Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
“Thanks, Otto. See you tomorrow,”
“No, thank you. I know it was awful out there today.”
“We’ll get by, we always do.”
I’ve never thought about where my food comes from before. It’s just always there. Do others have to worry about it? It makes sense that they would, and I find that I hate that.
“That’s the truth of it, lad.”
He continues to walk, and since his stride is so long, I practically have to run to keep up with him.
“Are you going to follow me all night?”
“No,” I lie because I damn well know that I am. I still don’t know why I feel that I have to.
“It’s your country,” he responds, shrugging.
His next stop is a nondescript wooden door, not unlike the door to the kitchens in the palace. I look up and read the sign: The King’s Icy Stag. I have no guesses as to what kind of establishment this could be. He doesn’t hold the door open for me, so I open it myself. Inside, I am immediately greeted with a painting of my parents. A long bar is in front of me, and tables are everywhere. It’s a pub. I’ve never been in one before, not being old enough. Evergreen is the rare European country where the legal drinking age is twenty-one.
“Christopher!” the bartender shouts. My Viking lumberjack’s name is Christopher. It suits him. “The usual?” I can totally imagine him coming in here after a day out on the water and warming up with a drink before going home.
“Yes. Thank you,” he says, sitting down at the bar.
“Princess?” a voice calls from behind me.
“Yes?” I say automatically after turning around. A man has bowed at the waist, so I can’t see his face. “Rise, sir.” I don’t need people to do this. I’m not the heir. Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely, but it’s totally unnecessary.
“Have a drink on me,” an old man who kind of looks like my grandpa says. I take it, though I have no intention of drinking it, though maybe I should. I don’t carry money. I mean I’m sure I have some, but I’ve never needed, like, actual money before.
“Thank you, sir.”
“What brings you to the Stag with the riff-raff?”
“I don’t know about riff-raff. I am enjoying Christopher’s most enlightening company,” I say, sitting on the barstool the man pulled out for me. “Thank you,” I sit next to Christopher, who rolls his eyes at me and downs his beer.
I feel like such a creeper for watching his throat muscles work while he does. Who knew throat muscles were hot? Maybe it’s just him. I slide the beer in front of me over to him and he drinks that too. If it weren’t too obvious, I’d fan myself…
CHAPTER
FOUR
CHRISTOPHER
God, why is she so beautiful, and why am I noticing it? I mean, duh I am noticing because it is hard to miss. She is the exact opposite of her sister. She is bright and tiny. Her ginger-colored hair lends to the theory she might have a fiery temper under that docile demeanor. I mean hell, sitting at this bar staring at her, I can picture her alabaster skin with her hair covering her nipples, shining for the sweat we have made together. “What the fuck?” I curse at myself, chugging the beer in my hand and tapping the bartender for another. I have got to get a grip. She is one of them; no matter how sweet her voice is, she is a part of the problem.
“Can I get you a drink, your majesty?” I look at the bartender like he's crazy. All of Evergreen knows she's underage.
“Oh no, thank you. Do you have a soda?” She asks while sitting next to me. Goosebumps break out at the proximity, but I maintain my silence. I watch the bartender slide her drink across the wooden counter and sigh because I know she is going to be sitting here for at least another few minutes. It doesn't escape me that the bartender is staying abnormally close to us, which is also irritating.
“So, is this how mature people are handling things now?” Dear Lord, is she talking to me now? I take another sip and hope like hell, she gets the picture. “I mean, obviously, I offended you somehow, right? That is the only explanation for how you are acting. So why don’t you tell me how I, a relative stranger, offended you so we can handle it like mature adults.” I turn to look at her, seriously shocked she is still sitting here, and I plan to tell her just that, but then Nosy McNosy chimes in.
“Hardly a stranger, your highness.” I turn and look at him, giving him the death glare. He covers his mouth and has the nerve to look sheepish. “My apologies. A habit of the job,” he says before scurrying away from us.