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)
It only hit me when I first went there that we speak the same language as the elves. I was so frantic about everything else going on that the topic of linguistics didn’t even occur to me until Sabine pointed it out and then gave me a quick rundown of the history behind it.
There are countless worlds. For hundreds of years, one could easily pass between the one occupied by humans and the Nightmare Realm, but that changed after some drama, or war (or something) two hundred years ago. Since then, magic has become much rarer in my world, but we still share our language due to all the intermingling in the past. Which would explain why the elves sometimes sound so old-timey to me.
At least it also means I can read most of their books unless they’re from some faraway place or were written thousands of years ago.
After I mentioned that I find reading in the dim green light difficult, and that I’m not sure the colors in my painting look right, Kyran brought me glasses made of moonshard. They make everything brighter and pretty much eliminated the strain I’ve been feeling in my eyes. The first thing I was reminded of when I put them on my nose? How handsome Kyran is.
He looks exactly how a prince of elves from a place called the Nightmare Realm should. His eyes have that piercing darkness that takes my breath away, his lips are pale, with the faintest shade of pink, and his cheekbones are the stuff of gothic fantasies.
And yet when he’s with me, I’m starting to see him as a man of flesh and bone. When he laughs at my jokes, he never fails to meet my eyes, as if wishing to connect on a level I’m not ready for. When we fuck, his icy facade is replaced by a flush and lust so raw I don’t feel worthy of it.
But I embrace it and gorge on his attention anyway, because the man fucks like a demon, and the many bites and hickeys on my skin are proof of his need. Who am I to tell him that I’m nothing special if he wants me this much?
To him, I seem to be some sexual sensation, a creature made for pleasure and capable of fulfilling Kyran’s every carnal fantasy. But once he’s gone, busy attending to matters bigger than either of us, uncertainty creeps back in, reminding me of my mother’s scornful gaze, the fact that my father didn’t bother to meet me, and all the lovers who wouldn’t give me the time of day once they got their rocks off.
I wasn’t a good enough artist to attract thousands of followers. My business sense is so lacking I overinvested in seasonal bath bombs and needed to get an additional credit card to pay off the debt when they didn’t sell. The only people who want me are those I don’t want back.
Well, there’s Kyran, but sex is still a novelty to him. Once he gets his bearings and realizes how much better he could do, I’ll end up being moved around the palace, like an item that is still very much necessary but embarrassing to have around.
Do I even know what he does when he leaves me to my own devices? He could already have other lovers and only act so sweet toward me so I go through with the wedding.
I feel shitty as soon as I think that, but I can’t help it. Suspicion is ingrained in my DNA.
So I decided to take matters into my own hands. The truth is, my life here has been luxurious. I don’t have to go to work, I wear the finest clothes, sleep as long as I want to, soak in a massive bathtub, eat delicious food made for me and served on silver platters.
I feel… pampered.
If I can trust Kyran won’t break his promise after the wedding, maybe I could stay here after all. Would it really be such a strange choice? People move to, like… New Zealand or Japan. People move to places with different foods and social norms, languages they don’t know, and they’re able to make a new home for themselves. Why not me?
But to do that, I need information, so I’m at the library, perusing corridors towering over me like a medieval cathedral. As in the orangery, the roof is made of an arched frame and glass, and the blueish light of the shrinking moon and stars bathes the vast interior in a cool glow. Books are stored on shelves even someone as tall as Kyran couldn’t reach without a ladder, and taxidermied heads of massive animals that are unfamiliar to me yet reminiscent of creatures found in my reality take up the space under the ceiling. I smelled flowers placed on some of the desks from the moment I entered, and as I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m walking through a park, with Tristan trailing behind me in complete silence.