Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
My name spoken in Greta’s voice is like a choir of angels. “Yes, Princess.”
“I don’t want to marry a prince,” she whispers, her fingertips digging into my shoulder. “I don’t want to meet him at all.”
My heart booms so severely, I miss a step, hope turning my legs weaker than I’ve ever felt them. “I know why I don’t want you to meet the prince, Greta. But why don’t you want to meet him?”
“You go first.”
“I’ve told you before.” I slide my hand up into her hair, gripping a section of her curls until she gasps. “Your marriage to another man will render me insane.”
“Yes. And…I think our reasons are very similar,” she gasps. “I don’t want to meet the prince because my heart already belongs to a soldier.”
Purpose and glory and determination harden inside of me like stone, but there’s still a terrible echo of worry in the back of my mind. Her happiness and safety are my first priorities and yet… “You do belong to me, Princess. All of you.” I choke on the rest. “But as you said, I’m only a soldier. I can’t give you this kind of life—”
“I don’t care.” She shakes her head. “All I need is you.”
Her arms are around my neck now and I can’t keep myself from sweeping her off the floor, rocking her in my embrace, absorbing the goodness of her. Reeling from the joy and relief of knowing I mean as much to her as she does to me. “I am sick with love for you, Greta. If you don’t need this life, I will steal you from these walls tonight. But please be sure, because once you’re committed to me, I will die before letting you go.”
“Don’t. Don’t ever let me go.” Her mouth is open against my throat. “I love you, too. I feel like I could drown from it.”
“We leave tonight,” I vow, gathering her tight to my body, wondering if she can possibly feel an ounce of the happiness coursing through my veins. “We start our life together tonight. Me and my princess.”
“Yes—”
Trumpets sound in the corridor. They can only mean one thing.
The arrival of the queen.
Greta kisses my throat, squeezing my hand before putting distance in between us. It’s everything I can do not to yank her back and make her tell me again—over and over—that she loves me and wants to spend her life with me. That she has deemed me worthy of her. But I hold on to my composure, standing at Greta’s side as her mother sweeps into the room with a pinched expression.
I know that look from the battlefield. It means danger. And somehow, I know our plans are about to be ruined.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Greta asks, midway through her curtsy.
“It’s the rebels. They’ve bested us in the north.” It’s a rarity to see the queen so overwrought. “They’re moving south now. Though we’re doing our best to hold them, I fear our army will not be enough for long.” She squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath. “It’s now more important than ever that we form an alliance with Prince Kristof’s family. His father the king is very sick, which puts him in charge. Once you’re married, the prince will be obligated to lend us his forces.”
It's a wonder I’m able to remain standing, my grief is so swift and severe.
Greta doesn’t look at me, but she pales, blinking rapidly to waylay her tears and I can all but hear the lid seal shut on my coffin. She’s going to marry the prince. The choice has been taken from us. She cannot run away with me, nor can I kill him as a last resort.
The safety of the country depends on it. She would never turn her back and allow lives to be lost. At the cost of my own sanity, I couldn’t ask her to live with that guilt, even if I’m being sentenced to a life of misery at the very same time.
“We must travel at once. Within the hour,” the queen adds, looking at me. “Will you accompany us, Commander?”
“Where she goes, I go,” I say, automatically—and as the words leave my mouth, I know a truer statement has never been made. No matter how this ends, they will have to pry the princess out of my cold dead hands.
twelve
. . .
Greta
The journey to Quilton is short. Too short.
We travel west in a convoy of SUVs and I don’t have a single free second to communicate with Conrad, which puts me in a state of distress by the time we reach Quilton Palace. He guards me closely, but his expression is closed off, distant. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I suspect he’s reached the same conclusion as me.
There is no way out of this.