Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
“Good morning, pet.” He lowered the parchment to the white oak surface of his desk. “Please have a seat.”
“Good morning.” I sat on the settee as Hymel closed the study door, folding my hands in the lap of my plain, cream-hued gown.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as he picked up a small cup.
“No, thank you.” The last thing my jumpy stomach needed was caffeine.
“You sure?” Claude took a small, rather delicate sip of coffee. “You look tired.”
“It was a . . . late night,” I said.
Claude raised a dark brow. “And a tiring one?”
I watched Hymel cross over to the credenza, a smirk plastered across his lips. “Somewhat. I . . . I didn’t expect to meet a Hyhborn when I entered his chambers.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Did I not tell you he was a Hyhborn?”
“No,” I stated flatly.
“Good gods, I thought I did. I was . . .” He exhaled slowly. “I was a bit deep in my cups last night.”
And then some.
“My deepest apologies, Lis. I truly thought I had told you he was a lord.” He sounded genuine, but at the moment, I didn’t care. “But did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did,” I answered, feeling a bit of warmth creep up my throat.
“Of course you did.” He drank from his cup. “Tell me, is it true what they say? Are Hyhborn lords hung like— ” He glanced at Hymel, brow scrunching. “What do they say?”
“They say they’re hung like their stallions,” Hymel told him, having poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“Ah yes.” Claude’s brow smoothed out. “That. Dying to know.”
I wasn’t sure why Claude needed to ask for clarification on that saying. Besides the fact that it was a rather common, crass one, he was part Hyhborn. Caelestias were quite well-endowed in that area. “I believe it would be a somewhat close comparison.”
Pale skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he laughed. “Look at you,” he purred. “Blushing.”
Forcing a slow breath in and then out, I pictured one of those stallions crashing through the study and trampling the Baron. And Hymel. Just a little. My smile returned.
“As much as I would love to hear all about what brought that blush to your cheeks, that will have to wait,” Claude continued. “What did you two speak of?”
“We spoke of where he was from, but not in any great detail.”
“And?”
I eyed him. “Do you know who he is? More than just his name?”
Claude raised a brow. “All I know is his name, which is why I sent you, my pet. I assume he’s some lord the King keeps close at the capital.”
“He’s not just some lord,” I told him. “He’s not even a lord, Claude. He’s the Prince of Vytrus.”
“Holy shit,” Hymel rasped, eyes widening.
The Baron lowered his mug to his thigh. “Are you sure?”
Why did everyone keep asking me that? “Yes, I’m positive. He is the Prince of Vytrus.”
“My gods, why in the realm would he come here?” Claude exclaimed.
“He’s not here to collect any tithes,” I shared.
“No shit,” Claude murmured, settling the mug onto the desk, likely staining the wood with a ring. I didn’t even know why I was thinking about that, but it was a shame to damage such beautiful wood.
“I thought you’d be more relieved,” I ventured.
“I would be, but I’m far more concerned about having such a brute in the manor.” His throat bobbed. “When the King is displeased, it is usually the Prince of Vytrus who is sent to rectify the situation, and by rectifying, I do mean spilling copious amounts of blood.”
My chest tightened. “Prince Thorne may be many things, but a brute, he is not.”
Hymel’s brows rose as he leaned against the credenza.
“Is that so?” Claude remarked.
“Yes.” My fingers tightened around each other. “I’m not sure if what’s said about him is all that true. He was a . . .” Gentleman? That didn’t sound like the appropriate descriptor. I shook my head. “He’s not a brute.”
The Baron went silent.
“Someone sounds like they had the common sense fucked out of them,” Hymel remarked.
I shot him a nasty look.
Hymel smirked.
Pulling my gaze from Claude’s cousin, I resisted the urge to pick up one of those heavy paperweights from the Baron’s desk and launch it at his head. “He’s here to discuss the situation along the border with you.”
Claude’s shoulders straightened. “The Westlands? The Iron Knights?”
I nodded.
“Does he believe that this issue will spill over into the rest of the Midlands? Archwood?”
Balls of anxiety plopped from my chest into my stomach. “That I don’t know,” I said. Here was where things would get tricky. “It was very hard to read him, even when I . . . when I was touching him.”
Claude was silent as curiosity crept into his expression. “What do you mean?”
“When I try to, you know, connect to him?” My nails dug into my palms. The story I was fabricating was flimsy at best. “I saw white— like a white wall, which made it hard for me to get a lot of information out of him.”