“Miss Hargreeves,” Prince Damion bows curtly, offering out a hand. “May I have this dance?”
“Er—” I suddenly freeze, only my eyes flickering around. I was hoping to avoid any encounter with the prince tonight, but Hunter isn't anywhere around for me to slip away.
How are we supposed to keep up this facade when he didn't even show up for the party?
I push my anger aside, having to think on the spot.
“I'm waiting for my husband,” I politely decline his offer. “He'll be here any time now. Poor thing is running last-minute errands for my father,” I shake my head, forcing a feeble smile on my face.
Prince Damion clicks his tongue and straightens up, his hand remaining out. “It's just a dance, Delilah,” he purrs my name. “I'm sure your husband won't mind.”
My eyes flit to my parents as they dance between the crowd, staring into each other's souls and appearing to waltz in their own little bubble of bliss.
I can't imagine myself doing that with the prince, and I shake my head again.
“Sorry, Prince Damion, but I'll wait for my husband.”
Prince Damion smiles, his blue eyes twinkling with wonder. “You must love him dearly, I'm sure of it.”
“Y-Yeah. Y-Yes,” I lie, and turn on my heel. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”
The second the prince dips his head, I disappear to the exit at the back of the hall, breathing out a sigh of relief as soon as the night air brushes my cheeks.
Love?
I don't love Hunter anymore. I hate him.
Especially now, when he hasn't shown up to the party.
What was he thinking, making a fool of me like this?
Grunting angrily, I decide not to go looking for him and instead direct my thoughts toward something more constructive in an attempt to distract myself from everything going on.
Gwen.
I'll go speak to Gwen and see if I can make any progress with the only thing that should be a priority: finding the dark lord before he attacks us.
***
I watch as Gwen stares at her palms, empty and void of any magic. She can't wield her magic with the safety measures set in place by my mother in this holding cell.
Though Mother hasn't breathed a word about Hunter and our marriage, at least we agreed on one thing when I told her about Gwen and everything that's happened since Arianna turned out to be a witch linked to our coven.
Keeping Gwen in Scarborough and getting a lead on the dark lord is of utmost importance, and so is preventing her from using her magic. She's already attacked us once.
I've been trying to get her to speak for the past hour, but to no avail. We've been going back and forth, with her repeating the same story.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Delilah. I don't know any warlock. I've never met a man who wields magic,” she says again, sheepishly lifting her eyes to meet mine.
Mentally, I'm trying to calculate how she could be lying, but her eyes appear sincere. But Arianna couldn't have been wrong about seeing the warlock in Oakland, and Gwen had been acting strangely enough to get the attention of the locals.
Not forgetting that she attacked us in the woods, I hang onto my suspicions.
Sighing, I get off the bench and wrap my fingers around the bars of the cell, pleading with my softened gaze. “Please, Gwen. You must know something. It's no coincidence that we found you where the dark lord was suspected to be. My friend, the other witch who's just like me, saw four witches in Oakland, working with the warlock. You're the only witch we found out there.”
“What if itisjust a coincidence?” she argues. “I've been a witch my whole life, Delilah. Someone must have noticed and told you their suspicions. That's all. I've never been a part of a coven, let alone some group of four.”
I shake my head, not knowing if I can trust her. I know Arianna, and I trust her with my life. “Not with the way you drew attention to yourself. They said they saw you in the bakery, muttering under your breath in a language they couldn't understand.”
