Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Thorsen.” My father’s deafening voice booms from behind me, and every muscle fiber in my body knits together, bracing for his impact.
He’s striding down the hall with two of his personal staff in tow and my brother not far behind. Calder gives me a warning glance, silently alerting me our father is already on the warpath.
“Your mother is resting today.” His lips twist into a sneer. “She doesn’t need any visitors. And I need a word with you now.”
“Regarding what?” I provoke him. It’s no secret what the king wants to speak to me about.
His nostrils flare as his eyes cut to Astrid, and with a single look, he dismisses her. There are more appropriate places in the palace to discuss these matters, but my father has never given a second thought to airing his grievances in front of the staff.
“You know damned well what I’m referring to.” He narrows his eyes at me. “King Lars wants to know why Princess Yasmine has not yet received an official offer of marriage.”
“I have already discussed this with you at length. I’m not marrying Princess Yasmine, and if you have failed to inform King Lars of my decision, that’s your problem, not mine.”
His face mottles with red, hands curling into weapons at his sides. Right now, I imagine he wants to lodge one of those fists into my noncompliant mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You seem to think you have a choice,” he growls. “But you forget that it merely takes one signature from me to alter your life forever.”
“And what, you’ll drag me down the aisle in chains?” I challenge. “What would the media think?”
He launches himself at me, slamming me back against the wall as his fingers twist around my throat. His resentment for me blots out the color in his eyes like the moon eclipsing the sun. He wishes I was never born, and he doesn’t bother to hide it anymore.
“I am your king!” he roars. “And you will fall into line, so help me, Odin.”
“Father.” Calder attempts to intervene by grabbing his arm, only to be shoved aside.
Elias Lykken doesn’t look like much of a king as he crushes my trachea between his fingers, taunting me with his eyes. He wants me to fight back. He wants me to protest and beg, and if he knew me at all, he would understand there are no protests left in me. He’d do me a favor if he simply finished the job, right here and now.
“Thorsen.” Calder’s voice penetrates my dark thoughts, and when I search his eyes, the fear I witness there wakes me up to my cold reality. He always wants me to fight, even with the demons weighing me down.
“Elias!” The sharpness in my mother’s voice startles all of us as she appears in the doorway. “What is happening here?”
I shove my father’s hand away and move toward her, preparing to catch her if she falls.
“You shouldn’t be up without your chair,” I admonish her.
“Thorsen.” She reaches out with a trembling hand, clearly shaken by what she’s just witnessed. “What are you two fighting about?”
The king is uncharacteristically quiet as he studies her, his jaw working. He can’t tell her what he really wants to say, and I don’t want them to fight about it again.
“It’s nothing,” I assure her. “Let me help you back to your bed.”
She shrugs me off, swaying slightly but refusing to allow any of our help. “Don’t treat me as if I can’t understand what’s happening right in front of me,” she says. “Now, one of you tell me the truth.”
“There was a disagreement about Thorsen’s impending marriage,” Calder explains. “He doesn’t accept the idea, and the king is displeased.”
My mother looks at my father, confusion shining in her eyes. “I thought you said he’d agreed to marry Princess Yasmine.”
My head throbs as I imagine the contents of his skull splattered across the floor. A bloody and violent death is what he deserves. It’s one thing for him to hound me, but it’s another for him to lie to her. The disappointment in my mother’s eyes is unmistakable. She wants to see me settled and happy before she goes. In her mind, the cure for all my problems is a woman with a soft heart. It’s a grand notion, albeit unrealistic, and I regret that I can’t give her the peace of mind she desperately wants.
“I’m sorry, Mor.” I dip my head to hide my frustration. “I can’t marry Yasmine.”
“If not her, then who?” she asks, her voice wavering.
“This is something to work out between us, Frida,” the king tells her. “You have no need to worry. I assure you we will find a suitable match for Thorsen.”
It’s impossible to miss the murderous scowl leveled at me, but Calder is quick to take on the role of mediator.