Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Two hours in, and I already know today will be a bust, not just because of the lack of fish. No, because my mind has been on Anya only. There is not a second that I don’t hear her expelling my name when I am rutting inside of her, telling her she is the most precious thing in the world to me. Not a minute goes by when I can't picture her riding me, her head thrown back with his wildfire hair covering those cherry-colored nipples I love to suck. And not an hour when I miss her hand in mind and the smile she gives me when I say something she thinks is funny.
“I can’t do this.” I restart my engine and head back toward the dock. I am the first boat to arrive mostly because it is way too early to be returning, but I am drowning on land right now, and I need a life buoy.
“Back so soon Svensson?”
“Yeah I was just not in the right spot.” I tell him, pulling my crate from the boat.
That happens. Is something bothering you?” Mal has been the fishmonger here for as long as I can remember. When I turned sixteen and realized all I would ever be was an ice fisherman, I came to him to learn the ropes. As a matter of fact, he sold me my first boat as an in-kind sort of wage for loading on his dock in payment and helped me fix it.
“I just think I just need to get away for a while. Test the waters in another spot for a bit.” His eyebrow raises, and then he taps his chin.
“I have a buddy who is looking for an instructor for a couple of weeks to help with his new fisherman up the coast. It's a travel stipend and a one-time payment. Should I tell him you’re coming?” I don’t give it a second thought.
“Yes. I will leave first thing.” I have got to get my head on straight and out of the clouds. It is time to forget about Anya and remember I am no one.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
ANYA
TWO WEEKS LATER
Over the last two weeks, I’ve been busy—busier than I ever have been, and it’s been most fulfilling. When we arrived at the orphanage, saying there was chaos would be an understatement. The matron, Mrs. Spangle, was not going to let us in. In fact, she met us at the door.
“Your Majesties. We weren’t expecting you. The children… they are sick. You shouldn’t come in.” She barely opened the door and didn’t show any proper courtesies to my parents.
“We’re coming in,” I say, pushing past the woman. She grabs my arm.
“Unhand the princess,” Dante, my personal guard, says, coming closer to me.
“I’ve got this, Dante,” I say, wrenching my arm away from the woman. “You may want to think very hard about your next words, Mrs. Spangle. I know what I will find when I walk into that room.”
“How did you find out?”
“Does it matter?”
She says nothing else, and I look at her in disgust. I move further into the house and immediately notice that it’s freezing. I slide open the pocket doors, and the dining hall is revealed. Rows and rows of tables are laid out, but most are empty. The children are all sat at one table, huddled close together, eating. They turn to look at me, but I realize rather quickly that they have no idea who I am. They only recognize my parents from their portrait on the wall. The older children stand.
“Please sit,” I tell them. The oldest girl is trying to eat and juggle holding a baby. I take the baby from her. “What’s the baby’s name?”
“We don’t know,” a little girl says.
“I’m sorry?” I look down at the baby knowing that I won’t be giving this baby back.
“Mrs. Spangle never told us. She just said we were in charge of her nappies, and that was it,” the older girl says.
“We’ve been calling her Daisy.”
“That’s a lovely name.”
“What’s your name?”
“Anya.” I kneel down to their level.
“Princess Anya?”
“Yes. That’s me.”
“Are you here to save us, Princess?”
“Yes,” I answer simply.
“How did you know we needed saving?” a little boy asks, putting his tiny hand on my cheek.
“My prince told me,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes.
I couldn’t have told you the last time these children took a hot bath or ate a hot meal. The kitchen was bare, and the children had only been eating oatmeal, not even hot oatmeal. The children, aged six months to sixteen, weren’t being properly cared for. Some of them had never even had a hug before. I was appalled but not shocked. Christopher told me this was happening, and while I hoped it wasn’t true, I didn’t think he’d lie about something like that. I was grateful that my father was with me because I could have killed the matron.