Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Her laughter fades. She busies herself stirring her simmering pot.
“Stop it,” she tries to jest but her voice is strained. “I’m fifteen years his senior.”
“That’s nothing. With the allure you’ll always look the same age. And with his responsibilities, he’s lived a mature life longer than most.”
“Enough.”
This time, I obey. But it’s a point of conversation with Quin the next morning.
“I’m not imagining it, am I? There’s something between them.”
“If you’re seeing it, it must be very obvious.”
He can’t see my growling expression but he must sense it because he laughs. He takes his cane and rises from our breakfast. “Am I healed enough to bathe?”
I shoot to my feet.
He raises a brow.
“. . . I’ll ask stormblades to attend to you in the communal bath.”
“I don’t want stormblades.”
“I . . .”
“I can take care of myself.”
“But . . .”
“Unless you want to be there? Haldr.”
At first my breath gets caught in my chest, then I narrow my eyes at his lips. Haldr. A reminder these moments are fleeting. They’ll pass. We can pretend, but eventually we must go back to being strangers.
I step away from him. Back up to the door. He watches but doesn’t chase, doesn’t call me back. He only drops his head when he thinks I can’t see him anymore.
I kick up clumps of grass on my way back through the grove and stop at the sound of his wistful flute melody carried on a breeze.
The melody becomes my phantom companion across a waking town and only disappears, abruptly, when I arrive back to a pensively waiting Megaera.
“Finally.”
“What’s wrong?” I glance towards the bedrooms.
She shakes her head. “The boys are fine. It’s your aunt. She looked afraid.”
My nape prickles and I hurry across the courtyard. “What did she say?”
“Under no circumstances are you to go to the castle. Even if the prins asks. She left just before the parade.”
Castle. Parade. The words knot in my throat and a painful bolt of understanding slices through me. The king has returned. He wants to meet the one with Lindrhalda’s touch.
My aunt—
I run.
Megaera catches me at the gate and hauls me back by my cloak.
I try to rip out of her hold, but even without magic, she’s deft, and fights like she’s in a dance.
“Let me go, Megaera. Why are you stopping me?”
Her eyes flash, pain flickering behind them. “Because I didn’t stop myself before,” she murmurs, almost too softly to hear.
The words halt me for a moment.
“You’re putting on a risky act, Cael.” Her tone shifts, tightens. “I won’t let you get hurt. I owe you that.”
And if it isn’t enough she’s got hold of me, Lykos flies to her aid and bars the gate, spear in hand. I glare at him.
“What?” I snap, throwing my words like daggers. “Going to destroy more than my meridians this time?”
He flinches, but doesn’t move.
I whirl to Megaera, her grip on my cloak like iron. “Should it be her death then? Should my aunt pay for my mistake?”
Her eyes darken, her jaw tightens. “I am not a good person,” she whispers, her voice breaking before it sharpens again. “But I will not let you die.” She glances at Lykos.
Locked in the woodshed, the hours drag like weights on my chest. I can’t stop picturing my aunt in that hall, ringing the bell to meet the king in my place. Prins Lief will be there, fighting for her, but how far can he go against his own father?
I whimper, “My mistake—my lie—will cost more than just my life.”
Megaera opens the door as if she’s been listening on the other side the whole time. Her face is pale but set. “Your lie also saved us.”
“Then help me,” I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. “Help me.”
The courtyard doors burst open and men march in, their voices cutting through the quiet like blades. “You are summoned to the castle.”
Megaera steps aside, her gaze lingering on me as I walk away, each step heavier than the last.
The castle looms ahead, its stone walls veined with runes that seem to pulse under the flickering torchlight. Each step inside feels like stepping into the stories carved on the walls—stories of gods, kings, and battles fought in shadows. My breath catches as I enter the grand hall, the fragrant snowendar curling in the air, lulling me with its false warmth.
At the far end, King Yngvarr sits draped in furs and gold, his fingers drumming a sharp rhythm on the arm of his throne. Prins Lief kneels at his feet, his posture rigid, while my aunt bows deeply beside him.
“Rise.”
Prins Lief casts me a commanding look as we stand, while my aunt grimaces and shakes her head. She doesn’t want me to admit I’m the one . . .
Which means, which has to mean, she hasn’t had the opportunity to lie yet.