Page 4 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Er, yes,” said Maxence. “Thank you, Mrs. Cathers.”

Maxence’s voice faded to nothing as I recalled the look on the King’s face. He’d been shocked at the sight of me, of that much I was certain. It had pulsated off of him like a blast of cool air. I wondered how long he’d watched me parading around with my enchanted tools, completely oblivious to his presence.

I cursed my poor fortune. Why couldn’t I have stumbled into the path of the only nearsighted vampire in the world? Or, better yet, someone with little to no importance at court. A lowly lord’s youngest son, or something. Gods, what was he going to do to me?

“Finn, you’re on errand duty. Everyone else, please continue with your meal.”

I stared blankly up at Maxence as the hubbub of chatter restarted around the table.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, moving over to where Niamh and I sat.

“Yes.”

“Don’t dawdle.” He waved a list in front of my nose.

I plucked the parchment out of the air. “You’re not seneschal yet, Maxence.”

He sneered, dropping a bulging purse with a clunk onto the table. “Even as his apprentice, I have more authority than you, chambermaid.”

Niamh fixed him in an uncharacteristically steely glare. “Seneschal is supposed to be an honorable post, you know. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your master, would you?”

He frowned. “Since when were you girls so assertive?”

My friend laughed, her cheeks practically glowing. “Since we learned it was the best way to shut you up.”

I scanned the scribbled list.

Cutler’s resin

Henbane and hemlock salve

Coriander tincture

Brummings’ silver polish

Tallow candles (special order)

These items would take me all over the city. “This is all for the solstice?” I asked.

“Most of it,” he replied. “There have been a few interruptions to our usual deliveries, and some are for the seneschal’s personal supplies.”

“Silver polish, eh?” Niamh crooned, peering over my shoulder. “I guess you’ll be seeing Ewan tonight.”

Maxence cocked an eyebrow. “The blacksmith’s apprentice?”

I pinched Niamh in the arm. “There’s nothing between Ewan and me apart from friendship,” I lied. “As I’ve told you a hundred times.”

I had met Ewan Galwain nearly three years ago while running errands for the seneschal like I would have to do today. He was friendly and good-looking, with warm brown eyes and muscles chiseled from working long days over the forge.

At first, our conversation was little more than a distraction to keep me from having to rush back to the castle. Eventually, though, he became another kind of distraction. Ewan didn’t seem interested in having a wife—nor I, a husband—so our arrangement worked well enough for now.

Niamh giggled. “You might have no interest in Ewan, but you should. Have you seen his arms?”

I suppressed a snort as Maxence’s muscles went taut. He had a hard road ahead of him if he was trying to compete with a blacksmith’s apprentice.

“Don’t spend too much time drooling over him,” he said. “I hear there’s trouble in the city.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, curious.