Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1185(@200wpm)___ 948(@250wpm)___ 790(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1185(@200wpm)___ 948(@250wpm)___ 790(@300wpm)
“That’s a loaded question,” he remarked, exhaling deeply. “We’ll continue as planned. In the meantime, I’m positive there will be guests.”
“Unwanted visitors?”
He nodded. “Gods. Possibly even Primals. They’ll be curious about what they felt when you Ascended Bele.”
My lips tightened, and I started to pace in front of the bare shelves. “And I guess I’m supposed to remain hidden?”
“I know you don’t like hiding.”
I snorted. “What gave that away?”
“I don’t like it either,” he said, and I shot him a doubtful look. His eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together. “But, inevitably, they will see you, and even with the charm, we want to make it to the coronation before that happens.”
“And if we don’t?”
“None of them will think your arrival in the Shadowlands as my Consort, and the ripples of power they felt, are coincidental. Especially not when that unknown power was first felt in the mortal realm,” he said, speaking of when I’d brought Marisol back to life. “And not when they meet you. They’ll sense the aura of eather in you. If it hadn’t been for Bele’s Ascension, they might have assumed you were a godling. Now, they will question exactly what you are.”
Chapter 3
What you are.
Not who you are.
“And becoming your Consort will somehow stop them from questioning that?” I asked, rubbing my temple.
“No, but it will stop them from acting without concern for the consequences,” Nyktos said. “Is your head hurting? I can have the tea made for you, if so.”
“It’s not that.” At least, I hoped the dull ache had nothing to do with the Culling. The herbal mixture that helped with the Culling’s side effects hadn’t worn off this quickly before. “Wouldn’t everything be easier if we canceled the coronation? There’s really no point in holding it.”
“In case you weren’t listening in the throne room or to anything I said before that, you will be afforded a level of protection as my Consort—”
“I was listening, and I remember everything you’ve said to me,” I snapped. Wisps of eather spilled into his irises as our eyes met. “But that doesn’t explain the point behind doing it. You know what’s going to happen in five months or less. Becoming your Consort won’t stop that. I’m not going to survive the Culling. It is what it is. So, why would we welcome such a risk with a pointless coronation?”
Nyktos’s fingers began tapping his knee. “Does the idea of your death not bother you at all?”
“Why don’t you just read my emotions and find out?” I shot back.
A tight smile appeared. “You asked me not to. And contrary to what you may believe, I respect that request as much as possible.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
“It’s not whatever.” His fingers continued drumming. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you not bothered at all by the thought of your death?”
I crossed my arms, having no idea why we were even discussing this. “Dying from the Culling doesn’t sound fun at all. So, yeah, it’s bothersome.”
Nyktos didn’t even blink. “But?”
“But it is what it is,” I repeated, returning to my pacing. “It’s reality. I have to deal with it. So, I’m dealing with it. Like I’m dealing with the fact that I’ve spent my life planning to kill an innocent Primal. Just like I’m dealing with the fact that I’ve apparently lived the gods only know how many lives, all because I got scared in one of them and ran off a stupid cliff.” My skin prickled. “Like how did I run off a cliff? It’s not like it would’ve jumped out and surprised me. I had to know the edge was there, but I just kept running? What the hell?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s possible to deal with that as quickly as you’d have me believe,” he said. “And you didn’t live all the lives because you fell from a cliff—whether you knew the edge was there or not. You lived them because of Kolis’s obsession with Sotoria, and my father’s potentially problematic method of intervention.”
“Yeah, well, here I am, the end result of your father’s potentially problematic method of intervention…dealing with it,” I stated. “And no part of dealing with it has anything to do with how I feel about it.”
“We’ll have to disagree on that,” he replied. “What was…done to you then and now wasn’t and isn’t fair or right. Neither is what has been thrust upon you.”
“Unfair to me?” I nearly tripped as I stopped, staring at the shadowstone between the shelves. “What about to you? The last thing you need is knowing that…” I couldn’t even bring myself to say it. “It’s not fair to put my survival on you.”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Well, we’re not talking about me either.”
“Disagree.”
Whatever incredibly lacking restraint I had that put a tether on my temper snapped as I spun on him. “Why do you even care how I feel about any of this? You don’t trust me. You don’t really even like me. The only reason I’m still standing here is because of the embers of life inside me.”