Page 41 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Cyril.” Mordric beamed, slapping the lanky vampire on the back so hard his knees nearly buckled.

“Begging a moment of your time, Your Majesty,” said the viscount, narrowing his eyes at me.

I began to excuse myself when Mordric turned to walk away with the viscount, but he reached out a hand and dragged me with him. “Join us in my study,” he said.

“Of course,” the viscount replied, trailing after us like a shadow. “Although I’m afraid I must insist on a private audience.”

Mordric did not respond, ushering us both into a large study. It was dark and refined, with a sturdy walnut desk squatting beneath a large window. Through the glass, I could see over the palace walls to the sprawling expanse of pines that carpeted the foothills. The air smelled faintly of fresh ink and the roses that grew beneath the open windows. It was the same familiar scent that clung to Mordric every day. As he settled into his chair, I couldn’t help but think that even behind a desk, it was as if he sat upon a throne.

My breath caught in my chest as he grabbed my hand, pulling me close. I dragged my gaze reluctantly to the many missives stacked neatly on the desk, the handwriting the same on each page. “You don’t use a scribe?” I guessed, leaning over his shoulder.

“To my seneschal’s chagrin,” he confirmed. “I’ve always thought that any correspondences that impacted the realm should come from a king’s own hand.”

“That explains the ink stains,” I said, turning his palm over in mine. There they were, the black splotches that nearly always mottled his porcelain skin.

“I’m sure the business you’re bringing to me can be shared in front of Miss Erramun,” he said, finally addressing the Viscount Harring who hovered merely a few feet from the edge of the desk. My cheeks burned. I had nearly forgotten he was there. “What is it this time?” Mordric continued. “Lost another shipment of saffron down the river?”

“I’m afraid I must insist once again on a private audience, Your Majesty,” said the vampire, his nose in the air.

“And I must deny one, as I am growing increasingly weary of your presence,” Mordric replied, a hint of ice on his tongue. “Now, speak plainly or be gone.”

“Surely you don’t think it’s appropriate to speak of business in front of her.” The viscount gestured in my direction.

Mordric’s eyes narrowed. “And why not?”

“Because she’s … she’s a servant for godssake.”

The King stiffened, an uncomfortable silence descending upon the room. The quiet was broken only by the crackle of cinders smoldering in the fireplace. Lord Harring’s eyes widened as if he’d realized too late what he’d said. Even without tapping into my magic, Mordric’s displeasure was palpable. “You question my judgment?” he asked finally, his tone laced with venom. I watched with bated breath, not daring to move.

The viscount wiped away the pearls of sweat that glistened on his brow. “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I misspoke.”

The King watched him like a lion just before it pounced. “Misspoke, did you?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“Good, because if you weren’t walking back rather unconvincingly on your poor choice of words, it might lead me to believe that a pitiful viscount, one who can’t keep his own wife by his side let alone a useless shipment of saffron, thinks that he knows better than his king.”

The vampire bowed deeply, his nose practically touching the floor. “Begging your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Miss Erramun is here because I desire her to be,” Mordric said. My heart fluttered.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The silence drew out for so long that it was nearly unbearable. “Your shipment, that’s the matter of which you wished to speak, Cyril?” he repeated.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Frederick mentioned to me yesterday evening that thieves are rumored to be operating along your merchants’ usual route. I will send a patrol to look into it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the viscount.

“Leave us,” he commanded in a low growl. “Now.”

The viscount thanked him profusely, retreating rapidly from the room without straightening from his bow. I released a breath as the door closed, glancing sideways at Mordric. I’d never seen him like that, but I supposed I hadn’t known him very long. To my surprise, he leaned back in his chair, tossing his crown onto the desk with a clunk.