Page 9 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

“I need answers, sweetheart.”

She nearly wrinkled her nose at him. At herself. He was courting answers, not bare skin under the moon. It was curious, though, that she wasn’t more scared. She didn’t trust him, of course. He was ruthless and looked more than capable of sacrificing maidens to the sea.

And yet…

She felt nervous, strange, wary. But she was far more frightened of Charles Aster and his devious mother and their conviction that she was going to marry him. He was weak and self-congratulatory. Ethan was none of those things.

She preferred a weapon she could see.

Still, she wasn’t about to eat a scone. Or an apricot, or those gold-dusted hazelnuts, no matter how hungry she suddenly found herself. Being walloped by a spell did that sometimes. She folded her hands stubbornly in her lap.

She did eye the cutlery, though. It was gold and heavy with scrollwork, at odds with the rest of the plain dishes. Definitely stolen.

Still, sharp enough.

Ethan sat in a chair, sprawled comfortably, taking up all of the air and the attention, as though he were king. She supposed, on his own ship, he was a kind of king. Petal, she thought again, what have you done?

Ethan pushed the platter closer to her, smirking that not-quite-a-smirk. “It’s not poisoned.”

She raised her eyebrows. “As if you would say so if it were.” Who was this Briar? She was accustomed to quiet hours in the garden with no one but the bees to talk to. Accustomed to polite murmurs and agreeable smiles, and here, where they might actually do her some good, she could find nary a one. Only the bite of mint, the tartness of rosehips.

It felt good.

Not wise.

But good.

Charles bloody Aster would have clicked his tongue at her, would have flared his nostrils with contempt for her manners. Ethan just smiled, slow and easy.

She felt that smile all the way to her toes.

“Why would I wait for you to wake up and bring you all the way out here, if I were just going to murder you? Not very efficient.”

“Are you saying I’m not worth murdering?” Now what, exactly, did she think she was doing? She should eat a scone just to shut herself up.

Ethan blinked, as if she’d surprised him. Again. And he wasn’t accustomed to it. She felt a little like Scheherazade keeping the mad king entertained so that he forgot to murder her. Still, she liked the tiny gleam of interest in his dark eyes.

She had clearly lost her mind.

Indignation was not the appropriate response to a reassurance that one wasn’t about to be poisoned to death.

And she was always appropriate.

“This will go easier on you if you eat.”

Eat a scone, save her sister.

The day was not precisely unfolding as she’d assumed.