Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 131875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“Does she have magic? I can’t imagine you could be controlling her right now.” She laid a hand on Fordham’s chest. “It’s been almost a challenge to control this one’s powers. Whoever heard of a Fae with as much powers as he has? I’ll never know.”
Kerrigan’s eyes widened. Well, that explained why he hadn’t jumped them out of the room. Iris was … controlling him? Controlling his magic? How was that even possible?
“She has her own abilities,” Constantine said vaguely.
“Augustan told me not to buy another one,” she said with a sigh.
“Princeps knows best,” Constantine said.
She furrowed her brow at that word. He said princeps as if it were a title, but it was one she had never heard before.
Iris waved her hand. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. When will the bidding take place? Put my name on the invite list.”
“We’re still working out the details with the tournament in progress.”
“Yes, yes. You know I like exotic breeds. You should have shown her to me first,” she admonished Constantine. “Can’t account for backward logic, can we?” She turned back to Fordham then with a destructive grin. “Come along, darling. I haven’t shown you off enough. Maybe I’ll unleash enough to allow those fabulous shadows to appear. Dramatic effect.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Fordham’s voice rang empty.
He didn’t even look at Kerrigan as Iris dragged him through the crowd. Her heart broke at the sight. Fordham had endured that woman for six months somehow. She had leashed his magic and was treating him like a prize … a toy at best.
Kerrigan had hated Constantine for purchasing her, but for all his bluster, he had treated her like a person. The bidding was reprehensible. All of it was terrible. But watching Fordham’s retreating back, she was starting to wonder if she had gotten the better deal.
17
The Challenge
Danae put her hand on Kerrigan’s arm. “Please, don’t do this.”
Kerrigan shook her off. “It’s too late now.”
“It’s not.”
But it was far past time. She’d known that she was going to have to do something about Constantine’s idiocy. She would die before being sold another time. Especially to someone who would use her body without her consent. She didn’t have her magic to protect her. So, she needed to use everything else available to her.
Fordham had been the final straw.
She didn’t know how she had only been here a matter of weeks and he had been here six months. That made no sense when they had fallen through the portal together. But if this place could break Fordham Ollivier in half a year, then they needed to leave sooner rather than later. There was no more time to waste.
Especially since interest had spread like wildfire through the party after Iris proclaimed she would attend Kerrigan’s bidding. Suddenly, they were the highlight of the event. If Kerrigan hadn’t been surrounded by magic users, she would have killed every single person who assessed her like a pig for slaughter.
Including Constantine.
“Please, Kerrigan,” Danae pleaded as she followed her down the steps of the house and through the darkened corridors. “He’s not going to let you do it.”
“Well, good thing he’s not there right now. He’s busy meeting with potential bidders on my body,” she snarled. “Do you understand? I have no other choice.”
“He’s not going to go through with it.”
Danae had deluded herself into believing in her father’s sanctimony. He wasn’t a holy man. He was a king, a warrior, and a survivor. He would do whatever he could to fit in with his oppressors.
“He’s not taking these meetings for no reason,” she told the girl. “Don’t be naive.”
“But my mother …”
“That was a long time ago,” Kerrigan said, waving her off. “He clearly doesn’t care. Anyway, I look like a Doma. The very people who took your mother away. He probably doesn’t even think of it as the same thing.”
“But you’re not a Doma.”
“No,” she said, jumping the final step, “I’m not.”
She stretched her arms above her head to loosen up her shoulders. Earlier in the day, Danae had helped her filch pants and a shirt from the gladiators’ dormitory. Even the smallest men’s size didn’t fit her like it should. But Danae was handy with a needle and thread. She’d hemmed the pants and brought them in at the waist. She wore the shirt loose with a vest that tightened with laces at the back. It wasn’t like her training leathers. She still mourned their loss back in the small village outside of Eivreen, but it reminded her of home. Even though Danae had sworn that none of the men would wear anything remotely like this in the training yard. But she wasn’t one of them. She would never be one of them. And if she was going to walk out onto their sand, she needed to feel like herself.