Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
There’s a particular move I would love to practice on the mayor. It involves my knees and his balls. Yes, I’m good at that move.
I push thoughts of crushing the mayor’s withered old balls down and grant him a curtsey and what I hope is a simpering smile. “I am sure to be grateful for any instruction you can give me, Sir Mayor, but now I must go and aid my sister. I have left her all alone to sell our bread.”
The mayor frowns. “I don’t know that I like my future wife in a stall selling her wares. I think, perhaps, your sister can handle this day alone, Isolde. Come and we will walk the grounds. I want everyone to see what a lovely fiancée I have found for myself.”
He holds out his arm in what I assume is supposed to be a courtly gesture, and there’s nothing to do but take it. Arguing with him will simply make me look like a fool and get both me and Gillian in trouble. I walk sedately beside the mayor as he waves to the people of the town. He stops and talks to the more prominent members and ignores the peasants.
“We shall have to work on your priorities, dear,” Micha says after leaving the town’s richest merchant. “You seem to smile at the worthless and frown at the wealthy.”
Because the wealthy of this town are complete asses. I take a deep breath and measure my response. “I am sorry. Perhaps it is because I know the working folk better.”
Though my father spent time with his subjects, both noble and peasant, he never had loads of time to lavish on me. One of my fondest memories is walking with my father through the village on Saturday mornings. He strolled through, waving at people, buying food from the merchants and trinkets. It was the only real time he ever spent with me and Cian, and sometimes Dante, when he visited. Father wasn’t perfect, but he understood the value of all of his subjects.
The mayor shakes his head. “I know. The Fae you consort with shall have to change. How you behave is going to reflect on me. I can’t have you breaking bread with peasants. After all, the queen herself will be coming to our wedding.”
The thought of being in the same room with Maris brings a smile to my face. Yes, I have a few things to say to my brothers’ former fiancée, and I’ll say them with the point of my blade. Being able to kill the traitorous bitch would almost be worth going through with the sham of a wedding.
“Ah, that has made you happy!” The mayor looks delighted. “Yes, you will love the queen. Such a perfect female.”
“I would dearly love to stand in her presence,” I allow. Preferably close enough to slip a knife between her ribs, though it might not work since everyone knows the pretender queen doesn’t have a heart. It’s said among the peasants she sold it to a hag in exchange for her crown.
His hand covers mine. Soft and clammy, Micha has the hands of a man who never worked a day in his life. “Well, dear, this gives me great hope. I worried for a while that you had no interest in court. Shall I fill you in on all the latest gossip?” He leans toward me, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “I have a spy in the palace. All of the mayors tend to. I talk to her through a looking glass once a week.” He puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, dear. Magic is getting a bad reputation these days, but this is a harmless thing.”
Yes, it’s harmless because it gains the mayor something, but not three days before Siobhan Hannigan was jailed for placing a blessing spell on a newborn child who was struggling to breathe. The babe survived, but both of her parents sit waiting trial, too, for hiring a witch. They probably won’t hold their babe again. Yet a spot of gossip is all right.
Still, I pretend to care because it keeps his hands off me. “Tell me.”
He looks around, leaning in and pulling away from his guards. “The rumor is that the princess might have survived the king’s coup. My source said the king is initiating a countrywide search for Bronwyn Finn.”
I feel my stomach lurch, heart threaten to stop.
Micha rolls his eyes. “I think it’s ridiculous. They buried the Finn bitch. She was a stupid child. She couldn’t have survived. The king was very thorough when he liberated us. And if she did survive, she’s more than likely with those brothers of hers, eking out an existence on some third-rate plane.”
The world seems to tilt, throwing me off-balance. Micha continues to speak, but his words seem to come from someplace far away. What happened? Thirteen years passed and not a word of my survival was heard. There wasn’t a whisper about me in all the towns and villages and provinces Gillian and I sought refuge in. Thirteen years and now Torin believes?