Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“Sir?” Makoto calls, grinning.
“You’ll soon find out it’s not all gold blooms and rainbows around the castle,” Rowan goes on. “Shit gets crazy around here. You’ll probably want to quit.”
“I doubt that. I served for the Blackwater fleet during the 1926 battle against Ripple Hills.” Makoto dumps the sautéed meat onto a dish.
“The 1926 Fleet?” Caz asks, and that’s gotten his attention. He takes his eyes off the papers, looking to Maeve. “Maeve, you didn’t tell me he was a soldier.”
Maeve shrugs. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
“Of course, it matters. Any man who fought for Blackwater should be highly respected. Those battles weren’t easy, were they, Makoto?”
“Not at all. I actually still have nightmares about them, believe it or not.”
“Yet you continue to smile,” I say, and Makoto winks at me.
Caz winds up next to me, offering a hand to Makoto. “I’m sure you’re aware I hate being touched, but if you’re on board to work for me and you’re a veteran soldier, I must shake your hand as monarch of Blackwater.”
“Is that custom?” I ask Juniper.
“Yep,” she whispers.
Makoto places a dish down and wipes his hands on his apron before grabbing Caz’s and giving it a shake. “A pleasure, Monarch Harlow. I will not fail you.”
“You’d better not,” Caz says with a faint smirk.
Makoto chuckles, returning to his cooking. Caz starts to say something to me, but something behind me catches his eyes. I look with him, and across the room is Warren and Danica. They’re standing hand in hand, shifting about nervously. Danica’s eyes are puffy and red, but she looks somewhat better.
“Come,” Caz calls, gesturing to the table. “Sit. Grab a bite to eat.”
Warren and Danica trek across the room, taking seats at the end of the table.
Makoto gets straight to work, putting food on plates and carrying them to the table. “An honor,” Makoto says, bowing at them before returning to the kitchen.
I climb off the stool to get to Warren, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “Everything okay?”
“Think so,” he murmurs. He stares down at the food Makoto has served them with a slight frown before shifting his gaze to Danica. Danica is already staring at Warren, a mixture of concern and hopelessness stealing her features.
She immediately reaches for the knife next to Warren’s plate and places it next to her, out of his reach. I can’t help frowning at the action, but I don’t say anything as they begin eating.
Everything’s fine. Just takes time.
Heat brushes my side, and Caz collects my chin in his fingers, fixing his eyes on mine. “Let’s go to target practice.”
Chapter 90
WILLOW
This is the third day of sunshine in Blackwater. Caz believes it’s an omen from the Regals. In his mind, they’re watching over us. They can see and hear things we can’t and have a much deeper connection to Vakeeli than we do…but he still doesn’t trust them.
With the sun in the sky, us making the trek toward Blackwater forest with guns, the forest doesn’t seem so daunting now. In fact, the leaves on the trees are emerald in the sunlight, the trunks and branches sharp black. A coolness drifts in the air, but it’s a pleasant cool, one that mingles with the warmth. Tufts of clouds linger in the sky, bringing a possibility of rain, but I’ve learned Blackwater is a lot like the beaches of Florida. The rain is sporadic because we’re so close to the ocean, and when it does shower, it’s brief.
The sounds of panting rise beside me, and I carry my eyes down to my wolf Silvera who trots next to me. Cerberus is on Caz’s side. They’re protectors of Blackwater Manor and the castle grounds. A badass concept, I won’t lie.
When we meet the forest, Caz pushes a thick brush of trees aside to let me by, and we keep walking, going well past my portal, stepping over clusters of bushes and mangled branches until a thicket appears.
Caz takes the machete out of the sheath attached to his waist, the sunlight glinting off of it as he raises it and slices through the thicket.
“Haven’t been here in ages,” he sighs.
“Where are we, exactly?” I ask.
His lips quirk on one side. “You’ll see.”
He chops some more until an opening appears then tucks the machete away. He presses an arm against one side of the bush to keep it propped open.
“Go on. Step through,” he insists.
I put a foot through, guiding my body through the hole. I immediately notice the difference in the grass. It’s much denser and plusher, and the scent of lilac floats past my nose, as well as honeysuckle. When I make it through, I drink in my surroundings, completely in awe.
We’ve reached a field, the blades of grass ankle-deep and black flowers peppered throughout. The flowers glisten with a fresh coat of dew, tall, thick trees wrapped in thriving green vines leaning inward as if protecting this particular space. Each tree slopes toward the next, the tips of their branches touching. At a glance, it would seem these trees are whispering to one other. I squat, taking a closer look at the flowers with their golden centers and petals that are a soft, rich black. At the far end of the field are three wooden pedestals, which I find out of place.