Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Either way I go, I’m going to be pressed against him in a way that is most improper and unladylike.
“Sir,” I say hesitantly. “Would you…could you not just go back up the stairs and I will follow? You could go back down once I reach the top.”
He smirks at me, his dark face sardonic.
“Afraid to touch me, little dove? Do you fear my ugliness will rub off and ruin your perfect beauty?”
His words sting me. I am no coward!
I lift my chin and stare at him.
“Fine. If you’re not going to be a gentleman, I’ll get by the best way I can,” I snap.
Keeping my eyes on his face, I shove past him, trying not to notice when my breasts, still bare under my robe, rub against the broad, muscular planes of his chest. Goddess of Mercy—how did he get all that muscle? His brother, Dorian, is as slender as a birch, as are almost all the Nobles here in the Citadel. Everyone is “skinny as sin” here, as my Granny would say. Everyone but me…and apparently Xaren.
My nipples tingle as my breasts press against him. I wonder if he can feel the sharp little points as I squeeze past. I hope not—this really is most improper. But for some reason, it makes me tingle. Maybe it’s his sharp, spicy scent in my nose. Or the fact that even when I’m two steps above the one he’s standing on, he’s still taller than me.
He stands there even after I pass him, looking up at me. And for my part, I can’t help looking over my shoulder. At last, he speaks.
“I’ll see you at the banquet, little dove,” he rumbles.
Then he turns and continues down the staircase. In half a moment, his broad back has disappeared into the gloom.
I stand there for a moment, feeling shaken and weak in the knees…though I cannot say exactly why. It’s not like he grabbed me or tried to kiss me. But I can still feel the heat of his big body against my chest and my nipples feel tender and sensitive.
I don’t understand why the brief meeting—and the even briefer contact—with Xaren has affected me so much. But I have no time to wonder. I must get back to my rooms and dress for the banquet, I remind myself. Tonight the whole Court will see me seated by the side of my husband-to-be for the first time and tomorrow we are to be married.
But when I picture myself in the bridal gown and the groom lifting my veil, it is not the golden beauty of Prince Dorian I see in my mind’s eye. Instead, I see the Dark Prince towering over me, an unreadable expression on the right side of his face—the only side I can see.
And though I try to push the vision away, it will not leave me.
2
ELAINA
“All rise for the entrance of King Harrow and Queen Virelda, our wise and benevolent rulers!” the herald cries. The entire Court rises dutifully, including myself and both of the princes.
The three of us are at the head table, up on a kind of stage so everyone can see the Royals dine. I have never felt more judged or exposed—it feels like every eye is on me and I see plenty of people pointing and talking behind their hands. Which is extremely rude, if you ask me. Only no one has asked.
I would have thought that I would be seated by Prince Dorian, my husband-to-be. Instead, he is all the way over to my right, sitting at the right hand of his father, the King, while I am at the left hand of the Queen. For some reason, Dorian’s friend, Henri has been allowed to join the Royal table too. So the seating order goes as follows,—Henri, Dorian, King Harrow, Queen Virelda, me…and Prince Xaren, who is seated at my side.
I felt uncomfortable at first, when the Steward sat me beside him, but the Dark Prince has mostly ignored me. He stares straight ahead, the left side of his face obscured, as always, by his black hair. He has said nothing to me but, “Don’t worry, little dove—I don’t bite,” when he first sat down. Other than that, he’s been ignoring me.
I wish he was a less dour dinner companion. It would be nice to have someone to talk to during the banquet. My only other option is my soon-to-be Mother-in-law and that’s not a very pleasant prospect. Queen Virelda has made it clear she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her son and we really have nothing to say to each other.
But just because she doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t mean she won’t interact. To my dismay, she’s decided that she gets to decide what I eat. When the first course arrives—a rich cream soup with little bits of vegetables and meat bobbing in it—she allows the server to fill her own bowl and then waves him away before he can fill mine.