Page 33 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

The light dwindled as I sank like a rock. I pumped my arms and legs, gasping for air as I broke the surface of the freezing cold lake.

“What the fuck?” I spluttered, whipping my head around. I had somehow traveled far from the courtyard, landing in the middle of Lake Brone at the western edge of the palace grounds. The water was so cold I felt it to my marrow.

The image of my childhood friend, Arthur, tumbling into the water was the last thing I had seen before I ended up here. I reminded myself that he was just fine, safe in Bard after I’d nearly drowned dragging him out of the water.

I trod water for a moment. I knew I had to get out, and quickly, but the sight of a familiar figure on the bank of the lake gave me pause. The prince stood in the mud, watching me with his arms crossed. I would rather freeze to death than face him after yet another mistake.

I cursed as my chin dipped below the surface. The sodden wool of my cloak threatened to drag me down so I fiddled with the clasp, releasing it into the depths. Bracing myself for his admonishments, I made my way toward Enhart.

“Now that,” he said coolly as I approached, “was unexpected.”

“I, I don’t—” I stammered, climbing onto the muddy bank. “I don’t understand what just happened.”

I stood before him, the soaked, sheer fabric of my shirt clinging to my curves. My teeth clattered together violently. I folded my arms over my chest, hugging myself for warmth.

“You phased,” he said. “A curious response, but I suppose it’s not completely out of the ordinary. What were you thinking about?”

The image of Arthur’s face, puffy and blue as he coughed up creek water, appeared in my mind. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, shoving the memory deep down. “I didn’t even know that I could do that.”

He shrugged. “It’s not unusual for a witch.”

“I just moved magically from one place to the next,” I pointed out exasperatedly. “Without even trying to.”

“I know, and you’d better get it under control,” he replied.

I balked. “I beg your pardon?”

He cocked his head. “You’re upset with me.” It wasn’t a question.

“You forced me to do that!” I cried, rage bubbling up inside me. “And now you’re admonishing me for not being able to control it. Don’t you see why that would be incredibly frustrating?”

“I didn’t force you to do anything,” he said. “You failed yet again to drive me out, and then this happened. If you disagree with my methods—”

I scoffed. “Methods? What exactly are your methods?”

“To push you,” he said. “Which clearly worked.”

“You have no godsdamn methods,” I bit back.

“For Letlas’s sake.” He approached me and I flinched. “Hold still,” he bit out. He unfastened his cloak and wrapped it round my shoulders. There was no warmth from his body, but the thick, soft fabric instantly warmed me.

“I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about my methodology,” he growled, looking down at me. I shouldered past him intending to stalk off toward the castle.

Instead, I found myself face-to-face with the King.

I inhaled sharply. “Mordric.”

“Finn! You’re—” His eyes raked over my trembling frame wrapped in Enhart’s cloak. “Wet.”

My face flushed as it dawned on me how ridiculous I must look. Dripping in lake water and caught in a screaming match with his brother. Mordric’s gaze flitted to Enhart’s. “Would anyone care to explain what’s going on here?”

“What’s going on here is that your novice is entirely out of her depth,” said Enhart in a flat voice. “No pun intended.”

“Then adjust the depth,” Mordric said without missing a beat. “She’s not a master witch, as you were well aware when you agreed to train her. That’s the reason that you’re here.”

A humorless smile spread across the prince’s face. “I’m well aware of the reasons that I’m here, Your Majesty.”

I swallowed, my eyes flicking between the two of them. Mordric put a hand on my shoulder. “I suggest you two take the night to cool off.”