Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Self-defense?”
“Isn’t that why I have guards?”
“And what if your guards turn on you?” Misha steps closer. “What if they’re enemies who’ve infiltrated the ranks of the palace guard to get to you?” He looks down his nose at me, and my heart beats faster. My breathing turns shallow. “Or what if your guards are killed? Or what if you’re ambushed and they can’t get to you?”
In one swift movement, he knocks the blade from my hand, spins me around, and traps me against him, my back to his chest, my arms pinned to my sides.
Ass.
“You are in such utter denial of your weaknesses,” he says, “while simultaneously refusing to acknowledge that you become fae in nine short months.”
“I get it,” I say through gritted teeth, far too aware of the heat and solid strength of him against my back. I can’t think when this male is close to me.
“Do you?” he asks, his breath hot in my ear. “I’m not convinced you grasp how serious this is.”
“How serious what is? Hiding in your fancy castle?”
“You’re mortal,” he growls, tightening his hold on me.
I lodge an elbow into his rock-hard stomach, sidestep, and spin, but I know I only get out of his arms because he lets me. “Don’t judge me based on how I grip a hilt intended for your meaty beast paws,” I snap.
“These?” He scoffs and holds up a hand, splaying his fingers wide. “You have a problem with my hands? Funny. You’d be the first female who’s complained.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’ve gotten this all wrong. I mentally curse myself for failing to use the gifts at my disposal.
Relationships have an energy, and Echoes are gifted to be in tune with it. While the gift often feels like an invasion of privacy, I’d be lost without it right now. Jas never would’ve been able to describe this side of Misha to me.
Misha isn’t just a friend of the shadow queen who knows the princess. He cares for the princess. Deeply. Feels responsible for her, even.
Jasalyn didn’t say anything about that when she told me about him, and I wonder what else she missed—if the way he’s looking at me right now speaks to another kind of feelings entirely. Is he romantically interested in the princess?
Someone behind me clears his throat, and Misha retreats like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I turn to see a dark-skinned male with short black dreadlocks and a curious cocked brow.
“Lucky for you, Tynan has agreed to help with your training,” Misha says. “Tynan, you remember Jas.”
Tynan gives me a polite smile and a nod. Like his king, he has silver webbing across his forehead, but unlike his king, he doesn’t seem keen to run his mouth. How well do he and Jas know each other? He might remember her, but she didn’t mention him to me, and none of the handful of Jas’s memories I have include him.
“Tynan will show you some drills,” Misha says.
“And what about you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Did you want me to stick around so you can insult my hands some more?” He winks, then nods to a pair of fae males emerging from the castle. “I have my own training to do, but I’ll be close if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, then tell myself I’m not allowed to watch as he walks away. But I’ve always been better at breaking rules than following them, and I struggle to believe even someone as stoic as Jasalyn could resist that sight.
Tynan clears his throat, and I pull my gaze off the retreating king.
He has me warm up with calisthenics, then shows me the proper way to hold a sword when—like with Misha’s this morning—the hilt is too big. It comes back to me quickly, but I make sure to “forget” the footwork and hand positions a few times so it doesn’t appear I’m learning too quickly or am too skilled for a princess who only did minimal training.
While we work, I’m vaguely aware of King Misha doing drills with the pair of sentinels on the other side of the courtyard. I like the way he laughs with them, like he’s one of them. And when they speak—telling him of goings-on in the village—he listens, more like a friend than their superior.
As if sensing my thoughts and trying to test my determination to ignore my attraction to him, Misha has shed his shirt at some point, exposing a broad chest coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He’s so tall and built that no one would mistake him for thin or lanky, but shirtless, his strength and muscle mass are all the more evident.
Crushing on the king will not help you find the Hall of Doors.
As soon as I think it, I hear Hale’s voice in my mind, telling me that the best way to the Hall is through Misha’s heart, but my crush hardly equates to him trusting me.