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)
Sabine told me he insisted on Braadley or Braadlina, so I’m glad I managed to save the poor child from that misery. Conversation flows easily, and even the Goldweeds attempt to take part, though they’re more interested in discussing imperial politics than listening to my explanation of the difference between mythology and religion.
I rather enjoy Andros’s company. He and Sabine seem like a good fit—both are nerdy, and excitable, and so damn nice it’s almost hard to believe.
I might have had a glass of wine too much though, because by the time everyone gets up and heads next door, to the ballroom decorated with garlands of black leaves and pearls, I feel absolute confidence. Were it not for Kyran, I would make a fool of myself during our first dance, but he leads so well that it feels like floating over the marble floor.
Dozens of hands clap as the music speeds up, prompting Kyran to spin alongside me, with one arm secured around my waist. Each smiling face reminds me this is a celebration of my union with the man I love.
I’m not the deer in the headlights I was a month ago. I might not be an elf, but I’m already part of this realm. I’ve been gifted the opportunity to learn shadowcraft, and I resonate with the fashions of the court. My position will come with a degree of danger, but when was life ever safe for someone like me—poor, gay, and unwanted? I am happy to trade the misery of my former life for the risk that comes with being a Dark Companion if it means I get to stay here.
My head spins with good wine and joy, but I’m pumped out by dancing and consider going back to the table for seconds, since I don’t know when I’ll get to taste burgers again. Tristan wants to talk to Kyran, so I leave them be and venture out to grab more food and drink.
It’s like trudging through bejeweled Jell-O, because courtiers are greedy for my ear and strive for my attention, offering everything from smiles to marriage advice. Even Marquise Coralis is suspiciously, sparing no well-wishes, which makes me wonder if she still plans to form a throuple with me and Kyran.
As impatient as I am, my behavior will now reflect on Kyran, so I remain generous with my time on the way back to the table. I’m close to reaching my throne (and burgers) when a familiar voice grabs my attention with a passionate tirade.
“We should invest more time and effort into discouraging Heartbreak rather than reacting only once he comes close to the shore. We do know he’s repelled by pearls of mourning oysters. Why not try to use them on a bigger scale? Wouldn’t you support such an idea if it meant less risk to the Nocturne Court? It’s maddening and the Lord will hear about it from me every day until he chooses to listen.”
I peek over my shoulder to spot Sylvan facing two guards, each of whom is at least a head and a hat taller than him. But while he might be small, he has a cutting tongue, like a pair of dainty scissors decorated with filigree, yet no less sharp than any other pair. His attire is elegant yet strikes me as armor rather than an outfit worn for the purpose of fashion and covers every bit of him with the exception of the face and fingers.
Sadly, even with his royal title he can’t hold the attention of a dark-haired guard when a pretty servant girl walks by with a platter of French fries.
The other guard, one with a streak of silver in his red mane, is entertaining Sylvan’s idea. He raises his eyebrows with a sigh. “I don’t know, Prince Sylvan. It’s not my place to ponder such things.”
Sylvan raises his hands, exasperated. “But you should. Everyone should. If you visited me in my alchemy lab, I could show you—”
“Now? To your lab? I’m not sure if I should…” The guard’s attention is piqued, but not in the way Sylvan was going for. He smiles and pushes back his hair, leaning that bit closer, as if he wants Sylvan to smell him.
Sylvan straightens but it barely gives him an extra half inch, which is negligible next to men with arms thick like the branches of an old tree. I bite my lips to keep in a giggle when Sylvan’s ears go red, and he takes a step back, like an exasperated virgin.
“No, that’s not—It was a form of speech,” he rasps and clears his throat. “What I’m trying to suggest is that you should talk about this to your family and acquaintances. Maybe if pressure comes from many sides, the Lord will understand how important it is to study the beast.”