Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” His voice must have been what pulled me from my stupor.
He flourishes a smile that doesn’t reach his pale blue eyes. “I asked how it feels to be conquered by mortals?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He strolls closer to the cage, allowing me a better glimpse of the fine lines around his features. How old must the mortal king be now? Past his sixth decade, surely. “Even now, hanging from chains and with no one but rodents for company, the great Usurper King Atticus refuses to accept defeat.”
“Is that what you call it? Defeat?” I offer a lazy smile. “Every eastern lord who supported your treachery is locked in a cell, and I can promise when my brother returns to Cirilea to reclaim it—if he has not already—he will rid Islor of them once and for all. Without them, you have nothing.”
“I have you.”
My chuckle is dark. “Zander would sooner barter for a lame horse than negotiate for my life.” I claim this, but I’m not sure I believe the words.
I don’t even know how to play draughts.
That caster’s voice whispers in my ear often. I would have died that night outside of the Goat’s Knoll if not for her. I am sure she is inexplicably linked to Romeria, who has every reason to wish me dead. So, why would she ask this caster to save me? “Unless Zander’s so desperate to kill me himself, that is,” I think out loud. It’s the only rational explanation. “Then, you may earn a lame horse out of the deal.”
“We will see.” King Cheral’s hard gaze drags over my battered body. “My men were surprised that you survived the battle. By all accounts, you should be dead.”
“Remove these chains and they can try again.”
“I am no fool. Your prowess with the blade is legendary.” He snaps his fingers. “Clean him up! He stinks of death. I cannot bear standing next to him.”
Two young female servants scurry out from the shadows with pails of water and washcloths. The guards unlock the cage door. It swings open with a noisy creak, and they step inside, their eyes downcast.
Was I imagining things earlier, on the ship? I inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of their mortal blood. But like on the ship, it stirs nothing inside me. No urge, no craving. Fates, how did Romeria pull this off? No matter. It seems Zander got what he has always wanted—freedom from Malachi’s curse.
But at what cost, I must wonder.
The servants’ pulses race with fear. Is this their first time near an Islorian? I make a conscious effort to remain still as they dip the cloths into the buckets and begin at my legs, hoping that will assuage their nerves.
Warm water sluices off my skin with their gentle strokes. It reminds me of the night I took the arrow to my chest and Gracen cared for me, bathing the blood from my skin and giving me her vein.
And her love.
Does she still wait for me within the castle? What will she say when she learns that I knew of the end of the blood curse when I was still executing mortals? I can’t imagine I’ll be forgiven for my part in it all. I should have stopped the killings the moment that letter landed in my hands. I should have responded to Romeria with something other than a taunt. That is what a good king would have done.
Perhaps it is best that Grace finds no more appeal in me. Without the blood curse, she will remain mortal and survive only a handful of decades, anyway. We are both better off apart.
“What has the usurper king’s thoughts so grim?” King Cheral asks.
I snap out of my daze. “All those wives and you prefer to watch your servants bathe your prisoner?” The girls have moved to my torso, working quickly to wash away the filth.
He ignores my slight. “It has been days since your capture. You must be thirsty.” He beckons forward another mortal in a simple gauzy white gown, her feet bare. “Give him your vein.”
The two servants shift to the corners, making room for the third to approach me. She’s a young and diminutive thing with flaxen-colored hair, her face barely level with my chest. She keeps her gaze there as she holds her wrist against my mouth.
I inhale the delightful scent. “Jasmine and lemongrass. That’s a lovely combination.” My lips graze her delicate skin with my words, stirring gooseflesh.
She waits a few beats and then peers up at me through green eyes. Her slight body trembles, but no fear stirs in her pulse. All I sense is the heady anticipation that I’ve sensed many times before from mortals offering their vein.
Interesting.
“Just water, if you will. Please.”
Shock flitters across her face, then disappointment.
Also interesting.
“You are refusing her?” King Cheral’s eyebrows arch with surprise, but then his shoulders sink as if with understanding. “Ah, yes, of course. You fear the poison. I assure you though, it has not crossed into Kier.”