Page 41 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“Because of that situation?” Margaret gestured to the pillow still sitting over my lap.

I grabbed it and threw it at the painting, and Margaret shrieked. “You are dismissed!” I called as she dashed away.

Godwitches be. I sank back down into bed, finally able to get some peace, and all I could think about was that dream.

I hadn’t dreamt of anything so vivid in a long, long time. The tonic did its job so well that it didn’t just numb me in the waking world but also the sleeping one.

I stiffened. The tonic. I shouldn’t have had a dream like that when I’d taken a dose yesterday. Maybe whatever that apothecary had given me had been defective, but I’d felt the immediate effects. I reached for my nightstand and opened the drawer, pulling out the little vial and studying the medicine.

It looked the same as it always did. My brother had been a healer long enough for me to suspect what was happening. It had already happened once. When I’d first discovered this tonic and started taking it, I’d only needed a quarter of this vial every month. Then a quarter turned into half a vial, and half a vial turned into a full vial. To keep numbing myself, I was going to have to get even more, which was becoming harder and riskier. I had to stop this. No matter how careful I tried to be, my actions were reckless, and that had been proven with yesterday’s visit to Amaria. I couldn’t even think about Lor, about the butcher seeing the floating fish.

Those were feelings I couldn’t manage. I could barely handle thinking about that dream. That fucking dream where Ceri was mine. One more small sip. I’d take one small sip and then I’d stick to my usual dose for the rest of the month. I could do this.

I uncorked the vial and took a sip, already feeling better as my body relaxed back into the bed and all the tension bled from me. It was just a dream. And I had just been imagining Lor yesterday. It wasn’t him. The brotherhood wasn’t following me. They didn’t know where we were. We’d get through these stupid trials, Castle would choose my queen finally, and everything would be okay.

I looked at the vial, feeling that same mixture of relief and disgust I always felt when I took the tonic. I threw it into my drawer and slammed it shut right as the door burst open.

“Does anyone knock?” I yelled, shooting up in bed, thankful my cock had finally calmed down, at least.

Wolfe stood in the doorway. “Morton sent me.”

I stiffened. “What’s happened?”

“The second trial has begun.”

CHAPTER 19

Ceri

The six of us stood in the castle gardens, tables covered in lace cloths were spread out, each one with two chairs. On top were tea, biscuits, small sandwiches, and tarts that made my mouth water. Our crowns once again hovered over our heads, gleaming under the harsh glare of the sun.

“Finally,” Marsten said from beside me. “Now this is a challenge I can get behind.”

“What is the challenge?” Lila asked, looking around in confusion. “We just sit and drink tea? I’m great at making tea.”

“Let me guess,” Marsten said. “For Grayson.”

“Yes,” she said. “He likes it a very specific way.”

“Sounds like a complete arse,” Meera mumbled.

I agreed. I was starting to dislike this Grayson. It seemed like all Lila lived for was to serve him.

“Of course it’s not just about tea and cake,” Morton said, and we all jumped. The little bookwyrm hung in the air, staring at us with his round black eyes. “That would be silly.”

“So what is the challenge?” Siobhan planted her hands on her hips.

“That is the perfect segue into my announcement. Welcome to your second trial, where you’ll be playing a game of Birendelle.”

I let out a laugh of disbelief. “First a puzzle, now a word game?” I played this game with my father often.

“Oh no,” Marsten said. “I hate word games. I’m terrible with them. Have you played this one?” he asked, flipping his long hair over his shoulder.

“Yes, actually. It was my sister’s favorite game. My father preferred cards, and I preferred puzzles, but Brea was the best with word games like Birendelle. Every week, we’d have a family game night, and we took turns choosing. Brea always chose this one.”

My heart clenched at the memories of her gap-toothed smile, her giggles when she inevitably won.

“That sounds lovely,” Marsten said, voice gentle. “I’m glad you have those memories of her.”