Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Foreboding pricked her nape. Whoever or whatever had arrived, Micah’s people—her people—were terrified. She should help them. A sudden sense of duty and protectiveness outshone every other emotion, demanding attention. What belonged to her, she safeguarded. Always.
Units of soldiers sprinted north, south, east and west. Did they encircle the camp? How much danger was Micah to combat today? A bride shouldn’t have to fear losing her husband or her children or her brother on her wedding night.
How to proceed? Viori checked her glamara. Excellent! Since her arrival here, she’d been recharging nicely. Faster than usual, in fact. She could, possibly, create and animate multiple small creatures without weakening too much or creating a doorway between worlds. A task she hadn’t performed in forever, preferring to save her strength for her giants. But small creatures had the ability to guard Micah in secret, shielding him as necessary.
Yes. She liked this plan.
Sticking to the shadows, she followed a group of torch-bearing soldiers. They stopped several yards from the cluster of mud huts, joining the well-lit circle around the camp’s perimeter.
Her heart thudded. Where was Micah?
She scanned the sea of faces. Incoming soldiers without torches raced to a cart, each male grabbing a thick wooden club from a pile. Norok stood atop that cart, issuing orders.
Spotting him, Viori darted out of his line of sight and crouched. Micah must be nearby. The two warriors were never far apart. They were bonded in some way, as evidenced by the way White Beard had leaned against Micah at the banquet—and Micah had let him. She only hoped Norok proved more loyal to his king than he had to his wife.
An unexpected wrench of envy startled her. Once, she and Kaysar had enjoyed such a bond. Until she’d done the unthinkable and murdered their parents, of course, ruining his future.
Blinking back a sudden well of tears, she looked left, right, then left again. No one paid her any attention. So why did she feel like someone watched her intently?
Viori shoved the sensation aside. Another worry for later. This was an occasion for action. With her mind set, she stretched out her hands—and sang. The soft melody crackled with power, masked by the cries of a stampeding people desperate to return to their homes.
A gust of wind swept in, lifting and swirling grains of dirt together. Drawing them closer and closer...
She increased her volume, pouring bits of herself into the words. As a child she’d learned there were two songs necessary for this. One for creating, and one for sparking life. It was best if she didn’t combine them, rushing the process as she’d done with Fifibelle and Drendall. But sometimes exceptions must be made.
Viori could kick herself for not sneaking away from Micah each night to create and hide shells of potential children throughout the camp. Instead, she’d opted to savor the time she spent in his arms.
When the dirt began to compact, two distinct shapes became clear, both feline in nature. Sweat beaded on her brow. The tremors worsened in her limbs. The song tapered to silence when the little darlings stretched and rubbed against her, eager to please.
Love flooded her. Love always flooded her when she gave life. Talk about a bond. Unbreakable in every way that mattered. As she peered at them, allowing herself a moment to bask in their adorableness, their names were etched into her heart. Sprinkles and Muffin. Pure sweetness.
“Hold!” Micah called from somewhere behind her. “I see them.” Fury dripped from his voice, sending shudders raining over her spine.
The intruders, whoever they were, had made a grave mistake today. “Go, my darlings,” she commanded. “Stay close to King Micah.” These young babies should recognize him through scent and their connection to her. “Guard him. Reveal yourself only if someone attacks him. Or seems to be a threat to him. Then strike to kill.”
Off they flew, weaving through the masses, eager to please. No, not the masses anymore. Only small groups of fae remained.
As Viori adjusted her position, the ground shook. Gasping, wobbling, she peeked around the tent that shielded her from the coming battle. Most of the soldiers held a club—a torch. The ends blazed with fire, embers crackling.
“I understand now, the truth so clear. You are their maker,” a familiar voice growled behind her. “Small and big. You are the reason so many good warriors have died throughout the centuries.”
She whipped around, coming face-to-face with Elena. Vibrating with rage, the blonde drew back her elbow and threw a vicious punch.
The blow landed. Bones broke on impact, and she crashed to her backside. Pain registered only as she healed. The urge to jump up and launch a counterattack threatened to overwhelm her, but she resisted.
Splayed, she smiled up at the blonde. “You shouldn’t have done that.” When she’d told Micah she knew how to fight, she’d meant it. Now, she would prove it. “By the way. As queen, I’m enacting a new law, effective immediately,” she purred. “Harm me and experience an agonizing death. No exceptions.”