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)
“If only it were that easy.” There is no closing it, not while the nymphs are here.
“Yes, but some truths are better left unsaid,” he says, raising his eyebrows with meaning. “Radomir has carved himself quite the audience while sharing tales of last night’s escapades, which sounded far more exciting than they likely were. He is a natural storyteller.” Elisaf grins. “But he knows more about these beasts than any of us ever did. There was certainly value in inviting the saplings to join our cause. I do not think we could have fought them off so effectively otherwise.”
“That’s why I did it, of course. Because I knew how valuable he would be.”
“Yes, of course. No one doubted your acumen.” Elisaf hums and slips his arm through mine. “Let me lead you through camp, Your Highness, so we may discuss the land and lordship you plan to bestow upon me.”
My bark of laughter turns heads.
Anticipation trumps my guilt as I part the canvas flap and duck inside. The tent Zander sleeps in is small and plain—nothing like the marquee tents during the crown hunt, with rich furs and furniture adorning the king’s quarters. But it’s private, and that’s all I care about.
The seams allow just enough daylight to spot his still form, lying face down on a cot, a charcoal wool blanket covering the bottom half of his bare body. My pulse races as I approach, so eager to see him that I nearly trip over the folded stack of leathers laid out on the ground next to his weapons. One of the camp servants must have cleaned his clothing for him.
I reach for his shoulder, but hesitate. Maybe I should let him sleep another—
“You would make a terrible cutthroat,” he croaks, humor lacing his voice.
I climb onto the cot and cover his body with mine. “I agree, I’m a far better thief.” I tease the back of his neck with a soft, open-mouthed kiss, earning his hum of contentment. Meanwhile, I slip my dagger from its sheath and replace my tongue with the blade, pressing just hard enough for him to feel the sharp prick. “But I’m a quick learner.”
His deep chuckle vibrates in my core. “I stand corrected. You simply have a different method for getting close.”
I abandon the weapon to the ground. “You came to the rift without me.” I can’t help the accusation in my tone even as I lay another kiss, this one on his shoulder. His skin smells of fragrant soap. He must have bathed in the river earlier. Hopefully not with Abarrane, but I don’t ask. Modesty isn’t something these Islorian immortals waste time on.
“You needed your rest.” He pauses. “Besides, you had your bedfellow for the evening.”
His voice is unreadable. Is he upset with me? “I fell asleep there while the wisps were healing him. And if you saw what they did to him—”
Zander turns abruptly, cutting off my words with a kiss. “Relax. I know who your heart belongs to,” he whispers, rolling his body until he’s on his back beneath me.
His breath hitches as our lips find each other in the dim light, his desperation palpable as he deepens the kiss with skilled strokes of his tongue.
“You’re not wearing anything,” I manage to get out.
“And you’re wearing far too much. Though that can be easily rectified.”
Our mouths are a messy tangle as his hands make quick work of laces and buckles, helping me out of my elaborate vest and the rest of my clothes until they’re in a scattered pile next to his.
I climb back onto him, our bare bodies flush, the strain of his hard length pressed against my apex. No one has ever made me feel the way Zander does, like I could never get enough of him, like the simplest touch—even his fingertip along my shoulder—might set every one of my nerve endings on fire at any given moment. Now, my entire body tightens with the anticipation of feeling him inside me again.
Until I sense him wincing through our kiss.
I pull back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He leans in to capture my lips again, but I move out of reach.
With barely a thought, I weave a light globe with my affinity. It swells, drenching the tent in light. I pull the blanket away, to reveal the bloodied cloth tied around Zander’s thigh.
“It’s nothing,” he dismisses. “Just a hag caught me off guard, but it’s healing.”
I grab one of his daggers from beside the cot and slice off the bandaging with the honed blade. A deep, yawning gash across his leg stares back at me. “Zander!” My face must be filled with horror. It’s no longer bleeding, but it’s far from healing itself. “Why didn’t you ask the casters to fix this?”
“Because there were others far worse who needed attention.”
“Ugh! It looks serious! And painful! And … and … Why are you all so goddamn stubborn!”