Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Surprise flickered through me. Could it be about the shadow market? If so, was he just now getting around to doing that? Weeks later?
“I’m betting you know why he’s requested a meeting,” Hymel surmised.
I honestly didn’t, but what I found interesting was the fact that neither did Hymel. I doubted it was something that had simply slipped Claude’s mind. I said nothing as I brushed past him.
He turned quickly, grabbing my wrist. Grip tight, he yanked me back. I stumbled, catching myself as my furious gaze shot to his. I yanked on his hold—
Hymel twisted his wrist sharply. I yelped at the sharp, sudden pain radiating up my arm. His eyes lit up and the tilt of his smile was sickening. “I asked you a question.”
“I know,” I seethed, watching his eyes widen in response to me actually speaking to him. “And I’m ignoring you, so let me go.”
His lips peeled back. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Yet you’re— ”
“Nothing more than a whore. I know. I heard you the first five hundred times you said that. At least I’m getting off.” I held his stare, knowing I was about to deliver a low, mean blow that was as cruel as he was. “Can’t say the same about you though.”
The back of Hymel’s other hand cut through the space between us, aiming straight for my face, but somehow, I was faster. I caught his arm, my fingers curling into the crispness of his tunic. “Do not ever think to strike me.”
Hymel’s jaw loosened, his face paling as he dropped my aching wrist. Our stares locked, and for a moment, I would’ve sworn I saw fear in his eyes. Real, primal fear. Then his expression smoothed out.
“Or what, Lis?”
A series of tingles ran along the back of my head as images flooded my mind— horrific images of Hymel taking his own sword, impaling himself on it. My grip tightened on his arm. A coldness ramped up inside me. An energy. A power. What I saw was no future set in stone. It was what I wished to make Hymel do—
I dropped his arm, taking a step back. My heart thumped unsteadily.
Hymel eyed me for several seconds. “It’s funny, you know? You. Your abilities. One touch and you can know a person’s name and their desires. Their future. Even how they die.” His lips curved into a smirk behind the neatly trimmed beard. “And yet, you don’t know shit.”
“Maybe,” I said softly. “But I do know how you die.”
He went rigid.
“Do you want to know?” I smiled at him. “It’s not pleasant.”
Inhaling sharply, Hymel took a step toward me, but stopped himself. Without another word, he pivoted and stalked out of the chamber.
“Okay then,” I murmured, glancing down at my wrist. The skin was already turning red. “What an asshole.”
But so was I.
I’d lied. I’d never touched Hymel or pushed hard enough to see his future. I had no idea how he died. And because karma was about as real as the idea of fate, he’d probably outlive us all.
I left the Baron’s study, and it wasn’t until I was halfway to my quarters, while I pictured myself repeatedly kicking Hymel between the legs, when something about Claude struck me. It brought me to a complete stop by the windows facing the stables.
Claude hadn’t asked what Prince Thorne had been searching for information on but who.
I paced the length of my quarters, thinking over what Claude had said. It was likely just a slip of the tongue, saying who when he meant what, but . . .
My intuition told me that wasn’t the case.
But what could it even mean— if Claude knew that the Prince had been in search of information on someone? Why did that matter?
My intuition was no help there.
What I really needed to be stressed about was how I was supposed to be of aid to the Baron when he spoke with Prince Thorne. My stomach twisted as I all but stomped into my bedchamber. The lazy churn of the ceiling fan kept the room cool, but it was still far too warm. I undid the buttons of my bodice and shimmied out of the gown. I left it on the floor, too tired and, well, too lazy to hang it up.
Dressed only in a thigh-length chemise, I plopped down on the bed and lay flat on my back, resting my aching wrist on my stomach. I tentatively turned it. It was definitely going to turn a lovely shade of blue by the day’s end, but it wasn’t sprained or broken.
I was lucky for that.
There had been times in the past, when I’d been caught stealing food or being where I wasn’t supposed to be, when I hadn’t been so lucky.
I stared at the ceiling, thoughts returning to this supper. I couldn’t read the Prince. Unless I cracked the shield. Something that Claude seemed to think I could do, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I’d led him to believe that or if he already knew.