Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
“Son, calm,” his father urged.
“I’ll hear the words spoken,” True said to Mercy.
“Yes,” she said tightly. “You’re understood.”
“Excellent. Now apologize to her,” True demanded.
Vanka emitted a peep.
His mother, the queen, visibly bristled at being told to apologize to an untitled foreigner.
True did not back down for this was not what he asked.
He asked his fucking mother to apologize for being rude to the woman who was going to be his wife.
“True, that’s unnecessary,” Farah whispered.
His mother held his gaze.
“Mother,” True pushed.
“Son,” Wilmer murmured.
The table sat still and silent as a son, who was a prince and a soldier, clashed with his mother, who was the invisible monarch.
“Aunt Mercy, truly, you should apologize.”
True’s head jerked in surprise as he felt Farah’s hand in his spasm after Silence made this demand.
“Now,” Silence decreed. “It’s altogether unseemly you should speak thus to your soon-to-be daughter-in-law and, I mean, it’s horrible to bring up considering the grave loss so recently suffered, but it’s true, should you outlive Uncle Wilmer, Farah’s your future queen. And this discourtesy at the breakfast table no less. So very unlike you. Goodness.”
By the gods.
Silence might be stumbling in finding her way as a wife, but she was certainly finding her footing as a queen.
If he wasn’t so bloody angry, he’d laugh.
“Aunt Mercy,” Silence urged.
“My apologies, my soon-to-be daughter,” Mercy gritted.
“That wasn’t very convincing, but it’ll do,” Silence murmured then looked to Farah. “Yes?”
“Yes, of course. Absolutely. And Queen Mercy, I’ll select a servant,” Farah promised.
“You bloody will not,” True bit. “I’ll do your gods-damned laces if need be. If you don’t wish a servant, you don’t have to have one. You’re going to be bloody queen. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
Jasmine chuckled.
Farah stared up at him with big eyes and said conciliatorily, “All right, my True.”
“Yes,” he clipped. “Your True.”
With that, he let her hand go, pushed his chair back, got up, pulled hers out and helped her from it.
His eyes went to Silence. “She’ll seek you for your stroll when she’s ready.”
Silence was grinning up at him. “Of course, cousin.”
He noted Mars wasn’t grinning up at him.
Mars was studying his wife like he’d never seen her before.
True looked to his mother. “We’ll part on bad terms if you don’t use the time it takes for the women to have a wander to find words to make amends. I strongly suggest you take that time and find those words, Mother.”
She lifted her chin at him.
It was set stubbornly.
But she’d find a way.
It would be far from genuine, but she’d do it in a manner that was appeasing.
She had a gift with that.
He tucked Farah’s hand in his elbow and moved them from the table.
When they were halfway to their tent, she noted, “I hadn’t actually finished my breakfast.”
He pivoted them instantly and started back until Farah broke free, laughing softly, and stood in front of him with both hands on his chest to stop him.
He stopped.
“I was joking, True,” she told him, studied his face but a moment and said, “Though perhaps it’s not a good time for that.”
“I would have your life filled with laughter and teasing. When I’m angry, it’s the best time, my Farah.” He was sure to note that she noted the word he stressed, which she did, hearteningly, before he went on, “For I dislike being angry, sweetling. And your eyes alive with humor like they are right now could fill a dead man’s heart with gladness.”
Her lips parted.
And he watched them do so.
Gods, he wished to kiss her.
His mouth was dry with the need and this was becoming an affliction, this need was near fucking constant.
And sleeping at her side night after night…
Agony.
But her mother hadn’t been entombed for even a month.
An unseemly time for a woman to be wed, thus he sought to give her more of it to mourn as well as him having some to help her fall in love with her new home.
Not to mention her future husband.
It was regrettably also an unseemly time for a gentleman to advance his affections.
When she woke him last night, and he again had to witness her in her scant, clinging nightgown—in bed, beside him, when he was vulnerable after having one of his dreams—he’d been unable even to move for fear of what he’d move to do if he did.
But he’d managed to find a moment to offer her a chaste kiss.
It was all he could have.
For some time.
And it had been him who had decreed they’d sleep side by side every night.
He wished to make certain she was safe. Her mother had died abed.
But it was killing him.
Fuck.
Instead of kissing her in that moment, he wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her to his side.
She put her arm around his waist.
This was much better.
He pivoted them again and resumed their walk to the tent.