Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
They are friends.
“Raiders attacked us on our return last night.”
“They did not realize who they were challenging, Your Highness.”
“They learned. Thank you for this.” Zander waves a hand toward the four wagons, each one twice the size of the sanctum’s rickety cart and constructed with solid wooden walls painted in deep burgundies and forest greens rather than simple stretched leather canvas.
“You will find plenty of provisions inside for your travels north. Grains and cured meats, warm skins, new leathers, and weapons, including a few from my collection. And enough tributaries to satisfy this lot, hopefully.”
Zander’s brow pinches. “We’ve discussed this already. It is not safe for mortals where we are going, and the trip will be grueling.”
“I would wager it is not safe for any of you. And it will be far less so if you are too weakened to fight. But fear not, I asked rather than ordered, and they agreed to aid their king. They are skilled in various tasks, whether it be cooking or mending or hunting, so they will prove valuable in more ways than one.”
“It is more likely their loyalty to their lord that sees them here. Still … thank you.” Zander dips his head. “In return, we have seven mortals from Freywich who want to find homes in Bellcross. Good homes with decent keepers.”
“I will make it so, my king.”
Zander has already talked to the Freywich mortals. Seven want to stay in Bellcross, meaning two want to leave with us. As I search the faces standing quietly by the barn, I don’t have to guess one of them, at least. Eden beams at me, her excitement unmistakable.
That illusion has to be doused. Or at least, a frank conversation has to happen. I won’t let her follow me blindly into what sounds like hell.
“Your Highness.” Rengard’s voice draws me back. I find his shrewd eyes on me. “Glad to see you were not harmed in the skirmish with the marauders.”
I can’t tell if his words are genuine. “Nothing Gesine couldn’t fix.”
He shifts his attention to her, to her gold collar. “If only all of Islor had access to such gifts.”
Gesine bows graciously. “If only it were up to me, my lord.”
“Maybe one day we will be blessed again.” He returns his focus to Zander. “Might we walk a moment?”
Zander gestures toward a groomed path around the pond. To Elisaf, he instructs, “Have the Freywich mortals board the sanctum’s wagon so that we may return it to them. Send enough coin for repairs and compensation for their driver. And we will need to make room in one of the wagons for those better suited to privacy.”
He means Ianca. I guess he’s still keeping her presence a secret, even from his friend. Sometimes it’s difficult to understand why Zander keeps things close to his chest. It could be habit, or maybe he has good reason.
The two males fall into step beside each other and stroll away, leaving his guards behind, their circumspect eyes flittering over the legionaries.
“What do you think that’s about?” I ask.
“I am sure you will hear soon enough, if it is something meant for your ears.” Gesine gives my arm a gentle tug. “Come, we must retrieve Ianca before someone disturbs her and she causes a scene.”
22
Zander
“Lady Saoirse.” Theon shakes his head. “Did we not have this conversation yesterday?”
“We did.” And though I denied it at the time, I feared it all the same.
“Seems your brother is that stupid, after all.”
“I wish that were the case, but it is likely the opposite. With Saoirse, he will have Kettling. A lukewarm alliance at best, but it will hold. And with Adley’s son gone, Atticus will ensure he commands that army. Perhaps Abarrane did me no favors by removing his head.”
“That warrior of yours ….” Theon grunts. “Still, I would rather offer my cock to a daaknar than Saoirse.”
“I felt the same when I thought I would be forced to marry her.” And then Romeria came along, and everything changed.
For the worse.
For the better.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as memories of last night consume my thoughts—of her warm body, hard in all the right places, except where she is so soft. It was a special kind of torture, having to leave her in that tent when all I wanted was to lie next to her.
In hindsight, it seems unfathomable that I ever fell for that other version—Princess Romeria—and all her acquiescing and mollifying and batting of eyelashes. This Romeria … so fiery and temperamental, sharp-witted, and yet brimming with a genuine empathy that elven are incapable of. If last night taught me anything, it’s that I will not risk her, not for all the crowns and all the kingdoms. There must be another way.
“And what of Adley?” Theon brings me back to the dour conversation. “Do you have any idea how Atticus will deal with him?”