Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Then there was the one with the upside-down triangle in the circle to which at two sides there were wings.
The Head.
Aramus. King of the Mar-el. Pirate. Protector of the Seas.
And the one with one triangle over the other in a circle, around which there was a flower.
The Heart.
True. Prince of the Dellish. Heir to the throne.
And the one with the crescent moon at the top, surrounded by two circles, which was surrounded by lotus petals.
The Cock.
Mars. King of Firenze. Ascended the throne after his father’s assassination. Ruled now beloved by his people.
And the last, another upside-down triangle in which was a flame over a lamp, boxed in a square, surrounded by a circle, out of which, north, south, east, west, sprung lotus petals.
The Balls.
Cassius. The Second Son. Prince of Airen. Born but a soldier and now heir to the throne.
With a clatter, The Crystal and The Head shot together, clacked loudly, sparked marine fire and dropped as one tile with now the crystal in the center of the insignia.
The others snapped and rattled.
And with a strike of vermillion, The Sage mated with The Heart and fell to the altar, the wise hand now embedded in the center of the triangle on the sign.
And then there was a flash of green, The Shadow united with The Cock and fell to the alter, the shroud gone, a face with eyes wide open, lips curved into a small smile where the crescent moon had been.
It was that which made Ophelia emit a hushed whine she could not control before the blaze of coral took The Warrior tile straight to The Balls, and with a muted explosion, they dropped to the slab, the candle gone, a unicorn now standing proud in the center of the symbol.
The magic receded, and the altar was lit only by moonlight as the witches stared down.
They knew Aramus and Ha-Lah.
But now it was Farah and True.
Silence and Mars.
And Elena and Cassius.
There could be no worse coupling for Ophelia.
For Elena.
It was her deepest fear.
Realized.
Rebecca spoke first.
“I am sorry, my sister.”
“As am I.”
“As am I.”
“As am I.”
Ophelia gazed at the unicorn on the final tile for long moments, hoping its magic and abundance signified something promising, before she lifted her eyes to her sistren.
“It is done,” she announced.
It was not.
Not yet.
But it would be.
By every goddess and all things holy.
Ophelia just yearned deep into the core of her heart that none of those daughters suffered.
Overly much.
Especially her own.
But alas, for her own daughter she feared she would not be there to see.
3
The Second Son
Prince Cassius Laird
Crown Prince’s Bedchamber, Sky Citadel, Sky Bay
AIREN
Cassius held his hand over the maid’s mouth as he thrust inside her, his other hand tucked between her legs, his middle finger busy.
And effective, if the difficulty he was having containing her moans and whimpers and muted “Pleases” and “Mores” and “Harders” could be credited.
Fortunately, in short order, she climaxed.
Now, finally, he could see to himself.
This he did as swiftly as possible and with a grunt that he did not try to stifle and not only because it was not loud.
What had just happened had been…
Adequate.
He did not bow into her when he finished in order to recover, mostly because there was not much from which to recover.
Drawing breath, he pulled out, dropped her skirts that he’d been holding up with a forearm at the front, her hips had done that at the back, and stepped away from her where she held on to one of the posts of his bed.
He put both hands to the buttons of his leathers after he tucked his still-wet-and-hard cock inside. He’d wash her from him later, when she could not see.
“Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Thank you,” he muttered, moving toward the door, continuing to button his trousers.
“Your Grace!” she called.
By the bloody gods, this was the part he hated the worst.
He turned eyes to her to see she had languid, but bright and hopeful eyes on him.
“It is…always so quick. I could…visit you in the night,” she offered haltingly.
“No,” Cassius declined abruptly, turned and strode from the room.
Only to practically run into Mac as he made his turn into the passageway seeing as his man was leaning, shoulders against the black stone of the citadel right by the door to Cassius’s bedchamber, head turned toward Cassius, sly smile on his mouth.
“We should get you a professional, my brother. You’d climax a whole lot louder,” Mac, or as his father had named him, Macrinus offered.
“I tire of my hand,” Cassius murmured, continuing to walk down the wide passageway, his boots muted by the thick runner swirled in dark colors from black to charcoal to midnight with bare hints of silver.
If you had the time, which he rarely had, and you stood in the corridor and allowed your eyes to take it in, the long expanse of runner looked like a never-ending strip of the night sky.