Page 43 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“No it’s not!” she insisted. “After the summer solstice, you’ll be a member of his council, that makes you one of them. There will be nothing stopping him from making you his bride.”

“What about bloodlines?” I countered. “What about the part about me not being a vampire?”

She frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? The baker below Mama is married to a vampiress. They seem pretty happy.”

“They have no children,” I reminded her.

“Oh, right,” she said, tapping a finger on her chin. “It’s not common, I suppose, but is it impossible?”

I shrugged. From what I knew, humans and vampires couldn’t conceive. Perhaps that was why so few of the nobility married across species. They had their dalliances, sure, but to them, inheritance was everything.

“Well, that’s a problem for the future,” she said. “Vampires live forever, anyway.”

“Not forever,” I corrected her.

“Forever, for a thousand years, what’s the difference? You’ll live nearly as long, won’t you? Plenty of time to try.”

I huffed, ignoring the unease that spread in my chest every time I was reminded of my newly discovered longevity.

“Besides,” she continued, “if you love each other, what does any of that matter?”

My cheeks burned brighter. “I don’t know that I love him. I care for him, but isn’t it too soon?”

“Who’s to say?” she insisted. “Sometimes you just know it no matter how, er, short your time has been together.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you saying that you love Maxence?”

It was her turn to flush, the air around her going pink. Images of Maxence as she saw him spilled into my mind. A Maxence who kept her company now that I was hardly around. A Maxence who shared with her stories from his isolated upbringing in the south, the reason he wanted to become seneschal in the first place—to prove his father wrong about him, apparently. A Maxence who held her hand when they walked into the city together under the guise of errands.

My jaw dropped. “You do?”

A giggle escaped her as she nodded. “I suppose I do.”

“Niamh!” I cried, squeezing her hand. “Shall we begin wedding preparations?”

“No,” she insisted with a chuckle, her eyes gleaming. “At least, not until he’s met Mama. Do you think she’ll like him?”

I grinned. “As seneschal’s apprentice, he’s surely a master of conversation. I think they’ll get along just fine.”

“Enough about romance. How’s training? Are you a master witch yet?”

I groaned. “Not quite. The prince is driving me crazy.”

“Oh?”

“He’s impatient, arrogant, and seems determined to make me hate him.”

“Is it working?” She giggled.

I paused, my eyes narrowing. “What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know, it sounds kind of exciting.”

“Mordric is exciting,” I pointed out. “He saved me from a killer for godssake.”

She grinned. “I know.”

“Okay,” I said frustratedly, swiping the bottle of wine from the table. “That’s enough for you.”