Page 131 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

The suite Mordric had prepared for me was extravagant, complete with a private dining room, washroom, and a bedchamber that was even larger than my last. The upholstery was puffy and plush, decorated in the colors of the royal family. A cloud of incense hung in the air, its perfume thick enough to nearly lull me into sleep.

“Are you sure this is all for me?” I asked, my brows stretching upward.

He beamed at me. “I’m sure. You may leave the doors open.” He gestured at the heavy metal doors at the main entrance. “So that the staff may enter. The interior doors lock, and I’ve instructed the guards outside to make sure that no one bothers you.”

“Alright,” I said, yawning as I sank into the armchair closest to the fire.

“I have some business to attend to, and you should get some rest. But I’ll meet you here for supper this evening?”

I frowned. “We won’t be taking our supper in the dining room?”

“I thought this would be more intimate.”

I sighed, shrugging off my cloak. “If you insist.”

“Allow me.”

I stopped short, recognizing the hungry look in his eyes. His words ignited a spark within me, stoked by the many weeks I’d spent out of his reach. The long, cold nights I’d spent without him in my bed. “If you insist,” I repeated.

Mordric closed in on me like a ravenous wolf, pulling me roughly to my feet. His hands brushed the back of my neck as he eased the cloak from where it now hung on my arms, his lips lingering just inches from my own. I shuddered as he inched his fingers through the laces that kept my shirt closed, my breathing shallow.

Suddenly, I was no longer tired. I pressed my lips to his, slipping my tongue between his lips. A low growl escaped him as he returned my kiss, his desire making itself known against my thigh. His hands wandered to my waist, easing my belt from my breeches. It dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty.”

I cursed silently, recognizing the voice of one of the pages. Mordric’s hands halted in their path.

“What do you want?” he growled.

I craned my neck in time to see the page’s eyes practically pop out of his head. “I, er, I’m afraid there’s an urgent matter that requires your attention. Lord Volorthen sent me.”

“Good gods,” Mordric whispered, his eyes ravishing me. “They pick the worst times to interrupt.”

I chuckled, brushing my lips against his cheek. “We’ll have plenty of time,” I promised.

He wound his fingers through my hair, his eyes flashing. I wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or his scent that made me forget about the page who lingered awkwardly just a few feet away. I sighed as Mordric finally detached himself from me, squeezing my hand.

“Yes,” he assured me. “We certainly will.”

I poked through the suite for a few minutes after Mordric departed, doing my best to ignore the soldiers who I caught peering into the room on more than one occasion. The towering bookcase in the corner of the drawing chamber drew me to it like iron to a lodestone. My fingers brushed the worn leather bindings of the books squeezed onto its shelves. They were tall and thick—historical accounts, based on the years etched into their spines.

Turning my back to the bookcase, my gaze snagged on a writing desk that leaned against the far wall. Hurrying toward it, I tugged open its drawers, retrieving a swan’s feather quill and a bottle of ink. I scribbled notes to Vesper and Niamh to inform them of my return, careful not to reveal any details about my sudden departure from Hollybrook lest the notes fall into the wrong hands. Or, at the very least, a pair of talkative ones. Satisfied, I pulled a third sheet of parchment toward me, but as soon as I’d scratched out the letter E, my hand stilled.

I doubted that even Victoria could get a message to the prince, wherever he was. Even if she could, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say to him. Dear Enhart, your brother is hiding me away in the north wing, and I’m concerned for you?

Enhart had done what Mordric had asked of him—delivered me safely to Hollybrook, helped me unlock my gift, and returned me in one piece. Perhaps he simply wanted a brief respite before the King summoned him home. Still, his sudden departure had stirred an uneasiness inside me. It drifted to the forefront of my mind, like debris that floated up from the bottom of the Tirlif after a storm.

I crumpled the parchment between my hands, abandoning it on the desk. Wightgasts and witches were unlikely to wander into Valnar, I reminded myself. Even if they did, the prince was more than capable of looking after himself. Heading toward the doors, I folded the other sheets of parchment neatly into squares.

“Excuse me,” I said, offering them to the nearest soldier. “Could you find a courier to deliver these messages?”

He glanced at my hand like I was holding a knife. Undeterred, I pointed at the names scrawled on the outside of the folded parchment. “Miss Vertise is a castle maid, and Lady Lightborne frequents these halls often enough. They should be easy to locate.”

The soldier cocked an eyebrow. A second joined him at the door, his brow creased. “What’s this, then?” he asked, exchanging a look with his partner.

“Messages,” I explained. “To be delivered to friends of mine.”

The apprehensive expressions on their faces unnerved me, as did the steel swords strapped to their sides. Enhart’s voice rang in my head. Mordric will use all the resources at his disposal to keep you safe.