Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“There is not much to talk about,” he says. “We did not get along.”
I roll onto my side again, propping my head up on my bent arm. “Is that why you smashed her face against the bars?”
“No. That was because she betrayed me. I may have lost my temper,” he adds sheepishly.
“May have? I heard the priestess worked on her for hours.” Speaking of people who have betrayed us …
“Yes, well, do not worry. Your brother made me pay. I still wear the burn marks on my legs. And then there are these.” He slides his sleeve up to reveal the silver scars that riddle his sinewy forearm.
“Abarrane does enjoy doling out punishment.” On impulse, I run my fingertip along one of the ridges. A tiny thrill stirs inside me when the dark hair on his arm prickles and gooseflesh erupts. “At least she didn’t mar your face.”
A knowing look dances in his blue eyes. “And why is that?”
“Because then you would be even uglier than you are now.”
He bursts with laughter, and I find myself smiling at the sound.
“Zander said Romeria was to inherit Ybaris’s throne as is custom, even though you were the elder.”
His mirth fades. He turns the jar of honey in his hand, this way and that, as if exploring the consistency against the candlelight. “I’m honestly no longer sure what my mother’s strategy was. The way she spoke, it sounded like she planned to outlive us and rule everything.”
“Maybe she did. Who knows what else she summoned the fates for.” I say this casually, but I watch him for any reaction that says he knows more than he’s letting on. “What is she like?”
“My mother?” His eyebrows arch as if my question startled him. “I’ve heard many describe her as cold and distant. I suppose that is a fair assessment. Though, she is a queen.”
“My mother was neither and she was a queen, too.”
“Here. Try some.” He thrusts the honey jar toward me. His way of changing the subject, perhaps.
“No. You’ve tainted it with your dirty hands.”
“My hands are probably cleaner than yours, Annika. Try it. It is quite something. Ezra knows what he is doing with the bees.” He waves it under my nose.
The potent floral scent beckons me. “Fine.” Poking the tip of my index finger into the jar, I mimic Tyree’s earlier move, letting the thick syrup drip down onto my tongue before I slide my finger into my mouth with a moan.
Ever aware of Tyree’s intense focus.
“You are right. That might be the best honey I have ever had in my life.”
“You missed a spot.” His voice is gruff as he slides the pad of his thumb over the corner of my mouth where a tiny stream dribbled, smearing it outward.
“And you made it worse.”
“Did I?” He rubs his honey-coated thumb across my jawline. “Now that’s definitely worse.”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what …” Another swipe of his thumb over my cheek has me smacking his arm away.
“You’re making me sticky!”
“I’ve never had anyone complain about that.” He shifts onto his back, reloading his finger and devouring another mouthful of the sweet honey, his grin boyish and playful.
I admire his profile, wondering what Queen Neilina and King Barris looked like and which attributes of each he inherited. Whatever else they were, they made a beautiful son together. Queen Neilina then took that son and molded him into someone hateful and vengeful. At least, I had assumed that’s all he was capable of.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks.
“You are not what I thought you were.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“Why did you come back for me?” He could have been long gone. King Hadkiel would not chase him. The Azyr don’t want him. They want me, and he puts himself in danger by remaining with me.
He frowns. “Why would I not?”
“Really? Must we have this conversation yet again?”
“Oh, right. The whole ‘my family plotted against yours’ situation.” He tucks his arm behind his head. “Let me ask you something. Would your father have honored the arrangement made with King Barris?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
Tyree purses his lips. “I spent my entire life hearing about Islor’s vicious and cruel immortals who enslaved and abused humans and punished Ybaris with their summonings. And then my mother went and did the same. By her actions, thousands of mortals have died and many more still will. And I helped her. Who am I to judge anyone else?”
“So what? Am I to believe you are suddenly a friend now?”
“I am your friend. If you will allow it.” He holds the jar out to me, his expression somber.
An overwhelming urge hits me. I coat my finger in honey up to my knuckle and then smear it across his face, painting his cheek, his nose, his lips. “There. We’re even.”