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)
“Meh. Hit or miss for me, but I do love me some Sublime.”
Creed blinks, annoyed, but again … there’s something hiding behind his expression, something I’m not so sure he wants me to see, yet I can.
“My brother isn’t one to listen to what the human world calls music.” His voice wraps around me like silk, cocooning me in a ball of pleasure as it kisses across my skin. And it does. All the way to my toes.
Slowly, the fourth, possibly final brother steps before us.
Instantly, my gaze glues itself to his face, but his bounces across his family, and I don’t imagine the way his throat stretches with a swallow just before he finally swings his attention toward me.
My pulse jumps in my chest. Literally. It bangs so hard against my ribs I have to take a step to keep me from falling forward.
Those blue eyes of his darken as they hold mine, if only a single shade. “He prefers to listen to the sounds women make when they scream for him.”
He stares, as if he’s waiting for me to … I don’t know, honestly, but what he gets is a laugh, and just to be sure I don’t say something that gets me burnt at the stake or whatever the fuck the Royals do nowadays, I stuff a mini cupcake in my mouth.
I realize the mistake the second I make it, as all their eyes fall to my lips.
I lift my hand, quickly covering my mouth and I chew faster.
“Name’s Knight,” he says, his words slow and almost … careful. “I—”
“You’re the future King of Rathe.”
His frown is instant, but he gives a curt nod.
“You're the reason I was forced to come here.”
“Forced?” He lifts a dark brow. “Pretty sure it was an invitation.”
“Right. The formality of the illusion of consent.”
Sinner’s lips curl up into the kind of smile someone gives you when you share a secret with that person, but I scowl at him and look back to … Knight.
“If you think I want you here, you’re wrong.” Knight’s face hardens.
“Well, that makes two of us. Anyway... I would give you my name, even though you asked for it so sweetly yesterday, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say you already know it.”
The fake one I was raised under, I hope...
As if he knew I wanted confirmation, likely assuming it’s some gag-worthy reason a real crown chaser would want—like knowledge the future King knew of her existence—and not because my identity is a complete fucking secret, he says it.
“Your name is London Crow.”
The tension lining my body eases a tad, and I tip my head, no confirming or denying. “How did you know I was Gifted?”
His eyes narrow, and I watch as his brothers flick their gazes his way.
“We’re the Royal Family. We know everything,” he says coolly.
I let my smirk free, because he did just call me London. A small, raspy laugh works its way from my throat, and my eyes snap the way the thick vein in his neck throbs harder.
Tossing another treat in my mouth, I take a few steps back, my gaze locked on his. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
I spin in my boots, walking over to the long table. A male gnome appears, grabbing my hand and yanking me around it, letting me go when we reach the seat that was apparently reserved for me. It smells of freshly cut grass and hot baked goods. The table is lined with poppy’s, irises, and platters of colorful foods that make my mouth water. The wall behind us is completely made of glass, overlooking whatever it is that’s appeared, and directly in front of us is an endless meadow of colorful beds of flowers, blooming right before our eyes.
It’s not long before the Deverauxs find their seats at their table, and while I wait until my glass of what the gnome called Faepagne is refilled for the second time, I look up.
My lips part with a gasp.
The Lords of Rathe are but fifteen feet away, all four pairs of blue eyes locked on me.
What’s strange is that while their faces give nothing away, I know the truth behind their masked expressions, and each tells a different story.
Confusion.
Uncertainty.
Hope.
And the strangest one yet...regret.
For what and why, I don’t know.
And honestly?
I don’t fucking care to.
I can’t be Queen of a realm that my father wreaked havoc on. A realm I know virtually nothing about, and as if those two reasons aren’t enough... I don’t want to be.
I want to go home, eat shitty takeout and spend the next three years of my life hating every minute of college but living for every day rooming with my best friend, Ben.
As I look around the table at the other gorgeous girls, even that bitchy girl Alex, I’m thinking it won’t be too hard. I imagine most of them would kill for a seat on the throne, possibly even literally. It should be easy to fade into the background, especially if the redhead at the end wants what she was called here for. She looks like a straight fucking goddess, and who knows, maybe she is.