Page 140 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

I’d nearly killed the Crown Prince of Valen. And worse—

I shot up, my pulse racing. “I kissed him.”

“Good. You’re awake.”

I clapped a hand to my mouth, my gaze landing on Dr. Murrows. The Court Physician had planted himself in an armchair in the corner of the room. He stretched, closing the small leather notebook he held between his palms.

“What happened?” I asked. “What day is it?”

He rose, taking my hand before I could protest and pressing two fingers to my wrist. “Salen’s Day.”

“Salen’s Day,” I repeated. A full night and day had passed since the events at the edge of the castle grounds.

“Your pulse is strong,” mumbled the physician. “Although I suppose that can be expected.”

“It can?” I asked, my throat aching from all the screaming.

“Prince Enhart supplied you with his blood.”

My heart sank. “What?”

“It’s perfectly hygienic, Miss Erramun. And, in my medical opinion, necessary. You nearly died.”

“What about blood debt?” I whispered.

Dr. Murrows chuckled, adjusting his spectacles. “We are not vampires, Miss Erramun. I would advise you not to concern yourself with matters unique to them. His Royal Highness took action in order to save your life, so I hardly think anyone would hold it against you.”

I wasn’t so sure.

“Where is the King?” I asked.

The physician did not meet my gaze, scribbling in his notebook. “Tied up with his advisers, I imagine.”

I bristled as a soldier stomped into the bedchamber, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I pulled the sheets over my chest to conceal the flimsy fabric of my nightshift. Dr. Murrows did not look up from his page.

“Doctor,” barked the soldier.

“I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment,” replied Dr. Murrows.

“The King will want to hear that she’s awake,” continued the soldier, undeterred. “I suggest you go tell him.”

The physician’s features pulled into a frown. He sighed, tucking his notebook into his weathered satchel. “Of course,” he said. “You know, Miss Erramun, I don’t see many of my patients as much as you. I mean this in the kindest way possible, but I’d prefer to see less of you in the future.”

I offered a fleeting smile. “I’ll do my best.”

He patted my shoulder before falling in line behind the soldier.

“Wait!” I croaked as they disappeared through the door. The chamber swam as I stood. Panting, I staggered forward and steadied myself against the wardrobe.

I had to find Mordric, and fast. I had no idea how much he’d seen, but I knew that I had to find some way to explain myself or I would never leave this damned place. I forced my feet forward, stumbling through the doorway.

I could blame Geraint entirely, that was it. He had been the one driving me to attack Enhart. He had been the one to—

I shuddered, recalling the sensation of the kiss. The desperate, frenzied embrace with Enhart, a man I’d once despised. Had it been me or Geraint who’d instigated that closeness? My heart thudded rapidly in my chest. I wasn’t certain.

The drawing chamber appeared nothing like it had the evening before. Every surface had been thoroughly scrubbed and polished, the faint scent of linseed oil hanging in the air. My eyes landed on a carpet that had not been here when I first arrived. Stooping, I peeled it aside. The evidence of Mordric and Enhart’s duel lay only in the splintered marble concealed beneath it.

As I raised my chin, the sight before me sent a chill down my spine. A set of iron bars had replaced the doors. I crept forward, traipsing through a fine layer of metal shavings that coated the flagstones just before the door. My ears perked up at the sound of raised voices at the end of the corridor.