandmother made blackberry tea with cardamom.”
Once. In passing. Years ago, during that short time we’d been together.
I remembered the moment I’d told him. We were walking through the festival, stopping at booths to admire the bowls of leaves at a stand where the witch crafted her own teas.
It had been raining, and he’d conjured a parasol to keep me dry while getting soaked himself.
I’d made him some tea back at my lantern stall afterward, explaining it was my grandmother’s recipe for warming cold bones.
This morning, he’d watched me eat, his expression pleased.
“The cook had nothing to do with this, did she?” I’d asked.
The slight quirk of his lips was answer enough.
Kieran had put together a breakfast for his witch queen with his own hands.
Who stocks a vampire fortress with supplies like this? Quandary asked, sniffing at a jar of butterfly wings, bringing me back to the present. Not someone who’s merely tolerating you.
I ignored him, busying myself with unpacking the rest of the supplies I’d brought from home. Pathetically few compared to what awaited me here. My meager collection of charms and potions looked like a child’s play set next to the professional-grade equipment lining the walls.
“Did you see the cauldron?” Cordelia drifted through the wall, translucent and floating six inches above the floor. “Sterling silver, etched with moon phases. I haven’t seen craftsmanship like that since the Lunar Guild still operated.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said.
Her smile revealed her fangs. “I’m older than I look.”
“Are you saying Kieran had these things specially made for me?”
“Someone certainly did, and I don’t think it was Lady Madeline.”
I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in with new eyes. The worktable had been positioned to catch the best light. The storage system had been designed for easy access. The reading nook tucked into a window alcove held cushions in the prettiest shade of green.
“How had he put all this together in such a short time?” I asked.
“Perhaps he worked on it over the past six years.” Cordelia floated across the room, generating a small gust of wind.
I shook my head. “That’s impossible.” But my voice lacked conviction, and the memory of his lips on mine burned fresh all over again.
Enough brooding. I had work to do.
My joy magic had been increasingly unpredictable since our kiss. Normally, I could direct it with minimal effort. A sunbeam here, a warm breeze there. But today, it leaked from me like light from a cracked lantern, enchanting everything it touched.
While getting ready for the day earlier, my hairbrush had serenaded me with a ballad about eternal devotion. Last evening, the bathwater had formed tiny hearts that popped like bubbles when touched.
It was embarrassing.
“Let’s start with something simple.” I pulled out my grimoire, flipping to basic containment spells. “I just need to focus.”
“Focus and joy aren’t always compatible,” Cordelia pointed out.
“Neither are joy and dignity, apparently.” I arranged three teacups on the worktable. “But I have to try. What if this spreads and I accidentally enchant something important, like the throne or the dining room table?”
Quandary’s eyes lit up. Could you make the dining room table dance?
“I’m trying to avoid magical chaos, not create it.”
Pity.
I laid my hands flat on either side of the teacups. “Okay. Simple containment. I need to visualize my magic as a steady stream, not a bursting dam.”
I closed my eyes, reaching for that warm center where my magic resided. It sparkled eagerly in response, too eager, spilling out before I could properly channel it.
The teacups began to hum.
“That’s…not containment,” Cordelia said.
“I’m aware.” I gritted my teeth, trying to rein the magic back. Instead, the humming grew louder, organizing into a distinct melody.
When the cups began singing about eternal passion in a three-part harmony, I dropped my face into my hands.
“You know,” Cordelia said, “a singing tea service could be quite charming at royal functions.”
“You’re not helping.”
Quandary fluttered over to perch in front of the cups, conducting the music with his tail. The smallest cup launched into a vibrato solo that would’ve made an opera singer envious.
“This is a disaster.” I thumped my grimoire closed. “I can’t even control basic magic anymore.”
“Perhaps you’re approaching this backward,” Cordelia said. “Joy magic isn’t meant to be contained. It’s meant to be channeled.”
I sighed. “Into what, exactly? More singing dishware?”
“Into something the castle needs.” She gestured broadly. “This place is a mausoleum. All that dark stone and heavier furniture. What it needs is life.”
“I’m not sure Kieran would appreciate me redecorating. He didn’t seem interested when you mentioned it the other night.”
“He’s busy with kingly duties.” She fluttered closer. “You’re the queen. Who else should decorate but you?”
I frowned. “You think so?”
“I know so. Think about it. Those grim portraits could smile. The carpets could bloom with embroidered flowers that actually grow. And the king himself—” She spun some more. “Imagine him in colors that flatter his complexion. Emerald green, perhaps. Or royal purple.”
The mental image of Kieran in purple velvet made me snort. “I’m sure he’d love that.”
“He might, if you were the one to suggest it.” Her eyes twinkled. “He did bring you breakfast. And a flower.”
My cheeks warmed. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
Quandary, still conducting the singing cups, rolled his eyes so hard they nearly disappeared into his head.
“Fine.” I stiffened my spine. “Let’s try something else. Maybe if I focus the magic into something useful, it’ll cooperate.”
I selected a jar of dried lavender from the shelf. “Relaxation charm. Simple, practical.”
“Boring,” Cordelia sighed.
“No, effective.”
I crushed the lavender between my palms, letting the fragrance rise as I whispered the incantation. My magic stirred, interested but still restless.
“Calm,” I told it. “Soothing. Gentle.”
For a moment, it seemed to work. Golden light spiraled from my fingers, weaving through the lavender. Then it surged, transforming what should’ve been a subtle relaxation charm into something much more potent.
The lavender burst into tiny purple fireworks, showering the worktable with sparks that changed into butterflies. They fluttered around the room, leaving trails of glittering dust that made the air smell like summer nights and something deeper, headier.
“Is that…” Air whoofed from Cordelia’s ghostly lungs. “Oh my.”
“What?” I sniffed, then immediately regretted it as heat flooded my veins. “Oh no.”
“That’s not relaxation,” she observed. “That’s…”
“Attraction magic.” I groaned. “The exact opposite of what I needed.”
Quandary fluttered his wings, sending the butterflies scattering. They’re very pretty, though.
“They’re emitting magical pheromones.”
He tilted his head. Is that bad?
“It is when I’m trying to regain control.” I grabbed a jar, attempting to capture the butterflies, but they dodged, releasing little tittering sounds that showed they were amused by my efforts.
Cordelia had drifted to the ceiling and was watching the mess unfold. “I believe some of them are escaping through the window.”
“What?” I spun around in time to see three purple butterflies flutter through the open casement into the castle proper. “No, no, no.”
I lunged in that direction, but it was too late. My magical pheromone-emitting butterflies were now loose in a castle full of vampires with enhanced senses.
“We’ll retrieve them.” Cordelia waved to Quandary, and the two flew out the window after the butterflies.
“This can’t be happening.” I sank onto a chair. “If Kieran finds out—”
The door swung open.
Timing was a cruel, cruel thing.
Kieran paused in the doorway, a butterfly perched on the top of his head like a tiny purple crown. His left eyebrow was arched so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline.
Today he wore a midnight blue jacket that made his eyes appear sapphire, the silver embroidery along the collar catching the light. I’d noticed it earlier and almost said something.
Where had he found colorful clothing?
Some would see his formal attire as intimidating, but the butterfly and the barely concealed amusement in his eyes changed him from untouchable monarch into a man I could actually care for.
“Redecorating, I see,” he said, gazing around.
My face burned hotter than a midsummer bonfire. “I can explain.”