Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
It’s like being injected with acid.
Fury rushes through my veins and makes my ears thud as I stare at the elf, imagining a reality where Sylvan chooses a second husband, maybe even a wife, so his bloodline continues. I can’t believe the intense hate I’m feeling for this theoretical person who doesn’t even exist.
All of a sudden, I’m angry that we’re wasting time on getting dressed up instead of getting married already. The need to make Sylvan mine is so urgent, so visceral, it reminds me of getting shanked in prison. As I fell to the floor, bleeding my guts out, all I wanted was to make Samson pay with his life. That’s how much I crave Sylvan’s vow to me.
“He’s not getting another spouse,” I rumble in a voice so low the tailor’s skin flushes as he looks up at me.
“Oh. So this is a love match? Have you known the prince long?” There is no malice in his question, just curiosity, yet I’m still buzzing with the unresolved urge to punch things.
“I know him well enough to be sure he’s the one I want,” I say as confidence floods me with warmth. So maybe he didn’t tell me about all the intricacies of elven royal polygamy, but we’ve had much more important stuff to do. It doesn’t have to mean he intends to marry four more elven husbands behind my back.
He’d have to kill me first.
Which is also an uneasy thought, because I have seen he’s capable of murder. But that was kinda hot, since he killed Tassarion for me.
“Do you not worry that you might be dragged into a dangerous situation because of his banishment?” The tailor cocks his head at me, brows drawn. He’s worried about me, which is… nice, if surprising.
“I’m a bit of a fugitive myself,” I tell him and grin at the way he takes half a step back. “So I’ll take my chances with the hot elven royal.”
When the tailor says nothing, staring at me as if he were both aroused and frightened—which is quite a common occurrence in my sex life—I step past him and look into the tall, decorated mirror, which still presents me with no reflection and instead remains blurred like frosted glass. “I was told this room is vampire-themed. Does this mean you have vampires in the Nightmare Realm?”
The tailor clears his throat and opens his mouth, but then the mirror slides to the side as if someone moved it with their mind. I imagine the mirror might be the lid of a hidden coffin, and this time it’s me who steps back with my palms raised, ready to meet a fucking vampire.
Dressed in an elegant velvet jacket, Sylvan stands at the mouth of a corridor that was hidden behind the mirror all along. I sigh in relief, taking in his lovely form in the new clothes. He’s often serious, but his current expression still gives me pause.
“Everything… all right?” I ask, because why would he come here through some hidden passage without a valid reason?
Sylvan swallows and steps into the room. He spares the tailor only a glance. “Leave us,” he says, as if we were already back at court. He’s more used to servants than he ever was to flipping burgers, and I can’t help but find it arousing. I love him when he gets all sweet and submissive, but there’s also a confidence in him that I greatly admire.
The tailor hesitates, then bows awkwardly before leaving.
I grab Sylvan’s hands the moment we’re alone. “Tell me everything,” I say, desperate to wipe the worry from his face and replace it with one of his beautiful smiles.
Sylvan looks up. “How marvelous you look in black. And this coat…” He strokes my forearm, and I relax a little, because if he has time to compliment me, then the world isn’t falling apart.
“You don’t need blue velvet to look magnificent. Honestly, if it didn’t mean all those people would see your body, I would gladly marry you naked,” I tell him, wordlessly inviting him into my arms.
He’s so quick to hug me he stumbles and faceplants right between my pecs, but that’s where he loves to be, so no harm done.
I’m guessing we have time for that too, since he’s not telling me we need to run from bounty hunters, or something.
“Maybe I was born so small to fit well into your embrace,” he whispers, tense under my touch.
I melt and lower myself to one knee. For once he is slightly taller than me as I kiss his hands. Any and all doubts I had about this new reality disperse, because even if this is all happening in my mind, I do not want to wake up from a dream where I’m so very wanted.
“I like that. Then maybe I was born so strong and tall so you could always lean on me?”