Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I can’t take it! I blurt out, “Sarah invited your other grandmother, the friggen Queen. But you’re not to say anything. She won’t be harmed . . . aside from a stomachache, perhaps. Also, we’re playing by my rules. Please don’t forget that.”
Dang, that was friggen awkward.
Searing hands border my cheeks. “I don’t give a damn if we’re sitting at a table before my ancestors. Make me bloody fucking proud, Little One.”
He relinquishes me from his touch.
“Hold your hands up,” Victor orders.
“Am I your doll?” I let out a little chortle while complying.
With my hands raised, Victor slides one of my favorite slip dresses over my head. The silk falls over my soft curves like a warm rain, and Victor’s hands follow the same path. He mutters, “You’re my everything.” Victor draws up to his full height and presses a chaste kiss on my forehead. “My everything, and don’t you forget it, Little One.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I murmur, eyes sparkling as a plethora of emotions takes flight in my abdomen.
Victor holds a hand out, and I take it.
Prince Victor Wesley Tudor no longer has a crown, but I’ll be damned if he isn’t my king. Gone are the days I was intimidated by his wealth and status. Holding my head high, I accompany him through the vast manor.
We are equals.
Haughty voices carry from a lengthy dining room. One I’ll never forget slivers bits of my heart until it’s a julienned slush in the pit of my stomach. Madeline’s inquiring why the herald wasn’t on call tonight to announce her presence. The Queen’s guards, standing just outside the dining room with their backs against the wall, stare as we near the entrance.
Damn, I’m too short for tact. If I were taller, I’d whisper into Victor’s ear while kissing him. But I decide to mutter beneath my breath, “They hate us.”
“I assure you that it’s only me they hate. I may have given the one on the left a shiner.”
“Oh?”
As Victor and I enter the room, he turns and starts to close the door.
“We’re under strict orders,” one of the guards growl, placing himself as a buffer in the doorframe.
“I am amongst family.” The Queen’s jarring voice causes my heart to palpitate. “Almost.”
My eyes link onto Sarah’s and Burt’s, who, along with the Queen, are seated facing the doors. Mary and Madeline, as well as Graham and his guest, are seated opposite them with their backs to me.
As they turn in their seats, Madeline’s smile falls off the edge of the earth. Before she can pop out of her seat, I’ve clasped her steak knife in my hand.
The Queen gasps but doesn’t call out for her guards. Victor secures the wrought iron door handles with a golden candle holder. I lift the knife high and use all my force, driving it down. The blade skewers the center of Madeline’s hand, and blood pools beneath.
“Well,” Sarah sniggers, “that’s a bloody efficient way to assert your dominance.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Princess Mary’s hand runs flush to her forehead. “Your Majesty, aren’t you—”
“I’m intrigued,” the Queen cuts in. “Hush!”
“Pretty princess, you may want to keep your wits about you,” I growl, directing another steak knife toward Victor’s mother.
“Help me, son,” she whispers to him, frozen rigid in her seat.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Burt speaking in a subdued voice in Sarah’s ear—possibly sharing that this is a little more serious than he originally let on. I catch discreet, cautionary words while Madeline alternates from screaming to hyperventilating.
I glance over my shoulder. Victor’s fists weigh heavily at his sides.
“Do something, Victor!” The princess’s entire body shakes with her command.
“You’d rather I not, Mum.” His voice hardly rises above a gruff, malicious whisper. He steps forward, hand clasping his maternal grandmother’s shoulder. “Grandmother Sarah . . .” A fraction of tenderness enters his tone. “You must go. And Grandmummy, your curiosity—”
The Queen’s calculating gaze flickers toward him. “I was informed that my grandson would right a grave injustice during dinner. Do it.”
“If she stays, I do too.” Sarah’s usually jovial demeanor is blanched as she can’t take her eyes from Madeline’s hand. “I’ve not the slightest idea what the likes of them engaged in, aside from the horrible night at your estate, Vicky. I created this . . . this . . . impudent monster—my daughter. I shall stay.”
“Oh, fuck you, you old cunt!” Madeline pulls her hand from the table. Blood arches through the air as she roars in frustration.
“You took the hard way out,” I mutter, arms folded over as she prances about, staring at the four inches of crimson blade still spearing her skin.
“Was Mary involved?” I ask.
It finally dawns on Madeline to clasp the knife's handle with her left hand and lift.
With the knife raised like a stabber-flick, the lithe brunette charges toward me. I kick out at the last possible second. The heel of my stiletto punctures her square in the abdomen. In a scene that would be fit for a Quintin Tarantino movie, Madeline sails across the room on her ass.