Page 59 of The Night Prince

“To free the lobsters!”

“What!”

“We’ll take them to the loch. Come on!”

A soft laugh escapes me as Alfie squeals with joy and hurries after her. “Free the lobsters!” he cries.

“We can’t do that,” I say.

“Course we can.”

“What will we have for dinner?”

She pulls a face, then glances at the muddy potatoes scattered across the table. “Potatoes? I don’t know. We’ll figure something out. Come on. Hurry. Before the men find out!”

With Alfie at her heels, she bustles out of the door. Unable to hide my grin, I hurry after her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Elsie, darling, what happened to the lobster I paid for?” Blake sits at one head of the alpha table and studies the mushed potato gloop that coats his spoon. His dark shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and the candles that flicker in the center of the table cast light onto his sharp jaw.

The fire roars in the curved stone hearth at the back of the room, but does little to dispel the shadows. Arran, Jack, and Ryan sit along one side of the table, while Elsie, Alfie, and I sit on the other. Lochlan’s clan have their own way of celebrating the night before the full moon, and have traveled to Dawn’s Craig to meet with the priestess.

Callum sits at the other head of the table, and smirks at his bowl.

Elsie raises her chin. “They escaped.”

Blake cocks his head to one side, as if trying to make sense of this. “What do you mean, they escaped?”

“I don’t know!” she says. “They’re gone! They got free!”

“How? Where, exactly, did they go?” Blake says. “Are they still here? Am I to find lobsters wandering around my castle?”

Callum turns his laugh into a cough, and Elsie shoots him a dark look. Alfie giggles.

Blake turns to the young boy. “Do you know the whereabouts of the lobsters, Alfie?”

“Swimming!” he says.

“Swimming?” He arches an eyebrow at Elsie. “And so the plot thickens.”

“They’re in the loch, okay?” She raises her hands. “What do you want me to say?”

There’s a creak as Jack leans back in his chair, while the corner of Arran’s lip pulls up.

A dimple punctures Blake’s cheek now. “Why, may I ask, are they in the loch?”

Elsie points at me, almost knocking over her goblet of wine. “It was her fault!” There’s a glint of humor in her eyes.

I put my hand on my chest. “It was your idea!”

“Only because you told me that sad bloody story about the lobster,” says Elsie. “About how it didn’t even know the water was boiling until it was too late.”

I feel the weight of Callum’s gaze on my heating cheeks. His expression softens. Some of the humor disappears from Blake’s eyes.

“Well, it looks lovely,” says Callum as he dips his spoon into the bowl. “What is it?”

“Tattie soup.” Elsie juts out her chin. “What else?”

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