Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
But the letter is addressed to “London” so maybe they don’t know who I am, just that I’m like them?
Still ... me? The Queen of Darkness?
“Yeah, fucking right.” I reach across the counter, leaning on it as I bite into an apple with a grin, staring at the paper below me. “They really expect me to, what? Say ‘I accept this offer’ and just—”
My voice cuts off as a dark cloud appears before me.
I jolt back, the apple falling to the floor as a whirling fucking vortex appears, pinks and blues and purples spinning and spinning until a portal appears. I haven’t seen one in so long, I almost forgot what they looked like. But this one? It's different. It pops and cracks and all the fear, the warnings my uncle drilled into me over the years about the importance of avoiding all things magic at all cost bubble to the service.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my eyes closed. My hands come up to cover them and I shake my head. Maybe it will disappear.
It takes a few moments, a door slams, and I jolt, whipping my head to the side.
A small lady appears through a tiny door I’ve never seen before, her length growing as she gets closer.
She smiles, then frowns. “Good morning, my lady? Everything okay?”
I look around, and panic flares. I’m no longer standing in my dorm at Daragan.
I'm in a bed, tucked beneath silk blankets in a room of black glittery walls with the fucking galaxy spinning above me.
They really expect me to, what? Say “I accept this offer” …
I slam my hands over my eyes and throw myself back in the bed, cursing the idiot I am.
Fucking magic!
Fifteen
London
The woman stares at me strangely, but then her eyes shift and she looks around the space as if seeing it for the first time. “Huh,” she quips, coming back to me as a bright smile pulls across her lips. “Well, that was settled quite fast, wasn’t it? Welcome to the dark side, my lady. Lord Deveraux will be pleased when he hears of this.”
Cautiously, I crawl from the softest sheets I've ever fucking felt and stand, wobbling a little as I do, the effect of the portal clearly still making me unstable. Confused as shit, more so by the fact that this woman is acting like she knows me, I tread carefully. “Uh-huh.” I take note of what must be the exit door, considering the one she came through is so tiny I'd be blocked at the shoulders if I even attempted to climb through. “And what exactly do you think it is … Lord Devereaux will be pleased about?”
The name feels weird on my tongue, and a strange heat blooms behind my ribs. I've known the Royal Family's last name for as long as I can remember, but I haven't thought of them in, well, ever that I can think of.
Rather than answering, the woman giggles to herself, shaking her head as if what I've asked was funny, and shit maybe it was. Women around here probably know what Lord Deveraux piss smells like, they're likely that obsessed.
“Okay, my lady.” She begins, throwing the closet doors open and revealing a massive number of gowns and clothing options on the other side. “Breakfast in the Gnome Gardens doesn’t require formal attire, but keep in mind your one-on-one with Lord Deveraux will follow later in the day and there will not be time for a wardrobe change, and seeing you won't know how to use your magic, you may want to consider that when choosing an option for the day.”
Okay, so they think I was just thrown to the wolves the last eleven years. And technically, I have been... but I'm also a girl, and the literal best part of being Gifted when I have to hide it, has been the perks that come with magic. One of the first things I taught myself was how to Cinderella my ass. I’ve been my very own fairy godmother ever since.
But maybe I should hide that little fact since technically, you're not allowed to practice magic if you haven't passed defensive magic teachings given in first year, according to my uncle anyway. I vaguely remember being in school here, but I don’t remember all the rules and mumbo jumbo that went with it.
“Come, I’ll prepare your bath.” She spins, her short, choppy pixie cut flaring as she does.
Unsure why, I follow behind, hoping I’m not walking myself to my own execution.
We step into the large open bathroom and my mouth drops at the luxury of it all.
Its black marble and crystals, and can only be described as a woman’s wet dream.
The bath is already full by the time I look into it and I frown at the massive spa-like tub. Surely this isn’t used water, right? The leftovers from whoever the hell might have stayed in this room before me.