Page 5 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I press again, softer this time. You’re expecting me. We’re to have tea. Peppermint. Two sugars.

A ridiculous thought. I don’t even drink tea. But it’s the first thing that pops into my mind.

And it works.

A friend! the magic seems to realise, pleased.

As if I truly am a guest arriving at a tea party.

As if I’m the sort of person who attends tea parties.

Yes, yes, it’s me, I answer silently, trying in vain to move forwards, but my legs won’t cooperate. You know me.

The thought forms somewhere deeper than language, slipping from my mind into the strange current of magic swirling through the clearing.

Peppermint. Two sugars.

Two sugars, I agree, trying frantically to think of something more to say. Or honey, if you have it…?

There is no answer.

I try to take another step, but the magic is an impenetrable wall. For an instant, I fear I’ve pushed my luck.

I belong here, I promise earnestly. Let me in. Let me in. Let me—

The pressure vanishes in an instant. My body pitches forward, and I drop heavily into the grass, breath catching in my throat. As I land, golden sparkles leap up around me—scattering into the air like dust.

Behind me, I hear Dren gasp, and Ana whoops before Byron hushes them.

I glance back. They remain at the treeline, held there by something they cannot see. I am not. I stand easily on the grass, the magic still moving around me.

“Kira…” Byron begins, his voice edged with worry.

I brace myself for a lecture, but then he shakes his head and simply says in a grave tone, “Be careful.”

I can tell there’s more he wants to say. A warning. An order. Something softer—the love of a father. My heart gives a small, hopeful flutter. But he lets it go.

So do I.

I face the hill and don’t look back.

The knee-high grass is unnaturally pliant as I begin the climb, untouched by wind yet parting of its own accord. Above me, the night sky stretches wide and clear.

This could be dangerous. The Resistance’s theory has long been that after wiping out the witch covens, King Henrikk secretly kept one for himself—hiding her away like a dragon hoarding treasure. If she was the last witch left, then her magic belonged to him alone. No rival court. No coven. No other source of power.

It would explain the new magic woven through the kingdom after King Henrikk came into power. The contraceptive spell, for one—the one that makes it impossible for a wolf shifter to fall pregnant by a vampire. It had been presented as a blessing, especially for the pets of wealthy vampires who are rarely used for feeding alone.

But it’s been at least a decade since we’ve seen evidence of new magic. We’ve detected no new enchanted weapons. No new dark creatures. No new wards.

Which makes us suspect he no longer has the witch.

If he ever did.

Mary said our theory of a witch was just wishful thinking.

That was until we found this place.

I gaze up at the cottage on the hill, its rooftop just visible beyond the slope. Here is the proof that she lives. That the witch escaped. The last of her kind.