Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
He strode toward us. The heavy cloak he wore, dusted with melting snow, parted, revealing a black tunic with two gold lines overlapping across his chest. As he drew closer, I somehow managed not to gasp. It wasn’t the pale blue eyes I associated with the wolven. It was the deep groove in the center of his forehead as if someone had attempted to slice open his head. I, of all people, knew better than to be surprised by scars. Shame crept up my throat as I averted my gaze. It wasn’t that the injury was ugly. The man was handsome in a rugged way that reminded me of a lion. It was just a shock to see someone, a possible wolven, scarred. Vaguely, I became aware of Kieran coming to stand at my back.
“What in the gods’ teeth is happening here?” the man demanded.
The breath I had taken got stuck as my gaze flew back to the man. His voice…it sounded so familiar to me.
“Or do I even want to know?” he continued, his brows lifting as he saw the blood on the wall. The others who’d traveled with them moved among those at the table, all except one. He was shorter than Casteel and more compact. His hair was a reddish-brown mop of waves, and his eyes were a brilliant gold like Casteel’s. This one remained close to the man, and his gaze seemed to track every breath I took.
“I’ve just been doing a little redecorating,” Casteel replied, and the wolven chuckled as the two males clasped hands.
I felt a catch in my chest again, a tug at my heart. His laugh…it was raspy and rough as if his throat weren’t sure what to do with the emotion. Like Vikter’s. My heart squeezed. That was why his voice and laugh sounded familiar to me.
“I didn’t expect you to be here so soon, Alastir,” Casteel said.
“We rode hard to get ahead of the storm headed this way.” Alastir’s gaze slid past the Prince to me. Curiosity marked his features, though not the flush of anger or the coldness of distaste. “So, this is her.”
“It is.”
Every muscle in my body tensed as Alastir’s gaze lowered. His head tilted, and it took me a moment to realize that he was staring at my neck—
The damn bite!
My braid had slipped over my shoulder, revealing my throat.
The skin around Alastir’s mouth tightened as his gaze shifted back to Casteel. “I feel like things have occurred since we last spoke.”
Had Alastir been with Casteel’s father when he left New Haven to speak with him? If so, where was the King?
“Many things have changed,” Casteel answered. “Including my relationship with Penellaphe.”
“Penellaphe?” Alastir repeated in surprise, one eyebrow arching. “Named after the Goddess of Wisdom, Loyalty, and Duty?”
Since I very well couldn’t stand there and ignore him, I nodded.
A faint smile appeared. “A fitting name for the Maiden, I imagine.”
“You wouldn’t think that if you knew her,” Casteel replied, and I clamped my lips shut against a retort.
“Then I cannot wait to do so.” Alastir’s smile tightened.
“You will have to wait a little longer.” Casteel glanced back. His eyes briefly met mine, but it was long enough for me to know that he wished for me not to challenge what he said next. “Penellaphe was just about to retire.”
Kieran stepped closer, placing his hand on my lower back to urge me forward. I squelched the urge to refuse, having enough sense to realize that Casteel didn’t want me around this man, and there was probably a good reason for that.
I walked forward, well aware of several gazes following me. I’d made it halfway to the door when I heard Alastir ask, “Is it wise to allow the Maiden to roam freely?”
I stopped—
“Keep walking,” Kieran said under his breath. The handle of the knife I’d stolen dug into my palm.
“It wouldn’t be wise to refuse her to do so,” Casteel said with a laugh, and it took everything in me not to throw the blade at him.
Kieran kept pace with me as we passed the men who’d returned to standing sentry at the large wooden doors. Striding forward, I told myself not to look up, but my eyes lifted anyway as I passed the impaled body of Mr. Tulis.
Pressure clamped down on my chest. He and his wife had come before Duke and Duchess Teerman, pleading to keep their third-born son, their only remaining child, who had been destined to go into service to the gods during the Rite. I’d felt their soul-deep pain and desperation, and even without my gift, I would’ve been affected. I’d planned to plead their case to the Queen. To do something, even if I weren’t successful.
But they’d escaped. His entire family, his wife and infant son, given a chance at a new life. And he’d taken that opportunity to deliver what would’ve been the wound that killed me if it hadn’t been for Casteel.