Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Ha!” cries Prince Roark. “Give her a week and she’ll be beating you, Titus.”
Titus does his best to look amiable, but his eyes linger on Roark after he turns his back for too long. Queen Korinthia claps her hands together twice, beckoning her servants. Within seconds, three servants are at her side, hoisting the chair she sits on and literally carrying her like some ancient ruler across the lawn. She doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the display--if anything, she’s looking at me like I should be impressed.
I slow my pace as the Queen and her bearers pass by at a speed to catch up with Titus, who is nearly to where his ball landed.
“I know,” says Prince Roark, who walks up beside me as I head for my ball. “You must think us ridiculous by now.”
“N-no,” I stammer.
He smirks. “Worried I’ll take you down to the dungeon again if you misspeak?”
I stop in my tracks, eyes wide.
“Easy, Elizabeth,” he says. “I’m only kidding.”
“Of course,” I say, but I feel the oddest sense of disappointment. Is that really what I want? Do I really want to go back down there with this man who I should be terrified of? If the rumors and mystery surrounding Prince Roark weren’t enough to make it clear that I should stay away, the fact that I’m supposed to be marrying his brother certainly should. Then again, the idea that I could be sold off to marry someone I’ve never met without my consent is an insult, and even if the person I was promised to didn’t seem to be a slimebag, I’d hesitate to make good on a promise like that--if I had a choice, that is.
My eyes wander the courtyard, lingering on the men who patrol the second floor balconies of the palace all around us and the way the sun bounces off the pistols at their hips. I think back to the long walk from the gates to the palace, wondering if I could even find my way out again, and even if I did, there were the guards at the gate--not to mention the hundreds and hundreds of yards worth of open space I’d need to run and hope no one spotted me.
I’m trapped here.
I may not have realized it last night because reality hadn’t had time to sink all the way in, but now I see it clear as day. The only way out of here is by gaining trust. Maybe I can somehow fake my way through this arranged marriage long enough to build trust. Once I’ve built trust, maybe they will give me the opening I need to slip away.
“But if you try to escape again, I won’t have any choice,” he adds with a glint in his eye that is far from threatening.
My mouth feels suddenly dry. “Oh?” I ask. “You would be the one to catch me? Not one of the guards?”
He flicks his eyebrows up, looking down thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t trust anyone here, Princess,” he says, “but there’s one thing you can count on. If you try to escape again, it’s going to be me who catches you.”
He stops walking abruptly and I nearly collide with him.
“Your ball,” he says, tapping the ground with his bat before moving on to his.
“Wait!” I call out. “What do I do with it?”
He turns back and casually flicks his bat down on the ball, making it jump a few feet into the air. Roark mimics a swing and then turns to walk toward his ball again.
“Oh,” I say to myself quietly. “No big deal. Just hit the thing up into the air and then hit it again…”
8
Roark
Watching Elizabeth with my brother has been more trying than I ever expected. Last week, I had to watch her through an entire round of fielding, trying not to stare at her tits and ass in her athletic dress, and trying not to run my Blade through Titus’ gut every time he spoke to her or insulted her. The past few days have been no easier, either. We’ve brushed shoulders or exchanged a handful of flirtatious words several times, and yet here I sit in the dining hall while she is at my brother’s side, listening to another of his inflated stories. I grip my fork tightly, trying not to watch.
I’m grateful that propriety keeps my brother from putting his hands all over Elizabeth, as doing so--in public, at least--would mark her as impure and invalidate their union to come. Remembering that I laid my mark on her ass sends a thrill through me, one that nearly satiates the growing desire to act out and feed the darkness. It has been rising in me again. For a few days after I punished Elizabeth, I had a calm and peace like I’ve never known, like I could imagine a life where I wasn’t compelled to inflict violence. Punishing her bought me more time than violence ever has, but I feel the need growing again, rising up in me like something black and hungry.