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)
I have to bite my lip not to snort, but it does make me wonder. Maybe what I need to do is find out Sylvan’s type, then find him a suitor. Who knows, maybe we could even become besties one day, because if he has ideas that would help us avoid endangering anyone, why not give them a try?
But as I’m reaching into a silver platter overflowing with crinkle cut fries, someone else does it too, and our fingers touch above the table, with a spark of electricity.
I pull my hand to my chest and look up to meet eyes as blue as Sylvan’s.
Anatole has outdone himself tonight and is facing me clad in a suit bespeckled with tiny pearls and diamonds, which transform the midnight velvet into a skyspace crowded with whole galaxies. I’m taken aback when he pulls my hand close and bends to kiss my knuckles with the grace of a true fairytale prince.
“I’m assuming you might be busy in the next few days, so I wanted to congratulate you ahead of the ceremony.”
“Oh. I… thank you,” I say. I’ve been at the Nocturne Court for a month, but I’m still getting used to receiving gestures like this as a man. I’ve grown accustomed to them coming from Kyranis, but not other men. Especially not in public. It makes me feel like a pretty flower, and I can’t help but be a little flattered, despite most definitely not being a flower.
Oh well. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Anatole’s handsome face brightens in a smile. He clearly can grow a beard, but his skin is soft and smooth regardless. I’m so envious I can barely look away.
“Would you give me the pleasure of a dance?” he asks, glancing toward the ballroom where I left Kyran and Tristan not that long ago. While I am annoyed that I waded through the crowd to eat some fries only to not get any, I know this might be a good opportunity to learn what makes my enemies tick, and maybe make the first step to burying the hatchet?
After all, who knows why the animosity between the Goldweeds and Kyran first started? Maybe I could mediate? I did once talk a drunk neo-Nazi out of beating me up. That counts for experience in conflict-resolution, right?
So despite the beef patties calling my name, I follow Anatole's lead. “I heard your brother talking about strategy. Maybe we should hold a meeting for all the princes and princesses to discuss it?”
“I worry it will be too late after your bond is made,” he says with a sigh and perfectly studied sad eyes, but still twirls me into a dance. “Lord Kyranis will want to use your shadow first and foremost. That’s always the case. But if you survive, Heartbreak’s next approach could be our chance.”
Couples swirl around us in shimmering outfits that would give goth Etsy sellers a run for their money. I long to see where Kyran is and offer him a tantalizing wink that will keep him thinking all the dirty thoughts about me, but I can't spot him. Giving up, I focus on the man pulling my back against his chest and his hand on my collarbones in a gesture that’s protective yet also sensual. I’m not quite sure how comfortable I am with this, but since everyone does it too, I stop overthinking it and turn my head to glance at Anatole.
“Kyranis wants the best for everyone in the Realm. I’m sure he will be open to it.”
“I don’t know about that. He’s always seen me as his rival. He’d even risk you just to spite me.”
I’m stuck for words, because that doesn’t sound like Kyran at all. Then again, Anatole has known Kyranis all his life. But before I can form a sensible answer, Anatole pulls me much closer than the dance requires. And I know because I practiced it with Kyran many times.
His hand slides to my stomach instead of my chest and he licks—licks—my earlobe.
“You cannot fathom the things I could offer you, Luke, if you were mine.”
What. The actual. Fuck? This is literally my pre-wedding party, and while the courtiers seem to have a lax attitude toward sex and romance, it’s always been clear to everyone that Kyran’s possessive of me. Who the fuck licks the groom at a wedding?
No-good people, that’s who!
This isn’t the first time someone has come onto me out of nowhere. I’m not hurt, or afraid, or traumatized, but I'm most definitely pissed off. Only shock keeps me from lashing out, as if my mind is still scrambling for an explanation that doesn’t require me to elbow my future husband’s cousin in the ribs.
Kyran appears in front of me out of nowhere, and I reach out for him as soon as I see the fury scorching his eyes.