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)
They have no idea what Romeria has accomplished. But why would they? Still, it’s best to keep that secret as long as I can. If they believe me weak from lack of blood, they’ll eventually become lax with their guard.
“You’ll understand if I don’t accept assurances from a man who holds me captive.”
He snaps his fingers and the young mortal darts away. “He cannot be trusted. Keep his chains on, and if he tries anything while they finish bathing him, shove a spear through his gut. See if he can withstand that.” King Cheral leaves and the woman in white trails behind him, stealing a glance at me.
The guards who remain keep their weapons aimed as the two servants scrub away blood and dirt. I hiss at the sting from the wound I cannot see on my shoulder and one drops her bucket, splashing water at our feet and earning the guards’ snarls. She’s sent off to fetch a new one while the other continues. This one is not feigning anything as she moves to face me, washing the dried blood from my neck. No doubt she grew up hearing bedtime stories of Malachi’s demons and believes every word.
“I will not harm you,” I whisper, infusing as much sincerity in my voice as I can muster.
“No speak to her!” a guard barks, fumbling with my language.
I bite my tongue against a retort that will likely earn me a fresh wound. There’s no point in any of it. Even if she did understand me, my words do nothing to ease her fear.
14
Tyree
I cover my eyes with my palm, the rising sun’s glare against the sea especially blinding this morning.
“You may fare better with proper rest,” Captain Aron calls out. “There is a second pallet in the cabin the princess occupies.”
“Lie next to the Islorian who aims to slit my throat? I fare just fine where I am.” I haven’t moved from this spot on the main deck since the first night we set sail, save for the need to relieve myself. The wooden crates grant me a place to sit and a decent vantage point. The mast at my back holds me up.
It seems as good a place as any to die.
He sighs. “Suit yourself.”
“You are one to speak. Do you sleep on your feet?”
Captain Aron rarely leaves the helm, never for more than an hour or two at a time.
He throws a smirk over his shoulder. “I don’t think you want me lazing in bed. These waters promise many trials, and my second did not make it to the ship in time. The rest of this lot? I wouldn’t trust to get us all the way there.”
“Whatever you need to do.” I unfasten Annika’s silk belt and check the dagger wound on my thigh, grimacing as I note the trickle of blood. It’s been days and there’s no sign of stemming it. This is far worse than any of the wounds inflicted upon me during my weeks in captivity.
But I’m sure the princess knew what she was doing when she plunged the blade into my thigh. I study the smooth, bronzed handle of the dagger. A fate’s token. Of course an Islorian princess would carry nothing less. It’s deceivingly dainty, much like its owner. It will likely be my downfall.
Much like its owner.
Speak of the demon …
Annika emerges from the deck below, nibbling on a biscuit, her cascade of plump blond ringlets only slightly matted. Even several days at sea, donning a dress stained with my blood and a blanket half devoured by moths, she still appears regal.
When we first arrived in Cirilea ahead of my sister’s nuptials and I laid eyes on Princess Annika Ascelin, daughter of King Eachann and Queen Esme, it took me a few beats to remember who she was—what she was—and why I had come to Islor in the first place.
Certainly not to bed her.
Annika’s beauty is without equal, I will grant her that. It’s no wonder she has an endless supply of fools crooking their necks and donating their veins. That she’s royalty is the sharpened edge on a masterfully crafted blade.
“Did you bring me a biscuit?” I call out, my stomach growling.
She follows my voice and wrinkles her nose as if disgusted by the sight of me. “You know where they are.”
“The stairs are a challenge with my injured leg.” The truth is, I can barely stand, but I don’t want anyone on this ship knowing how vulnerable I’ve become.
“Perhaps you should have stayed in your perfectly comfortable room in Cirilea, then.”
If I had stayed there, I would certainly be dead by now. I shake my head. “You enjoy kicking a wounded animal when it’s down.”
“When that wounded animal plotted to kill me and deserves to suffer?” she snaps. “Gladly.”
The end of a nearby hemp rope suddenly whips across my thigh, landing directly on my laceration. I scream, my vision blurring from the agony. For a moment, I think I might pass out. “Is that the best you can do?” I manage through ragged breaths. If only I could shed these blasted cuffs Atticus slapped on me to quell my affinity.