Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Very good,” she says crisply, then glares at me. “But don’t think your duty ends there. It takes more than one night for a man to get a woman with child. I expect you to lay with the Prince every night until your belly swells with my grandson. Do you understand?”
I nod, head bowed submissively—I won’t give her any reason to whip me.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say in a low voice.
She waves a jeweled hand, already bored with me.
“Very well. You’re dismissed.”
I turn and walk out, keeping my back straight until I’m safely beyond the door.
Only then do I let myself sigh in relief.
So that’s it. I’m no longer of interest to her—at least for now. Which suits me just fine. I have no desire to earn her approval. I only want to avoid her anger and survive in her kingdom.
Back in my chambers, Tanzy helps me shed the heavy gown.
“Well, my lady? How did it go?” she asks anxiously.
“As well as can be expected—she didn’t have me whipped,” I say.
“Then I assume things went to plan with the Dark Prince last night?” She raises her eyebrows curiously.
“Things are progressing very well with Prince Xaren,” I tell her. I don’t want to give details—what happened between me and Xaren is still so new to me. I’ve never felt this way before with a man—even the stable boy was no more than a brief crush which I soon lost when he behaved like a beast and I had to run from him.
But Xaren—though he has a beast inside him—was gentle with me. He brought me pleasure and made me come and held me afterwards, stroking my hair. I want to savor those memories and not share them with anyone—I’m going to hide them in my heart, for now.
I have a few more bites of my breakfast, which Tanzy kept for me, and a cup of tea. Then She helps me into a simple riding dress. The stables are calling me—the wind in my hair, the rhythm of hooves beneath me, the scent of fresh hay and freedom.
But I hesitate. Riding alone feels… hollow.
The question rises unbidden in my mind—
Are Xaren and I truly friends now?
Or possibly something more?
I don’t know. I only know I want to see him again—to hear his voice…to feel his warmth beside me. I want his company—even if it’s just going on a ride together. Even if it’s just to pretend we’re something close to free.
I consider going to his rooms and asking if he’d like to come along. But…I feel shy when I think of it. What if he’s gone back to being gruff and growly again? What if he doesn’t want my company the way I want his?
Last night I was able to brush off his rudeness when he kept me waiting for ages before he let me in and then told me he didn’t even want me there. But today, after what we did together last night—after how close we got—I’m not sure I could show the same indifference.
I fear it might wound me deeply if he turned me away with a sharp word—or simply ignored me as I banged on his door.
No, I’ll go riding by myself and not bother him, I decide reluctantly.
I have no idea how much I’m shortly going to regret that decision.
20
ELAINA
The Royal Gardens are quite beautiful this afternoon.
The sun filters through the canopy of flowering trees, dappling the stone path ahead of me. Bees hum lazily among the lavender hedges, and I pass a cluster of sun-bright golden poppies bowing in the breeze. It all looks so perfect, like something from a painting. So serene…so harmless.
But nothing in this place is ever truly harmless.
I quicken my steps, my soft leather riding boots crunching over gravel. My split skirts swish around my ankles—light linen in a summery shade of rose, cinched with a soft leather belt. My riding cloak is draped over one arm, and my gloves are tucked neatly into the sash at my waist. I’ve dressed carefully, practically. It’s a clear, crisp day, and all I want is to ride across the fields—just for an hour or two, just to breathe without eyes on me.
I just want to feel free, even if it’s only an illusion.
I’m nearly to the gate that leads to the stables when a rustle in the hedgerow makes me pause. I’ve just passed the Queen’s prized blood-dark rose bushes—twenty feet of wickedly beautiful thorns and velvety blossoms so dark they’re nearly black. She calls them Bleeding Hearts, a name as dramatic and cruel as the woman herself. The scent of them clings to the air—rich, almost cloying, like crushed cherries and iron.
And then I hear it.
“There she is—the nasty, spying little bitch!”
The familiar voice stops me cold.
Dorian.
I turn instinctively and see him step out from the shadows of the hedge. He’s wearing court casuals—black trousers tucked into tall boots, and a high-collared white shirt with a crushed velvet sapphire vest.