Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I shield my eyes, glimpsing Quin’s face as I blink out the blots. On a sigh, I head further into town.
But my imaginary Quin isn’t done with me yet. When his face appears behind a cloak stall, I drag a sturdy grey cloak over the rack to curtain him.
Across the street, I enter the store selling wedding runes. A little bell rings and the older man behind the counter looks relieved. “You’re here for the royal runes!”
I nod and he lifts a large black bag onto the countertop. “All made from the finest green stone, carefully carved and wrapped in silks. Nothing else like these in the entire kingdom.”
I carefully tighten the drawstring and slide the bag onto my shoulder. The storekeeper ushers me out and closes up shop after me.
I’m in no hurry. I breathe in a summery breeze and detect a sweet scent. I eagerly follow my nose to a stall in the middle of the street and purchase two sticks of taffy. The first, I devour on the spot with a delighted smile; the second I take with me, savouring it as I stroll aimlessly among the busy crowds.
Warm wind blows around me and I turn my face into it not to get taffy stuck in my hair. I take another bite. The sticky sweetness exploding in my mouth brings me memories of collecting syrup from the royal woods, of stepping on Quin’s shoulder, of trying to slide into his saddle.
I glance up from my last bite and spot Quin and his cane in the crowd close by. I stare longingly for a few moments, losing myself in those dark eyes, those beautiful braids, that jaw—I laugh, shake my head, and move on.
But today my visions of Quin are more insistent. He steps out of the crowd and snaps his cane alongside me, watching me quietly. I look at him again, admiring his conjured face, the way the sunlight bathes his striking features.
“Enough now,” I murmur and speed up. I should loop around this block and visit Auntie.
Quin’s ghost follows along with an easy stride, and this time I slap my face. “She’s right. Too much dromvesking.” I peel my fingers from my face. “Sticky.”
When Quin still doesn’t disappear, when he starts to smile, I lurch to a stop and fling my taffy-covered hand before his face. “If you must haunt me, lick!”
I expect him to disappear—to see some other poor soul startled at my sudden declaration. Expect to feel a rush of embarrassment as I apologise.
What I don’t expect is for Quin’s apparition to grab my hand and lock his lips around my knuckle. Soft, warm. Too real. Heat rushes up my hand, my arm, and I stumble with a gasp. Quin secures his grip on me, pulling me forward, and I catch myself against his chest, staring up into dark eyes.
Crowds rush around us, the sun beams overhead, a light breeze blows through his hair and mine.
I stare and I stare.
He pulls my hand towards his mouth, his whisper tickling my skin. “Your fingers are still sticky, shall I . . .”
I yelp and snatch myself away, heartbeat in my throat. “Are you really here?”
He shifts, nose grazing my ear as he pulls my hand once more to his chest, under his shirt and flutette. “Would you like to make sure?”
“Quin!”
He laughs and I rock unsteadily on the balls of my feet before grabbing his sleeve. “Was it you earlier as well? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I was curious how long you’d keep ignoring me.”
“I thought you were in my head.”
“Is that where I’ve been these months?”
I lift a finger and wag it before his nose. “Before you start smirking like that, I’d like to inform you that you’re actually in a lot of trouble.”
“Oh?” Quin’s eyes twinkle, and it’s very hard to breathe. This is not the hardened King Quin from the later rune doors, nor the more reserved Maskios. This Quin before me is . . . someone who has temporarily put his stresses aside. Someone who has come for a last stolen moment.
A sudden shove to my shoulder has me stumbling sideways, and I feel the yank of the bag on my shoulder as it’s ripped off me. Quin catches me before I hit the street, but it’s not bruises I’m worried about. “The runes!”
I yank my head in the direction of a man running off with my sack of irreplaceable green wedding stones. “Stop him,” I cry to the crowds, but all are lost in their own thoughts, their own frowns. Even the stormblades don’t try.
Quin sets me properly on my feet and I race after the culprit, only to stop abruptly, come back, and tow Quin along with me. I squeeze his hand hard, afraid if I let go he’ll disappear and that will be the end of our last stolen moment. He navigates the chase as best he can with his cane, but our culprit gets farther and farther away.