Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“You’re really not going to see this through?” I ask her.
After a beat, she shakes her head, eliciting a deep pang of disappointment. “I can’t, Will. It’s just…not me.”
THE VIRGIN AND THE BLADE/LOURDES
CHAPTER 7
I AM ENGLAND
The moon hung low over the city of London, its effulgent light casting long, slanted shadows across the palace. Effulgent and beautiful despite the deadliness of the night’s task. And beneath that effulgent glow bathing the palace, he slipped past the guards, his every move as silent as a lion stalking its prey.
But he was not a lion.
He was even more dangerous.
He was Alexander. The greatest conqueror the world had ever known, with the most feared army at his disposal. That army waited just outside the city walls, ready to conquer on his command, but this was not the battle that occupied his mind tonight.
Inside the grand chamber, Queen Elizabeth stood by the window, outlined against the faint glow of the moonlight. She wore a regal gown of deep crimson. The color of defiance.
The color of England.
Her golden hair was carefully pinned, but, as rebellious as its owner, one defiant strand brushed her effulgent cheek. Her sharp, calculating eyes narrowed when she heard the faint creak of the door behind her.
“I thought you’d be more subtle, Alexander,” she said without turning. “Sneaking into my palace? Bold, even for you.”
Alexander’s lips curled into a smile as he stepped forward. He was dressed in his warrior armor, glinting with the promise of conquest. Yet his eyes, those legendary eyes that had seen the vastness of the known world, softened as they fell upon her.
“Subtlety was never my strength,” he said, his voice low and rich. “Conquest, however, is. And I’ve got twelve inches of steel to back up that claim.”
Elizabeth turned, her heart thudding against her ribs as she met his gaze. His presence was intoxicating. So much danger. So much charm.
But she was a queen—England’s queen—and she would not be easily swayed.
“You’ll find London far less yielding than the other cities you’ve conquered,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said, moving closer, “but I didn’t come here for London. I didn’t come for England. I came for you.”
Her breath caught in her throat as his hand brushed her cheek. His touch was electrifying. For all her power, all her famous control, she felt herself tremble beneath his gaze.
“I am England,” she whispered, her voice betraying a flicker of vulnerability.
“You are Elizabeth,” Alexander corrected, his eyes burning with intensity. “A woman, not just a queen. And even queens have hearts.”
He leaned in, so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.
“Surrender,” he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers.
Elizabeth’s heart raced, a storm of emotions raging inside her. She had faced countless enemies, defended her realm with unshakable resolve, but this—this was a different kind of battle.
“Never,” she breathed, though her voice wavered.
“Not the city. You’ll never surrender that.” He traced a finger along her cheek. “But your heart… That is another matter.”
Before she could respond, he kissed her, his lips capturing hers in a sudden, fiery embrace. The world melted away.
No kingdom.
No siege.
No war.
Just them.
Elizabeth’s hand rose to his chest as if to push him away, but her fingers curled into his armor instead. She could feel the power of him, the raw, virile strength, and for the first time in her life, she felt small. Not weak, but small in the presence of something greater than herself. She could feel her body blossoming like a dewy flower, begging her to allow a man’s touch upon her petals. She had deprived herself for so very long.
When they broke apart, her breath was ragged. “You would have me surrender my heart to you?”
“No,” he said softly. “I would never force that. But I would have you give it willingly.”
Elizabeth could feel the weight of centuries of rule, the legacy of her crown, pressing down on her shoulders.
But in this moment, all she wanted was him.
“I am the Virgin Queen,” she said.
“You are a woman,” Alexander repeated. “And no queen, no matter how powerful, should be alone. Ask me to share your chamber tonight, Elizabeth. Do not send me away.”
He kissed her again, slower this time. It was a promise. A vow not just of conquest but of devotion. A promise to tend to the garden she’d neglected for so very long. A conquering gardener with molten desire in his eyes and a blade strapped to his hip, the famous dagger with which he had slit throats and gutted his enemies.
“Alexander,” she whispered.
“Yes, Elizabeth. Tell me what you want.”
“I…”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BECKETT
This slow burn is excruciating
I DON’T HAVE ANY AFTERNOON CLASSES ON TUESDAYS, SO I HEAD HOME around noon and spend the day lounging on the couch in my boxers, watching dumb videos on my laptop and eating pretzels. It’s one of the few snacks Will keeps in the house. He follows our nutrition plan to a T, which means nothing tasty roams these halls. Unless you’re talking about my dick.