Page 56 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“It’s no trouble at all. It’s nice having someone to sit and talk with. Everyone’s always walking by my painting, barely noticing me. I get a quick ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ and most people don’t even stop to hear my answer. Everyone’s always got some place to be.”

I swallowed, feeling guilty that I was often one of those people, never taking time to stop and really listen to her.

“Margaret, you have no idea how much this means to⁠—”

“Time’s up,” she said as the painting began to fold back into the hedges.

I reached out. “Wait! I haven’t had time to study anything!”

“Pay attention to every detail,” she said as the hedge completely swallowed her painting and she was gone.

“What? Wait! Margaret, that wasn’t a clue! There was nothing in the painting but a farmhouse.”

But it was too late. The painting was gone, and I was still left with no idea which way to go.

The clue had been in her painting somewhere. I started pacing, already feeling like I must be behind everyone else. I hadn’t even left the first part of the maze yet. I forced myself to stop, closing my eyes and picturing the painting in as much detail as I could.

Margaret had been standing there, wearing her typical beige dress that hung just over her bare feet. The sky was blue, that red farmhouse behind her, but it barely had any detail other than the red wooden planks and the thatched roof. I missed something. I must have.

I squeezed my eyes harder, going over every inch of that painting in my mind. I might not have been great at word games like my sister, but I’d always been good with puzzles, with details.

At least I didn’t have to worry about my father. Margaret had been so unbelievably kind to offer to stay with him while I was gone. I replayed our conversation, the way her head kept tipping up like she was admiring the blue sky.

I stilled, my eyes shooting open. Wait a minute. While we were talking, Margaret had been looking up at something. There was nothing in the sky. I was sure of it . . . but the rooftop of the farmhouse there had been . . . a metal rooster, sticking straight up, its beak pointed . . . right.

That was the clue. So simple yet I’d almost missed it. With confidence, I turned to the right, making my way through the maze.

In the distance, a scream echoed, and I stiffened, recognizing poor Lila’s voice as she said, “Hello? Anyone? It’s really dark in here.”

Oh no. Maybe she’d gotten trapped in a tunnel of some sort. I continued on the pathway, winding and turning this way and that until I rounded a corner that continued straight toward a split in the ground. I slowed to a stop, examining the dark pit, not sure how I was going to get to the other side. I crouched, studying the gap. I could try to jump, but chances were I wouldn’t make it and would end up falling to my death. So much for not being at risk of getting hurt in this competition.

I chewed the inside of my cheek, not sure what I was supposed to do.

“Well, look who it is.”

I looked up to see Siobhan on the other side, staring at me, her long lavender hair hanging over her fitted trousers and golden blouse with long sleeves.

“You just came from that way?” I pointed behind her. If she’d come from that way, and I’d come from this way, then one of us had made a wrong turn somewhere.

“I still need to talk to you,” she said.

I planted my hands on my hips. “And you think now is the time? Siobhan, whatever you have to say, it can wait until we’re out of this maze.”

“I’m not sure that it can,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Something is going on with Cillian. I was in his bed chamber last night with him⁠—”

“Stop,” I gritted out, feeling sick at the thought.

“Oh, bloody godwitches,” Siobhan said, nostrils flaring. “I don’t give a damn that you have feelings for Cillian. This isn’t about that. It’s about what happened between us last night, and I think you might be the only one who can help him.”

“I don’t feel anything for Cillian,” I said defensively, so confused by this entire conversation.

My stomach lurched at the thought of Siobhan in Cillian’s bed right as the ground started rumbling. I looked down to see the abyss between us growing wider, Siobhan getting farther away.

I gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t think the maze wants us to talk about this.”

I certainly didn’t want to talk about this. I had no need to hear about Cillian’s conquests in the bedroom and how that could possibly connect to Cillian needing help. Needing help with what? His . . . performance? Surely not. I’d heard the rumors about Cillian’s prowess in the bedroom, and it had never been anything but awe at the high prince’s skills.

Besides, he could sleep with whomever he wanted, but there was no reason for me to know any of the details. It was this competition, I reminded myself. It was getting to me and blurring the lines of our friendship.