Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Here goes. Sandra—or rather, Queen Sandrine—had once ruled this awful kingdom alongside a man named King Ahav. Maybe she’d loved him, maybe she hadn’t. If history wasn’t skewed, he’d been a man despised by his own people. She’d been pregnant when she fled, but to my knowledge, my mother had given birth to no other children, which ensured one of three scenarios:
She lost the baby. She gave up the baby. I was the baby.
If option three proved the winner, my sweet daddy wasn’t my father.
My next bite settled like a ball of lead. Unless someone came forward with new information, there was no way to glean the truth about my parentage. Here, now, I preferred not to know. No one mattered more to me than my dad. Or my mom, if she lived. Did she?
I glanced at the shadow ring decorating my finger and wondered if she had returned to this world when she vanished from mine. Someone could’ve dragged her back.
Hope lived and died in a single heartbeat. If she were here, someone would have recognized her, and word would’ve spread. Jasher would’ve picked up whispers.
Sadness settled on my shoulders as I returned my dishes to the cabinet. Enough swimming in suppositions. I had a journey to complete.
I used the toilet, cleaned up, and anchored my hair in a ponytail. Though I was tempted to leave the mass hanging free, if only to garner another dazed look from Jasher. Pulling on my boots, I debated what to do about Nugget. Lock him in the room or bring him with me and risk another pistol?
Probably best to bring him. If someone came into the room with the weapon… Yeah, best to bring him. “Come on, Nugget.”
Eager to please, he followed me out the door.
I descended the steps and glided into the lobby, instantly engulfed by the scent of coffee. Rowdy piano music played at greater volume. Women filled the area, sitting at tables and chatting, but they weren’t laughing and making merry. Today, they scowled and snapped their words.
“You’ve won Drogan three times, Leona.” Natalie, the speaker, pointed a finger in the mayor’s face. “A statistical impossibility.”
A chorus of “yeah” rang out.
“Are you fraternizing with him?” someone else demanded.
“Never!” Leona puffed up, clearly going on the defensive. “The first and second wins didn’t happen concurrently, which greatly increases the odds of a third. Now, enough of this. Conversation over.”
Someone bellowed, “You’re cheating, we just don’t know how.”
“I should get a turn with him!” Natalie spread her arms. “He killed my parents in front of me.”
The protests ceased upon notice of my arrival. At my feet, Nugget bared his teeth and growled, his eyes flashing red.
Murmurs of “the rabdogs” broke out. The music halted abruptly. Women jumped to their feet, chairs skidding behind them. Everyone pressed against the same wall. Leona shoved her way to the back, hiding behind her constituents.
“Get that filthy creature out of my town,” she demanded, peeking around a woman’s shoulder.
I braced for a showdown. “I suggest you don’t insult my dog.” There would be consequences. Bad ones. I might look like a fluff of nothing, but I was farmgirl scrappy.
“I suggest you leave with it before I have you jailed,” she snarled. “I’m in charge here, and my word is law.”
At least no one brandished a weapon. Nope. Wrong. Several unsheathed daggers.
“She’s with the royal guardsman,” stated the bartender, who stood at the fore of the crowd.
Natalie nodded. “Both are under his protection.”
The mayor paled, but she also found her courage and shouldered her way forward. “What are you doing with an executioner, girl?”
“That is none of your business,” I replied, trying to cobble together a plan. Make a run for it, hoping Nugget gave chase?
A door shut with a hard thud, saving me from having to act. Jasher and his heavy footfalls entered my sphere. He carried an unconscious man over each shoulder. Men he tossed to the floor. Women rushed over to check out the males, ohhhing and ahhhing. Nugget allowed the interaction without freaking.
“I believe the price is ten silvers each,” Jasher stated, raising his chin.
He looked good. Really, really good. Dark hair tousled. Color high. Weapons strapped all over. A bruise decorated his jaw.
“Ouch.” Before I considered my actions, I reached out and grazed my knuckles over the injury. “You got popped a good one.”
Our gazes tangled as he leaned into my touch. That once sporadic, now constant sizzle of awareness flared between us, igniting flutters of desire in my belly. A skill only he possessed. Not even Theo, the guy from the diner, had roused more than a halfhearted interest.
When Jasher slipped his thumb between my hand and traced the pad over my OZ scar, the flutters amplified into a warm, delicious ache.
“Who did you capture?” I asked, pretending I wasn’t breathless.