Something flickered in his eyes. “Attraction?”
Fates help me. “It’s a minor side effect. Nothing to worry about. It will dissipate quickly.” Thankfully.
“Then my staff will stop kissing each other?”
“Yes.”
He studied the butterfly on his palm, its wings slowly opening and closing. “They’re pretty.”
“Some would say they were.” Not me. Not while they were flying wild, making people kiss.
His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn the gold flecks in his eyes brightened. “And have you been experiencing these same effects?”
My heart stumbled. “That’s not relevant.”
“I disagree.” He stepped closer, still holding the butterfly. “As king, I should understand all magical influences in my castle.”
“For security reasons, of course,” I said dryly.
“Naturally.”
He was close enough now that I could see the fine weave of his jacket and smell the winter-sharp scent that clung to his skin. My magic stirred in response, sending another wave of butterflies bursting from the remaining lavender on the table.
Great. Just great.
“You’ve turned my fortress into a theater,” he said, watching a teacup belt out the final notes of its song.
“You’re welcome.”
“Is this what typically happens in witch workshops?”
“Only on our good days.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm and so unexpected that my magic surged again, causing one of the books to fall open, its pages flipping rapidly before settling on a chapter about attraction spells.
“Your magic seems to have opinions,” he said.
“It’s confused.” I closed the book. “Too much change too quickly.”
“I thought witches adapted easily.”
“We do. Usually.” I gestured vaguely. “But this place isn’t exactly designed for joy magic.”
He considered this, his expression growing serious. “What would make it easier?”
The question caught me off guard. “I… What?”
“If the environment is contributing to your magical instability, what changes would help?”
Was he actually offering to accommodate my magic? I stared at him, searching for signs of mockery or impatience, but I found only genuine inquiry.
“More light,” I said. “Candles and torches. And living things. Plants, flowers. Magic responds to life.”
He nodded. “What else?”
“Music wouldn’t hurt. Real music, not just my enchanted teacups’ improvisation.”
“That can be arranged.” He glanced at the butterfly still perched on his hand. “In the meantime, perhaps we should address the immediate situation.”
