The Wrong Bride (Kings of Fury #1) Read Online Gena Showalter

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Funny, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Kings of Fury Series by Gena Showalter
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
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He snorted again and oh, how I adored the sound. “The name is supposed to embolden young children.”

“Embolden them? Lesson plan objective unachieved.” I shook my head, my every educator’s instinct balking at the idea of children in danger within these twisting walkways. “I’d think it would frighten and deter them.”

“Ah, but fear conquered is strength activated. So yes, embolden.” Lines crossed his forehead. “Children of berserkers often grow up with uncertainty, knowing they are different. Dangerous. As they master this maze and its intricate design, they learn to face an unknown future with confidence. The rage of those who died in battles is said to imbue these thorny vines and enchanted pathways.”

“The castle isn’t enchanted, but the maze is?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Legends have a way of becoming distorted over the centuries.” He crooked his elbow in my direction. “In any case, it’s time to conquer your fear.”

Grateful, I tucked my arm through his, once again relishing his intoxicating scent. “I’m ready to emerge on the other side with confidence,” I told him with a firm nod.

As one, we crossed the grassy entrance of the maze. At least I understood the foreboding I’d felt the first two times I entered. But how had I missed those ominous runes carved into stone, weathered by elements and time?

No wolves howled in the distance, and yet, I sensed a simmering rage as the grass flattened beneath our footsteps. Goose bumps formed along my arms.

“Do the children venture through this thing alone?” I asked.

He shook his head. “They go in groups of three.”

“Ah yes, that makes sense. Scouts go in groups of three, too, so one girl can stay with the injured while the other searches for help.”

“For sentinels in battle, the triangle formation maximizes the ability to protect your back and cover each other’s blind spots while maintaining offensive capabilities.”

“So exactly the same,” I replied, and he laughed outright. His amusement didn’t last long, but it thrilled me.

Eyes wide as we motored on, he admitted, “I never laugh.”

But he did with me. I rested my head on his shoulder before I realized I’d moved. “Will Mirren get to conquer the maze?”

“At some point.” He sighed. “A few months ago, she accompanied me to a celebration ceremony. Afterward, she told me she was born to be a queen of sentinels and she would prove her strength by conquering the maze faster than any others.”

“Tell me more about this celebration ceremony.”

“As king, it’s my duty to greet those who make it to the exit. They receive top honors when they begin their combat training.”

I heard the pride in his voice, his joy in their accomplishments. “You care about them as if they’re your own.”

“Because they are. I’m their sovereign, responsible for their continued wellbeing.”

Did he more than like me? Did he, perhaps, care about me, too?

A lump clogged my throat. Don’t fall for him. Not him.

“It’s more than a responsibility to you.” I admired this about him. Greatly. “You want each individual to do well for their own sake, not just because of the clan thing. You lead by example, always tell the truth, even when it hurts, and don’t do what’s easy but what’s right. You’re a good king.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. “You said scouts, not guides.”

I allowed the subject change without comment. “I did, yes.”

“Since you insist on using that American accent and way of speaking, let’s test your knowledge of the country.”

He hoped to trip me up and force me to admit I was Scottish. A game more fun than dangerous, considering his motive. Rubbing mental hands together with glee, I replied, “Bring it on, berserker boy.”

“What year was the US Constitution written?”

“1787.” Thank you, Mrs. Hayes, for making your fifth-grade students memorize a poem about our great land.

In seventeen eighty-seven, our nation’s fate was spun,

A Constitution born, the work of many, not of one.

Disappointment flashed over Callen’s handsome face, and I inwardly chuckled.

We passed a shadowy alcove nestled within foliage. A statue of a fearsome warrior clutching a sword pulsed with an almost otherworldly force.

“Where was the first capital?” he asked.

“New York City.” Bam! I’d aced high school history class, too. I smiled up at him sweetly, only to go breathless when I spied a tinge of admiration in his eyes. I think he liked my ability to surprise him.

“Name a war fought in the 1800s.”

Of course the warrior king would ask that question. “Surprise, surprise, the War of 1812.” Battles had never really interested me, but hey, it wasn’t my fault he’d chosen a century and there just happened to be a war with the year in its title.

“I should have stipulated any war but that one,” he groused. “How many versions of the US flag have there been?”

Uh, color me stumped! I skidded to a halt, grousing, “No one is gonna know that.”


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