Page 166 of The Witch Queen

“Fine,” I say, though I wonder what could be so important as to demand such discretion. “Have you heard anything about Blodwyn?”

“The princess is still missing,” Parnell tells me. “But we have doubled the search party.”

“Double it again,” I say. “I want her found. Today.”

Before the lost princess reaches her.

“Your Majesty!” Weston rounds a corner and falls into step with us. “You’re looking well this morning. But I suppose you should be.”

I hold in a groan, having no patience for his antics.

“Whatever you need will have to wait,” I say, quickening our pace in the hopes that he’ll wander off. “There’s a council meeting.”

“Yes, I know,” he says, grinning. “I’m invited.”

I frown. I certainly didn’t request his presence.

“There will simply be masses of parties to plan,” he goes on. “And I’m sure you’re thrilled to celebrate the good news.”

Good news?I start to ask Parnell what Weston means, but we’ve already reached the council chamber. Power or not, I sense the restless energy emanating from inside. I step through the doors and every muscle in my body freezes.

Someone is sitting at the head of the table. Inmyseat. A pair of gray eyes meets mine and that place behind my left ribsthrobs.

“Hello, wife.”

Chapter Fifty

Ayleth

Time itself seems to slow, each of my heartbeats thudding like a death knell.

This isn’t possible,is all my muddled mind can manage. Callen can’t leave the mirror. Hecan’t.This is just another of Margaret’s tricks, like her costume at the ball. But no. The person in front of me is unmistakably Callen. And not merely the shell of the king’s body that has been bedridden for the past few years. His eyes are clear and bright, not clouded or mirror-like. Even the scar from the jousting injury has faded to a dull pink.

But he couldn’t have recovered like this without my help. Sohowhas he done it?

The question loops through my mind, tangling with a thousand others. Every instinct screams at me to use my shadows against him. But I can’t. And I can’t run. Can’t hide from him—not anymore. Callen, damn him, knows it. He grins at me, like Nettle does when she corners one of her mice.

“Y-you,” I stammer. “What are you—”

“I apologize for the lack of warning,” Callen says. “But I wanted to surprise you.”

The other councilors—Warbeck and Parnell and the rest—chuckle,smiling at me like I’m a little girl who wandered into their midst. Just yesterday, I was their queen. But I never had their respect. They only tolerated me. Counted the days until they could push me off the throne. And that day has finally arrived. Beneath my panic, rage simmers in my core.

“Come,” Callen says, rising and indicating an empty chair. “Join us.”

There’s no other way out of this and so, somehow, I force my leaden feet to move. Callen waits for me to take my seat, then reaches over me to retrieve the pitcher of wine.

“Here,” he says. “This will put some color back into your face.”

He sets the pitcher down and squeezes the tops of my shoulders. Runs his fingertips along the curve of my neck, lingering on my collarbones.

“I havemissedyou,” he says, his voice brushing the shell of my ear.

Everything inside of me shrivels.

“Now, then,” Callen continues, finally moving away from me. “Where were we?”

“The plan to capture the coven witches.” Parnell adjusts one of the markers on the map. “As we’re all aware by now, it was an ambush. My initial suspicion was correct: There was a spy in the palace, feeding the witches—and thereby Rycinthia—information.”