Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “You sit, please.”
Everyone’s staring at me, so I go to remove my ring.
Only it doesn’t move.
I try again.
It’s stuck.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Felicity
OUTSIDE MY WINDOW, THE LIGHT show of the evening sun competes with the vibrant colors of the trees for the most beautiful sight. I want to ignore the soft knock at my door and sit here all night. If I could, I’d hide from the guests who’ve filled the castle for tonight’s ball. Hide from the responsibilities of Jasalyn, Unseelie princess, and sit here and relive every moment of last night with Misha.
But I don’t have the luxury of time. Shae made sure of that when he left me with only a few hairs. I have tonight. Tomorrow morning, I’ll leave to find the portal.
“Come in,” I call, not bothering to move from the window.
My handmaids warned me they’d be here to help me dress early this evening so I could be announced at the ball at the beginning of the night. “As a queen should be,” one said, winking at me like she was in on some big secret.
The thought is so laughable. I am no queen. I am the daughter of a horribly evil man, a girl who was raised in the rural farmlands of Elora and has been in hiding her whole life. I grew up running around the farm barefoot with scuffed knees and elbows. The only reason I learned anything about court etiquette was because Hale’s mother knew I might need to use my skills to take the form of a royal one day, though in truth she hoped I’d never have to leave the safety of the farm at all.
I hoped the same, but fate had other plans.
“Good evening,” someone says behind me.
I turn and straighten at the sight of the former Wild Fae queen. “Queen Amira.” I pull my robe together as best I can and dip into a curtsy. “My apologies, Your Grace, I expected my handmaids.”
“Please, it’s just Amira,” she says, gliding into the room. She’s so graceful—her movements a perfect match to her peace-evoking presence. She clasps her hands in front of her and gives me a small smile. “I hoped we could speak for a moment before the ball.”
Why, yes, I am in love with your former husband, the king, and yes, I am deceiving him every day, and when he discovers I’m not who I claimed to be, he will hate me forever without ever knowing my face. Nice chat. Bye!
I return her smile. “Of course!”
She turns to the wardrobe where my gown for tonight hangs on a hook outside the door. The gown is lovely. A burnt-orange, off-the-shoulder wrap dress that accentuates all of Jasalyn’s best attributes—her coloring as well as her petite hourglass figure.
It’s not the first time I’ve wished I didn’t have to be here stuck in this form, but I dread the fuss over the dress and makeup and hair for tonight. I have no doubt that by the time I step into the ballroom, I will look beautiful. Because Jas is beautiful.
And when Misha looks at me and his eyes go dark, when he tucks his hands in his pockets as if he’s struggling to keep them to himself, I already know it will hurt a little, and I will have no one to blame for that hurt but myself.
I’ve let this go on too long.
When Amira turns her gaze from the dress to me, her brow is wrinkled. “You don’t like it?”
I wince. As an empath, she must find my conflicting emotions confusing, given how beautiful the dress is. “I do.” Emotion clogs my throat. “I think it might be the loveliest dress I’ve ever worn.”
She cocks her head to the side, studying me. “But you aren’t sure what Misha will think.” She sighs and glances toward the bed. “May I sit?”
“Um . . . yes, if you please.”
She smooths her skirts and takes a seat on the edge of the neatly made bed. “Misha isn’t simply my king and my former husband,” she says. “He is my dearest friend.”
I clasp my hands in front of me. “Of course. He’s told me as much. I admire the relationship you two have.”
Her eyes are bright with sincerity. “When he brought you to Castle Craige, he never intended for anything . . .” She clears her throat and drops her gaze to her lap. This is not a female who meddles. She’s here because she loves Misha—no other reason—but this is awkward for her. “Well, I don’t want you to think this was all some grand scheme to win your hand. He brought you here as a favor to Abriella, and I believe the change that’s arisen between you two has been a surprise to you both.”
I grip one hand in the other so tightly I’m likely to bruise. “What are you trying to say?”