Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Swallowing, I stare at my feet. It’s so easy to think of Pretha as the losing party in their tangled relationship. She was in love with the female who was betrothed to her brother, and when her parents found out, they sent her away. I never gave much thought to how that must’ve been for Misha, marrying a woman who didn’t love him, who wanted his sister. “I’m sorry,” I say, but when I look up again, the amusement has returned to his expression.
“Why?”
“I just . . . The whole situation. I’m sorry you didn’t get to marry someone you love.”
“I do love her, Abriella.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Maybe not in the way husbands love their wives in your world, but she is dear to me. She’s my best friend, as you humans might say it.”
“Will you two have children?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. I’m overstepping. It’s practically obscene to ask such a personal question, and it’s absolutely none of my business.
“Amira has lovers,” he says with a shrug. “As do I. Perhaps one day we’ll be blessed with a child, but if not, there are many others in my line who would serve as capable rulers.”
They both have lovers, but not each other? I’ve pushed far enough already, so I don’t dare ask. It’s not like it’ll change anything for Pretha, even if I do want my friend to be able to be with the one she loves.
My friend? Is she still that? Even now?
“For what it’s worth, I believe my sister considers you her friend,” Misha says with a sad smile. “You’ll just have to decide if you’ll allow her to be yours.”
I clench my jaw, but instead of scolding him for reading my thoughts, I shake my head. “Tell me how to block.”
He sighs, and I wonder if he was hoping to talk me into trusting his sister again. “I’m trying to think of a good path for you.” He taps his index finger to his lips. “How about this? I want you to think of the difference between being mortal and being immortal.”
“The difference?” I ask.
“It’s hard to say what that means for you. After all, you had power even before you became immortal. But even so, your connection to that magic is different now, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Completely different.” I could tap into it before, but it was usually a conscious choice. A decision. Now it’s just there. All the time. Now it’s more like I have to consciously choose not to use it.
“Tell me,” he says.
I shrug. “It’s just there now.”
“Describe it. Before. How was it not there before?”
“It’s almost as if magic is right in front of me now. All around me all the time. I don’t have to search for it or even open my eyes to know it’s present. Whereas before, using it was more like . . .” I try to think of a way to explain. “It’s the difference between looking at something right in front of you and looking at it through a grimy window.”
Misha’s eyes light up. “Perfect. I can work with that.”
“What do you mean?”
He stares into the distance, as if we had all the time in the world. “I mean we’ll be using what you envision to put a wall up in the middle of your bond with your prince. You just need to think of that grimy window, as you call it. Take that window and black out the glass. Now imagine it not between you and your magic, but between you and Sebastian’s emotions.”
I shake my head. “They’re inside of me,” I say, pressing my hand to my chest. “I feel them almost as if they’re mine.”
“Close your eyes,” he says, and I reluctantly obey. “What’s he feeling now?”
It’s not that simple. His emotions blur into mine and make this muddled mess in my mind that leaves me feeling spent and exhausted.
“Shhh. Focus.”
I exhale slowly and focus on the very thing I’ve been trying to ignore since I fled the Golden Palace. What I feel. What he feels. “He’s sad, and he’s . . . worried. He’s very worried about something.” He’s also hopeful. Hopeful that the team he assembled this morning will be successful and he’ll be able to earn my trust back.
I flick my gaze up to Misha, worried that he might be reading my mind and know I visited Sebastian last night, but he seems lost in his own thoughts.
“Okay,” Misha says. “Now keep your eyes closed and follow those emotions. You feel them inside you. Trace them back to their roots, as if you’re following a thread that’s tangled up in your chest. I want you to find the end of that thread, and I want you to pull slowly. Bit by bit.”