Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“So women wear dresses like this when they play fielding?” I ask.
Marcella grins as she circles me, plucking at the fabric on my shoulders to fluff it more. “You don’t play fielding, Princess. You field. Or you go fielding. It’s a very well-respected sport among the nobility.”
“You’re sure he knows I’ve never played this game before?” I ask for the tenth time.
Marcella smiles reassuringly. Kadene and Niera have gone out to the fields to prepare my “tent”, whatever that means, but Marcella stayed behind to explain the rules. “It’s a dreadfully simple game,” she says. “They’ll give you a bat thingie and you’ll swing at the ball until you hit the target.”
“So it’s exactly like golf. But with a bat?” I ask.
“Well, no. The target is in the air. Like basketball? Except it’s not a hoop.”
I sigh. “I guess I’ll just figure it out. And is it really called a bat thingie?”
Marcella sighs. “I swore I knew enough to teach you the rules, but once I got to explaining it, I feel like I don’t actually know that much.”
Great, I think. Inviting me to play this game with him is apparently Prince Titus’ idea of an icebreaker, and I have to give it to him, I’ll probably feel more at ease outside playing a game than I would in some ballroom or over dinner, even if it’s a sport I’ve never heard of.
When I step out on the field after the winding journey through elaborately decorated halls of the palace, I’m shocked by how beautiful it is. Burkewood Palace has a rectangular courtyard and the entire space is apparently the field for this game. In many ways, it looks exactly like a golf course, complete with rolling hills, rocky outcroppings, sand traps, and even a water hazard. I see what Marcella was failing to explain now, too. There’s a blue circle that looks a lot like a floating bullseye at one end of the field. Along one side of the field, there are half a dozen tents set up and teeming with servants who appear to be doing everything from setting out equipment to preparing cocktails. I spot Kadene and Niera under one of the tents--my tent, I guess--scrambling around with towels in their hands as they clean up an apparent spill.
A small group of beautiful women in dresses of a similar style as mine watch me as I’m led toward the princes and queen at the top of the main hill. Envy is clearly written in their eyes, while they look between myself and the princes who wait at the top of the hill. One of the women even pulls self consciously at the patch of her hair that’s not dyed blonde.
I feel guilty seeing their jealousy. These women likely spent their whole lives wishing they could be where I am now, and yet I’m just bumbling through it, probably too uneducated in the culture to even fully appreciate what kind of prize has landed in my lap.
The company at the top of the hill demands all of my attention, though. Not just Prince Titus, but Queen Korintha and Prince Roark. Titus wears a royal blue outfit that fits his muscular frame tightly. It has the same high collared style that is so popular here, but the sleeves are cut off to reveal bulging arms.
Queen Korinthia wears a dress of a similar style to my own, but with with so many frills and puffs of colorful fabric that I’m sure she couldn’t play any sport in it. When I saw her in the throne room last night, I was too overwhelmed to take in much more of her appearance than a general sense of regal pride. Now I see the way the sun blasts through her makeup, putting the fine lines in her skin on display and showing just how hard she tries to hide her age. I’d guess her to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. Her platinum hair is done up so high and thickly that I wonder if any bees have mistaken it for their home yet.
My breath hitches when I look at Roark. He’s watching me while he leans on something that looks like a hockey stick mixed with a tennis racquet. He’s also wearing a sleeveless shirt with a deep neckline that puts his tanned arms and chest on mouth-watering display. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him, and every muscle cuts across his skin powerfully. I nearly fall on my face as I walk closer, tripping over my feet while I gawk at Roark.
He wears black and it only adds to the aura of mystery that seems to follow him like a magnet. The way the sun falls on his skin makes him look like something out of time, like the subject of a painting you might see hanging in an art gallery--the kind of painting that would make you wonder if such a gorgeous person ever really existed, or if he was purely the figment of an artist's imagination. A beautiful dream so perfect it could never truly exist. No matter how much I blink, Prince Roark is still there, and he only looks better up close.