Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Everyone assumed he had killed his master and that he was put to death quietly. Seeing him here now, though, I realize that I have been lied to. I wonder what kinds of stories people are being told about me, about my disappearance, and it makes my excitement ebb. I rub my neck, following after the gladiator as he strides in. "I'm sure you have questions as to why I'm here on this planet."
"I don't want to know, actually," Nassakth says. "I'm no longer involved in praxiian politics. Praxiian anything."
"I'm no longer Heir," I blurt out. "My youngest brother staged a coup. He killed our other brother and stole my throne in the middle of the night. I barely escaped with my life and had a bounty hunter bring me here so I can lie low until things blow over."
He turns and regards me, arms crossed over his chest. Even though it's been a decade—or more—since he's been in the arena, his arms are just as thick as before, his form just as imposing. He doesn't look much older, just a bit grayer on the muzzle. "So you're hiding out here, just like me."
I nod.
"So what's your plan?" He leans against the vid-theater and waits.
I rub my aching throat. "My plan?"
He gestures in my direction. "You said your brother staged a coup. That you escaped here and you're in hiding. What's your plan? You didn't think this would work, did you?" He twirls a finger in my direction, indicating me. "That a bad haircut and a terrible dye job will suddenly make you invisible? I knew you immediately. Your face has been plastered on posters and currency and news feeds for a decade now. Yet you think you're hidden? That you're safe? What name are you going by again?"
"Zhur."
He raises a brow and I feel foolish.
"It was all very sudden," I say defensively, rubbing my throat again. "I didn't have time to do much planning. It wasn't as if I expected my brother to try to slaughter me. If I had the time to prepare, perhaps I would have come up with a more clever plan. As it is, this will have to do."
"Which is why I'm asking your plan," he states again. "I need to see whether or not you need killing."
That makes me pause. The idea of my hero murdering me is suddenly growing less appealing. "Why do you think I need killing? I swear to you that I'm not a threat to your family."
"Right now you are not, no. But I want to know your plans." He points at the door. "The female out there with my wife. Is she really your mate? Because you know what our people think of human and praxiian matings."
It should be the easiest thing in the universe to simply tell him that our marriage is a sham. That we're not in love. That we're simply providing a good cover story. But I find I'm not inclined to say any of that. "Maeve is none of your concern."
"Mmmhmm. And are you planning on retaking your throne? Or have you retired here to Risda III for good? Going to live the life of a farmer?"
My jaw clenches, because I don't like his tone. And I don't like the questions he's asking...because I have no answers for them. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if I'm retaking my throne. I don't know what that means for Maeve, or for me. "I haven't thought about any of it just yet. I've been focused on surviving."
Nassakth nods slowly. "I understand. When I was a slave, I had no future. I lived each day as it appeared and I didn't think further ahead than my next sleep, my next meal, my next bout. My future was measured by hours." His gaze grows distant and he stares at the wall as if he can see through it. "But then I came here and established a place that was truly mine. And I met Kim. And I stopped thinking from day to day and I started to envision a future."
I'm silent. The reality of his words gnaw at my insides. I try to picture myself in Maeve's tiny home for the rest of my days, exiled and abandoned, forgotten by everyone. I picture what happens if I go to retake my throne, and leave Maeve behind.
I picture what happens if I try to retake my throne and I fail. It will be death, and it will not be swift, or pretty. "I don't know my future," I say, bleak. "Nothing is in my control."
"You're wrong." Nassakth pushes off the vid-theater station he was leaning against and strides towards me. "You need to envision the future you want, and then you need to take steps to making it happen. But first you have to figure out what you want...and I'm not sure that you know."