Page 71 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Enhart had been eager to allow my sparring partners to carry actual weaponry, convinced that the threat of steel would sharpen my response time. Mordric, however, would hear none of it. In fact, the King wasn’t too pleased to hear I was training in combat magic to begin with. He called it frivolous, arguing, much like I had at first, that we were a kingdom at peace.

He had debated the subject back and forth with Enhart one evening after Dr. Murrows had to set my wrist following a bad fall. I had watched on awkwardly while the physician completely ignored them. He was good at that.

Although I would never admit it to Enhart, I was actually quite pleased with this turn of events, sore muscles and broken wrist aside. It allowed me to combine all the elements of my craft, even psychal. I still struggled to read my opponents’ thoughts quickly enough before they struck, but I could scarcely believe how far I’d come since the winter solstice. I could even see a change in my body. My muscles were becoming subtly more defined beneath my training garb, my stamina increasing with every session.

A cry caught my attention as Figgins, a burly guard, charged me. I grinned. Humans were much easier to anticipate than vampires. Just like Enhart had said a thousand times. They were so godsdamn loud. He collided with my ward and was forced backward, landing on his rear with a grunt.

“Well done.”

My head snapped up to see the King standing by the edge of the field. A soft smile played on his lips. I returned it, patting Figgins gently on the shoulder. The guard’s face was beet-red, his breathing labored.

“Are you alright?” I asked, staggering under the weight of both the burly guard and his armor as I helped him to his feet.

“Better than Hugo, I daresay,” he wheezed, referring to his brother-at-arms, whom I had sent hurtling into the creek. “Should’ve known there was a ward there.”

I chuckled sheepishly.

Mordric approached, the prince trailing languidly after him. He’d been sequestered in council meetings for several evenings in a row, so I was relieved to see him. “I’m impressed,” he said. “What do you think, Enhart?”

He shrugged. “Her technique needs work, and she still fails to best me nine times out of ten.”

I frowned. As far as his insults went, it could be worse, but it still stung.

“Mind if I spirit your pupil away for the evening?” Mordric asked, his eyes trained on me.

Enhart’s hesitation was so brief it was nearly imperceptible. “Be my guest,” came the response. “We were finished anyway.”

I grinned as Mordric took my hand in his, leading me toward the castle. “How are you?” he asked after we were some distance away. “Any more injuries I should be worried about?”

I chuckled. “Not since the last one, fortunately.”

Technically it had been my fault, as I had miscalculated while phasing and careened straight into a ravine. However, Enhart’s comment had rubbed me the wrong way, so I kept that rather embarrassing fact to myself.

“Are your meetings adjourned for now?” I asked instead. What he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

“Thankfully, yes. I couldn’t stand the sight of Ansell’s withered face for one minute longer.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Trade disputes, some trouble along the eastern border, but there will be plenty of time for you to worry about these matters later. For now, let’s enjoy our evening free from the burdens of our stations, shall we?”

I squeezed his hand. “Of course, my king.”

“How about a nice warm bath?” he offered. “Soothe those sore muscles?”

“Sounds heavenly.”

We arrived in my chambers, where Mordric took care to remove my weathered clothing, soiled with dirt and sweat from an evening of training. I sighed as he helped me into the bath, which had been drawn before we arrived. I spread my fingers, allowing the heat of my magic to warm the lavender-scented water around me until the temperature was just right. His clothes hit the tile floor with a thump, the water sloshing as he settled opposite me. He took my foot in his hands, massaging it firmly as my head tilted back, my tresses hanging loosely over the edge of the tub. My eyelids fluttered then closed.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” he said.

“Miss me, do you?”

“Yes.”

There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice. When I blinked my eyes open, he was smiling. But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I—”