Page 48 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

Oh, godwitches. Hope flared in my chest. “You think so?”

Margaret smiled. “Yes! If you’re okay with this open relationship, then that’s fine. But if you’re not, you should say something. Be honest with her about how you feel.”

Except I didn’t know how I felt—other than enraged at the thought of another man touching her. Something I had no right to be.

“Thanks, Margaret. Will do.” I gave her a strained smile.

She stepped toward the side of her painting. “Well, I guess I should go. I do actually have a lot of messages to deliver for the prince and a party to plan now.”

“Margaret?”

She turned.

“Thank you.”

She nodded and disappeared from the painting, and I glanced at the door. I had appointments the rest of the day, but in this moment, I couldn’t care less.

I grabbed my “Out of Office” sign and hung it on the outside of my door. Enid and I needed to have a little chat.

CHAPTER 20

Nevan

The walk through town was a blur. I hadn’t realized how angry I was until I’d spoken with Margaret. It was careless of Enid. If she had a lover, the least she could do was tell him not to visit during our arrangement.

Also, if she had a lover, that meant she’d brought him into Fairwitch, which was very illegal. No one was allowed to bring visitors without Prince Cillian’s permission. The more I thought about all the ways this put us at risk, the angrier I got, until all of a sudden I stood there in front of Enid’s cottage, staring at the front door, chest heaving, no clue how I’d gotten there.

My heart was pounding, rage thrumming in my veins. I banged on the door, and Enid opened it, a confused look on her face.

“I thought we were meeting tomorrow at the⁠—”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the cottage, the door slamming behind us.

She wrenched herself from my grasp. “What has gotten into you?”

“Who’s Ambrose?” I asked.

Her eyes went wide and she took a step back. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Just answer the question.”

She stepped back again, hands curling into fists. “You answer mine first.”

My jaw locked. “From Fiona.” I didn’t mention Margaret. I’d collect the painting and return it to the castle. I assumed it was still propped behind the couch, and Enid probably hadn’t even given it a second glance.

Her umber eyes went even wider, realization lighting up her face. “She overheard us after her visit.” She swore under her breath.

“You have a . . .” I couldn’t even say it. I couldn’t say the word without bile rising in my throat.

“Yes,” she said, voice hard. “And I won’t apologize for it.”

My anger flared. Stubborn woman. “You’re jeopardizing everything. What if Fiona had told her aunts? Or my brother? Or just some random townsperson? Everyone would know you have some . . . lover . . . that what we have isn’t real.” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it. Those words rang much truer than they should have.

She crossed her arms and looked away. “I’m sorry that a little girl invaded my privacy. I’m sorry that your city landed on my bog and interrupted my entire life. I’m sorry that your brother is now threatening to exile me so I have no choice but to fake a relationship with you. I’m sorry that my entire life has been turned upside down through no fault of my own, and now I’m being punished for it.”

Her chest was heaving, her cheeks flushed. I knew I was being unreasonable. I knew I was being an ass.

“You should be sorry,” I said, despite knowing all of this. Idiot, idiot, idiot.