Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I let him lead me down the stairs and away from the manor, and when we return to the inn, Natan’s still on watch outside our rooms.
“Look who I found at the high captain’s house trying to get herself killed,” Kendrick tells Natan.
“Oh no.” Natan’s eyes are wide with panic as he looks me over. “Are you okay, Jasalyn? I hope you didn’t get hurt.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Kendrick is exaggerating.”
“You want to tell me how she got past you?” Kendrick demands.
Natan frowns. “I don’t . . . Did I do something wrong?”
Kendrick looks back and forth between us. I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers, reminding him of the ring. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” He points to my door. “Sleep.” He nudges Natan toward the other door. “You too. I’ll take watch for a few hours.”
Natan looks at me, waiting like a puppy hoping for some attention.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Natan,” I say, smiling. “Thank you for your help tonight.”
His shoulders sag in relief. He pleased me, and that’s all he wants.
We watch him slip into the room. When the door closes behind him, Kendrick frowns at me. “What did you do to my historian?”
“It’s the ring. He’ll be himself in the morning and won’t remember any of this.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
I shrug. “It’s just information. It’s up to you how you want to feel about it.”
His gaze slips over me again. “You panicked when I almost kissed you. Is that about the ring too?”
I hesitate a beat. “Yeah.”
“Care to explain?”
I hold his gaze. Can I explain that my magical ring gives me the kiss of death without sharing how I’ve been spending my nights for the last three months? “Ask me in the morning.”
“Will I remember this in the morning?” he asks.
I turn the knob to my room, ready to step inside. “That’s a good question. Only one way to find out.”
Chapter Twelve
Jasalyn
I TIGHTEN MY GRIP ON the Throne of Shadows and gaze out the windows and into the night beyond. The sky is dark and deep, stars glittering overhead, dancing around their crescent moon.
I should feel powerful. I should feel as mighty as the throne that rejects me. Mightier. But the crown isn’t mine. I’m weak, and I cannot allow weakness.
“Does my king need anything else?” my servant asks, her dirty-blond hair falling forward and covering her human face as she bows her head. She’s shaking. Shaking so intensely I feel myself smile.
I’m aware of the servants lining the opposite wall, aware that they watch my every move.
Fear. This is what I should inspire. Fear of mortals and fae alike. Because the throne should be mine. The crown should be mine.
“Indeed.” I take her trembling hand and turn up her palm to study the soft, pink skin there. “You will bond yourself to me.”
“I . . . I’m here to serve, my king.” Her voice quavers. I relish the sound. The proof of my power. Relish the sight of her tears dripping onto the floor by her feet. “But, please, I do not wish to take the bond. Let me serve you in another way.”
She won’t look at me, so she doesn’t see it coming when I whip out my knife and plunge it through her hand.
Her scream echoes off the throne room walls, rattles the window.
I lift my gaze to the servants behind her. Men. Women. Some cowering, some watching me like the wildebeest watches the lion. I pull the blade from the girl’s hand and blood gushes onto the floor. She clutches it to her chest and her light blue gown blooms with red.
“Anyone who denies me that which I ask will suffer.”
I extend my blade again, but the girl scrambles away this time. Laughing, I hold her in place with my magic.
“Watch as I demonstrate what happens when you don’t serve your king.”
I slice the blade across her face, then plunge it into her eyes. I relish her howl of pain, the way her body surrenders, limp in the face of her powerlessness. I will take my time. I will show them all the consequences of denying me.
“Wake up, Princess. We need to get moving.”
Gasping, I bolt upright in bed, breathing ragged, half expecting my sheets to be covered in the blood of the girl from my dreams.
Instead, I see Skylar, who’s climbed halfway onto my bunk to shake me awake.
“Oh look, she lives.” She drops to the floor and starts throwing things in her pack.
It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.
I wrap my arms around myself and rub my clammy skin. I can still feel the knife in my hand, can still hear the girl’s scream echoing in my ears, can still remember how much I loved her terror and her pain.
That’s not you. It’s just a nightmare.