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 stares at them, trying to determine if they're seeing praxiian celebrities—or if they need to leave the station, fast.
Word's going to travel quickly, though, so I need to get my ideas out before we're interrupted. "You need me to give up my throne."
If it's possible, Rem's expression grows even icier, though his ears don't flatten. "I need nothing."
"You're wrong. You need something or you're going to lose the public's favor. They might like you more than me at the moment, because they like new things. But they're going to turn on you if you try to force a human Heiress on them."
Rem's eyes narrow. "My wedding is my own business."
"It is, but if you truly wanted to cement your claim to the throne, you'd marry a praxiian female of high standing. Someone from one of the old houses, or a celebrity. Are you trying to give my throne back to me in some bizarre, roundabout way?"
Now his expression turns withering. "I'm not giving the throne back. Praxii Minor needs a ruler devoted to the people."
I ignore that. It's not that I wasn't devoted to my job. It was just...a job. "And you think that's you? That you're the soul of devotion?"
He blinks. Once. "Did you truly come here to tell me how to rule? You came out of hiding to chastise me?"
I'm growing irritated at his superior-seeming attitude. Was this how I was when Maeve met me just a few short weeks ago? Kef, I must have been annoying to talk to. "If I wanted to chastise you, I'd have started with the fact that you murdered Wesskth and stole my throne, forcing me to run."
Rem eyes me, then adjusts one of his impeccable sleeve cuffs on his uniform. "Wesskth needed murdering. And I didn't force you to run. You could have stayed behind."
"So I could be murdered?"
"I wouldn't have murdered you."
"But you murdered Wesskth so you could move up in the hierarchy."
"No. I murdered Wesskth because he needed murdering." His dark eyes glint. "And I'm not going to argue about it. You knew a very different Wesskth than I did. If you're expecting an apology or some sort of contrition from me, look elsewhere."
I shake my head. "I'm not." I still don't understand his reasoning, but Remrrrtel has always been obsessively focused on plans and his end-game. There is no second-guessing in his world. That's what makes Rem so dangerous. If he thinks he needs to take you out, he'll do so without hesitation and without a shred of remorse.
He says he wouldn't have murdered me...but I don't believe him. If he thought it was necessary, he absolutely would have murdered me on the spot and hung my head over the doors of our family's ancestral palace.
"I'm here because I don't want to live a life in hiding," I say to Rem. "You want to rule? I'm here to make you an offer. I'll publicly abdicate in your favor. I'll tell everyone that you're my chosen heir and talk you up. Then I'll go away and live in public exile and you can have the throne, legally and without controversy."
He nods once. "Good."
"But I have a few demands of my own." And I lean forward.
CHAPTER
ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
ZHUR
If Rem is surprised that I have stipulations, he doesn't show it. His face remains as expressionless and cold as ever.
"Speak," is all he says.
"I will abdicate in your favor," I say, "And remove any of my line from consideration for the throne. Like I said, I want the ability to live without worrying over whether or not an assassin will show up on my doorstep. I want the ability to have a wife and cubs of my own. I don't want them to have to fear for their lives."
"I would never harm a female or cubs," Rem replies, his expression growing sour with distaste. "And I have said it before—I would not have murdered you."
From behind him, Cor frowns down at me as if I'm displeasing him, too.
"And as I have said, I don't believe you," I continue easily. "So I want it to be abundantly clear in writing that my line will be removed from succession, but I want insurance that you will not go back on your word."
The ice doesn't leave Rem's expression. "What kind of insurance?"
"A public declaration of my safety," I say. The perfect place occurs to me. "At your wedding. I'll abdicate in your favor, you'll tell everyone how much you love me and how we've agreed to this and vow to never harm me. You'll look good, I'll look good, we'll both win. You'll need me to retire somewhere publicly, so after the wedding, I'll head off to some vacation home on a distant moon and remove myself from all politics. I'll remain there with minimal servants of my own choosing and will publicly support you in every way possible. Any travel or excursions will of course be cleared with you first."