Page 93 of Reign

“She’s bound to you,” Margaret replied. “Unless you betray her, she’ll protect you until your dying breath.”

Dog barked, then nuzzled her snout against me, a confirmation of our bond and her loyalty.

Fitzroy sighed, his patience for idle chatter waning—as if doubt gnawed at his faith in the witches.

Margaret, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in his mood.

“One moment, love. I’ve something out back that I think will interest you,” she said, vanishing behind the curtain.

Bash knelt beside me, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he reached for Dog. The hesitation in his touch stirred a quiet chuckle from my lips.

“She won’t bite,” I teased, gently petting her. “Unless I ask her to.”

Bash slowly copied me, stroking her coat cautiously. “I’d best remain in your good favor, then.”

His fingertips found mine among Dog’s fur, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if he was stroking her or me. Our fingers fleetingly intertwined—until Jane wedged herself in the middle, forcing us apart.

She tucked her auburn locks behind her ears as she looked to Bash, her cherry-red lips parting with a deep breath.

“What’s her name?” she asked him.

I cleared my throat, drawing her alluring gaze away from Bash.

“I call her Dog,” I replied, bopping her wet nose.

Jane sighed softly, running her fingers through Dog’s silky fur.

“Poor thing—roaming the realm without a proper name,” she said, her voice as velvety as ever.

“I think it suits her,” Bash murmured, tickling behind Dog’s ears.

A slight smile tugged at my lips. I was pleased he’d defended my choice.

Dog whined, eager for more scratches.

“You need to do it rougher,” I said, nudging Bash’s hand aside to show him how she liked it.

Dog’s back leg kicked as I found the right spot, and Bash took over, diligently tending to her while Margaret returned, carrying a large, leather-bound tome.

“Here it is—my grimoire,” Margaret announced, placing the book on the trestle table. “This spellbook’s been in my family for thirteen generations.” She peeled back the fragile parchment, revealing pages filled with complex incantations and potion recipes.

“This is incredible,” Fitzroy muttered, sliding the grimoire closer to himself.

“I’ve selected spells I believe will strengthen an army,” Margaret continued, flipping between the chosen pages. “I made copies so you can memorize the incantations and use them when needed.”

She handed out a stack of parchment to Fitzroy, Bash, and finally me.

“This must’ve taken ages,” I said, admiring her dedication.

Margaret met my gaze—her under eyes were darker than her raven locks, betraying the true cost of her labor.

“Several sleepless nights are a small price to pay for the possibility of peace,” she replied.

I nodded—she was right.

“I hope this isn’t too forward, Your Highness,” Margaret went on, bowing respectfully to Fitzroy. “But I’ve devised a plan that aligns with the incantations in the grimoire. I’d be honored to explain it to you.”

“Go on,” Fitzroy replied.