Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
It was a cool day, since it had rained in the early hours of the morning, but there was this burning ache in me to touch her. To do exactly what her father was worried I’d do to her.
When her foot tapped mine again, not on purpose but due to a bump in the road, I glanced over to see her staring unwaveringly at me. I watched her chest bounce slightly as the carriage swayed.
Fuck.
I wanted to fuck her.
I wanted to see her bounce on me.
I had to tell the driver to turn around and send her back, because I was not going to withstand this lust, not for long. Not if she kept staring at me like that.
Thank God my aunt wanted to have this wedding next week.
Thank God.
21
Hathor
“You have to be careful, my lady,” Bernice whispered when we reached the palace gates.
She could not follow me: She did not have permission to enter the palace. Mama and Papa only insisted she come to escort me because they did not wish me to be alone in a carriage with a man. Even if that man was meant to be my husband.
“Careful of what? The palace is the safest place for a lady,” I whispered back.
“Of yourself, and his…emotions. Your wedding is next week. You need only hold out until then,” she replied gently, as the carriage pulled to the front.
Wilhelm stepped out first, then turned back and offered his hand to me. The moment we touched, there was that burning feeling in me again. The way he stared at me as if I were the only woman in the world also did not help.
“Thank you for accompanying us. Sir, take her back safely,” he said to the driver, not allowing Bernice to say another word…and he did not let go of my hand. He held it as he led me up the stairs. There were a few guards in the front, but they seemed completely oblivious to us. I stared into the grand foyer. How massive it was; how empty it was. I’d only ever come to the palace twice: the days of my sister’s and my own debuts to the queen. Both times, there were so many people anxiously trying to prepare that I never really saw the palace.
It was beautiful, of course, but so very quiet.
“Wilhelm, where are we going? Do I not need to see the queen? Present myself?”
“The queen is sleeping. She does not get out of bed until at least noon, and she does not see anyone until half past one. So, there is no one to present yourself to.”
“What? Then what are we supposed to do until then?” I asked as we entered a long hallway with portraits of the royal family to the right and windows to the left.
He paused midstep and turned back to me. He came close…far too close, staring down at me, holding on to my hands.
“We will do whatever you wish to do. We will be left to our own devices here whenever the queen does not require you. So, pray tell, what do you desire to see first?”
When I woke up this morning, I felt a flurry of nerves. I was so anxious to see him. What if his feelings had changed?
What if he’d met someone else?
What if—what if— I’d felt as if my mind were going to implode, and when I tried to stop thinking, I’d find my heart racing painfully with each passing hour.
I thought seeing him would help ease that. Instead, I was even more desperate to know what he was thinking or feeling. What I desired was to be near him.
“What do you do when you are here?”
“Go to look at the royal collection of art, in order to study the work of men I can hardly compare to.”
“Then let us do that.”
“What? I am merely joking. I do not spend much time in the palace. It is rather boring but—?”
“If it is boring, I will make you sing. Until then, show me the art.”
“Ugh,” he groaned, stepping away from me, but only at arm’s length; he still had not let go of my hand. “Why must you bring that up once more?”
“Because I am still very curious. I’ve never heard a man sing before, outside of an opera.”
“For good reason. It is embarrassing and childish.”
“Nevertheless, you enjoy it, so I must come to accept and encourage your interests. That is what makes a good wife.”
“Is that so? What if I were to have an awful voice, waking you each and every morning with it. You would still accept and encourage me?”
“I would wake up even earlier the next day and screech back in your ear, calling it singing. We shall do this until we are both so exhausted and near madness that we come to a compromise. Or kill each other.”