Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
“The last man to fall a Stag of Sunrise gained the ability to travel great distances through the shadowild, and even visit other realms that way. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I lie restless at night wondering what could awaken in me if I were to take the beast’s heart.”
He seems so genuinely excited, some of my resolve to hate him dwindles.
“That sounds incredible. And none of the hunters know what power the stag can give them?”
Anatole nods. “That’s part of the draw. The unknown. You must agree mystery can be endlessly enticing?”
I think of this Realm and the mystery of the future it might hold for me. Great love? Riches? The best sex of my life? Or a dungeon in the shadowild? Would that be worse than going back home? At least that would be familiar misery. Am I ready to jump into the unknown, hoping for a great prize?
I smile at him, lost in my own thoughts. “It is. The chance for something more, even if you don’t know what that might be.”
I stiffen when Anatole reaches for my face and picks something out of my hair. It’s a leaf, and he drops it to the ground with a smile. “I would very much like to get to know you better. Would you grant me a dance?” he asks, nodding toward the crowd spinning on the other side of the bonfire.
I don’t want to dance with him, but what if refusing to is a terrible social blunder? It’s pointless to antagonize anyone here, but Kyran warned me about the Goldweeds. Anatole might be setting me up to break protocol and embarrass myself, and while Kyran and I didn’t discuss dancing with other people, I would be pretty pissed off if he were to take another boy for a spin.
As my gaze settles on the dancers, my body hair bristles, because I spot a face that does not belong. There’s a variety of features among the elves, but they all look more chiseled than the average human, a bit like postmodern sculptures that retain a degree of realism yet are somewhat strange.
But the features beyond the veil of pink smoke are round, soft, and so human it brings my heart to a frantic rhythm.
Is that her?
Is that… Carol?
“I…” My brain is frying in its own juices, because she’s watching me. Shorter than most elves (other than Sylvan) and a little plump, she has bright blonde curls framing her face. “Maybe, but… would you mind getting me a drink first? It’s just that all the smoke and dancing…” I drift off, hoping that my request doesn’t carry meaning I don’t intend. Gender roles here are pretty vague and varied, but romance is still based on there being a pursuer and a pursued. Anatole is acting like the former, though I’m not sure what he’s trying to gain. If not a night with me, then my favor. Maybe he even hopes to gain Kyran’s favor through me. Not that it matters.
I know my ruse has been successful when Anatole offers me a curt nod and says, “Don’t go anywhere,” before walking off toward the cherin stall.
That is my cue to go, and I dash past the effigy of wood and dried seaweed, skirting the edge of the dance area with my eyes pinned to the person I presume to be Carol. I can’t see her ears under lush blonde waves of hair, but I’m recognizing my own kind the same way I knew something was off about Kyran the moment he stepped into my life. She retreats into the shadows surrounding the illuminated square, and my feet itch to start running.
I need to talk to her without Kyran influencing what she says to me. How else will I ever confirm if I should stay?
I glance back to check if Kyran isn’t following me before I dip into the alleyway, but I stall mid-step as I single him out.
He’s drowning. Surrounded by the villagers who have somehow backed him against a wall, he looks around the crowd as if he can’t cope with this many talking mouths at once. The Kyran I’ve gotten to know is confident, decisive, and powerful, but when a pregnant lady holds onto his arm and sobs, he stiffens as if she were a landmine about to explode.
When he and I are together, it’s so easy to forget that he’s spent most of his life in the shadows and isn’t used to dealing with large groups of people. It must be so much easier at court, where everyone follows protocol. As I watch him swallow and wipe the skin above his lips, it’s clear to me that he must be overwhelmed.
Kyranis lived his whole life dealing with people and getting used to handling elves both in the palace and the villages. My Kyran? He barely spoke to anyone, trapped in the shadowild like a sheathed weapon. But no matter how sharp a sword may be, it can’t soothe a crying woman, or slide out of a conflict without bloodshed. Kyran proved many times that he’s good at fighting with his words, cutting with them if need be, but I know he doesn’t want to antagonize the elves of the village. He might be ruthless when he has to be but wants the best for his Realm. If he didn’t care, he could have left the royals to fight over succession after Kyranis’s death.