Page 72 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“And you have to talk to him. Enough secrets,” Marsten said.

I chewed on my bottom lip, not sure I was ready for this. Not sure Cillian was ready for it. After all, he was still recovering, and I had no idea what that process would even look like. Maybe I’d talk to Enid first, get her opinion.

“We should do this again,” Meera was saying as they walked toward the door. “So much quieter than Deerborn.”

“I agree,” Marsten said. “I say we make this a weekly date. Wine and cheese at Ceri’s.”

My heart swelled, and I nodded. “I’d like that,” I said quietly.

“Good night,” Marsten called in a singsong voice as he opened the door.

“Sleep tight,” Meera said. “Because tomorrow you’re going to go get your man.”

CHAPTER 32

Ceri

Ipaced in the kitchen, biting my thumbnail. I’d spoken to Enid, who’d confirmed that Cillian needed rest for at least a few weeks before someone pronounced life-altering feelings that might send his emotions into a tailspin.

So instead of racing to the castle to tell him how I felt, here I was, in my apartment, still not sure about any of this. Yes, I had feelings for Cillian. I’d always had them, but I’d convinced myself for so long that I didn’t, and now it was hard to believe in just a few short weeks I could reveal them. It was like my heart was simultaneously breaking for what Cillian was going through and blooming with hope for what could be. If I had the courage to admit it to him, that was.

“Ah, Ceri, dear. Are you all right?” My father appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Yes!” I said and gestured to the round kitchen table. “Why don’t you sit, Papa?”

I bustled over to the hearth, grabbing hot pads and lifting the kettle from its hook. Father watched in silence as I poured us each a cup of tea and grabbed a basket of biscuits, setting them on the table between us.

We sipped our tea while my father eyed me. “You stayed up rather late last night.”

“Marsten and Meera came to visit,” I said. “I think they might be coming weekly now for wine and cheese night.”

“That sounds lovely,” Father said.

The scent of jasmine rose from my teacup, and I grabbed a biscuit, nibbling on it.

“Did you three talk about anything interesting? Any good gossip?”

“Cillian is awake,” I said brightly, noting that Father didn’t look surprised by this information.

“Is he?” He took a longer sip of his tea. “Interesting. Interesting.”

I raised a brow. “That’s all you have to say about Cillian being awake? Did Margaret visit you already and share the news?”

Those two had become fast friends over the last week. Margaret had been here almost every day, chatting with my father.

The smallest hint of pink flushed his cheeks. My father never blushed, which made me sit up straighter and set down my cup.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. So tell me more about this visit with Marsten and Meera. What did you talk about?”

As if I didn’t have enough going on, now I had to worry about how strange my father was acting.

“Just this and that. You know . . . things. Marsten tried on a new dress, and he looked fabulous, so I think I’ve convinced him to get a new wardrobe.”

“Good, good,” Father said. “Anything else? Maybe you all talked about Cillian and his condition? Or other things about Cillian and you, perhaps?”

My mouth dropped open. “Oh my godwitches,” I said. “Were you eavesdropping?”