Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
True might be the only man who would follow that woman like he was heading to the gallows.
Something he did.
“I’m not thinking True got the short end of that stick,” my father muttered to my mother.
I fought a roll of my eyes.
“Johan,” my mother hissed.
“We’re finished,” King Mars announced.
And with that, but without a glance at anyone (including me!), not to mention a word about our accommodations (which were supposed to be in that very palace), or refreshments (he hadn’t even offered us a cool glass of water), with his long coat flying out behind him like a mantle, the mighty King of Firenze sauntered out of his throne room.
Farah Magos
Lantern Room, East Corridor, Catrame Palace, Fire City
FIRENZE
Sensing his mood, I did not take my intended to Mars’s receiving room.
I wandered farther down the hall, beyond the vestibule, into the family’s rooms, and I took him to Mars’s informal sitting room.
It had always been one of my favorite chambers. The large lamp hanging low over the middle of the space had some clear, beveled glass panels, but these were mingled with artfully etched amethyst ones.
The many windows were shielded in screens of intricate boxes of exquisite scrollwork.
The floor was covered in thick rugs of cream and brown and taupe, there were large cushions to rest on flung about the room, woven rattan poofs to sit on or bring to you to rest your feet, and a divan in the corner with soft pillows to bolster you against the wall.
And Queen Elpis had put her array of iron lanterns here and there, which could seem odd, but gave the room a personal feel.
Once the Prince of Wodell had seen me inside the room in a gallant manner that reminded me of my own race, though much less showy, my intended had moved directly to the window.
A young servant boy had followed us in.
“Wine, my little brother,” I murmured to him. “Cool water. Olives. Some shelled pistachios. And some cheese. Yes?”
The boy nodded and dashed out.
I turned back to my betrothed.
He had not been what I expected.
His frame was so straight, like an arrow. And it was tall, very tall. Much taller than I would have imagined. His shoulders were squared. They were broad. Perhaps not as broad as a warrior of my own kind, but they were broad. And his body was muscled, much leaner than men of my country, but there was something appealing about the economy of power, for even if he was lean, the power was not hidden.
His dark brown hair had a sheen to it. It was very thick and cut short. Not as short as an Airenzian, but it was definitely not long, as the men of Firenze wore it.
And it curled around his neck and ears in a manner that was also very appealing.
His features openly showed his aristocratic lineage, straight nose, square shaven jaw, high cheekbones, strong brow.
But the keen intelligence in his extraordinary green eyes was what had struck me upon sight of him.
The intelligence and the feeling.
He worried much about his cousin. Positioned to protect her. Indeed, his sole focus, after a scan of my king, and then of my person, was doing what a powerless man could do in an uncertain situation to offer her succor in a trying time.
Though it would come about that little mouse needed little aid.
A surprise, this coming from such a small woman. A woman of Wodell.
I suspected a good surprise for my king.
I moved across the room to my betrothed, watching him gaze out through the screens.
I stopped with my side to the wall and studied him further.
I did not have a good deal of time to do this for those green eyes came to me.
Truly, they were like emeralds.
“I’ve asked for refreshments,” I murmured.
“I heard. Very kind,” he replied.
And there was his voice. Deep and smooth, but muted. He was not a man who had to shout to be heard. People would listen simply because of his manner.
But he had understood my words to the boy.
This meant he spoke my language (as I did his).
“Your Grace—” I began.
“I think, Farah, as you’ll be sleeping beside me the whole of our lives, that you should call me True, don’t you?”
I felt a flutter in my chest.
But I nodded.
I dipped my voice and told him, “I know of—”
“Elena. Of course,” he again interrupted me, not, I suspected, in a rude way. Instead, as if he wished to relieve me of saying something that was difficult to say.
He turned his gaze back to the windows and it was then I felt a tightness in my chest.
“We were not meant to be. We both should have known that. My father would never allow me to wed a Nadirii. And Elena would have died a new death every day if she had to leave The Enchantments. Her sisters. From the beginning it was futility.”