Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 186911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
I reached behind me, feeling for the wood.
“I would ask your permission, but I do not need it. I would ask your forgiveness, but I do not care for it. My actions are blessed by Mother Meya and I— Stop her!”
Throwing the door open, I ran. “Help! Someone, help—!”
My knees locked. Scream trapping in my throat, I fell face-first onto polished stone. My nose snapped—spurting blood on the floor and in my mouth.
Kaelan dragged me back into her bedroom. He was not gentle that time.
“Forgive me, my princess.” He threw me on the floor. “She will not get away from me again.”
“It’s fine. I did just finish saying it is still our right to defend ourselves. The girl has some sense of instinct.” Emiana left the window and knelt down beside me. “She knows she should fear what is coming next.”
“What do you want from me?” I forced through gritted teeth. “Why are you telling stories and speaking in riddles? Tell me why I’m here.”
She laughed. “That’s what I was endeavoring to do before you ran off, but if you desire I should speak plainly, then I will grant your request. You are here because I am not marrying King Alisdair. You are.”
A roaring sounded in my ears, muffling the strange nonsense that dropped from the princess’s lips. I would’ve run again but Kaelan did not release the magic he used on my legs.
“Excuse me? I must’ve misheard you, Princess.”
“You misheard nothing,” she said smoothly. She sat me up and propped me on my knees. The softness her laugh granted her, washed away under returning disdain. “I will not marry that monster. I will not endure his bed until he rips me apart or impregnates me with his beastly seed. I will not be ripped from my home and forced to live in the filthy den of feces and unwashed animals that he calls his kingdom. I shall do none of those things. They are to be your fate.”
I stared at her with no trace of reverence or respect in my raised brows or scowl. “Your Majesty, I cannot marry the king,” I said slowly. “You do know this, don’t you?”
She nodded at Kaelan—a signal that sent him to her nightstand. “You will permit me one more story,” she said to me. “One that we all know.
“Five hundred years ago, the kingdom of Lyrica was a matriarchy. Four hundred and ninety-nine years ago, it was decided the matriarchy would be no more. A lone spellcaster created the spell to bind magic, and it was devastating for us.
“Men do not possess magic within them. They must draw it out of the elements, creatures, nature, and beings around them using runes, spells, and incantations. Then, they must store it in coudarian crystals so they can use it at will. The opposite of women who carry magic in their souls, and draw upon that magic to fight and defend.
“It started small at first,” she said, fingers closing over the tome Kaelan handed her. “Whispers of a whisper about a new dangerous spell. By the time Queen Kasra knew it was a serious threat, dozens of women had their magic stolen from them—permanently. She banned the spell of course, but it was too late. Knowledge of it had spread. The incantation itself wasn’t hard to perform. Any middle-powered faeman could do it.
“I don’t know what makes it worse. How easy it was, or that so many were willing to turn on their mothers, sisters, aunts, friends, and lovers. Just like that, they ripped away everything that made them who they were, and no law or punishment was stopping them.”
Laying down the book, she flipped through the thick pages, sadness making her lids heavy. “Faewomen went into hiding or fled the city. They were the lucky ones. The ones who stayed had their last hope taken away from them when Queen Kasra was betrayed by her brother. He bound her magic, then stole her throne.
“During that time of upheaval, he passed the law that said all women must have their magic bound by ten years of age. It was done to prevent her daughters reclaiming the throne when they were old enough. No one knew then that law would condemn us all to death.”
“The wasting sickness,” I rasped.
She nodded. “The wasting sickness. Our magic is within us. It sustains us like the breath of life. It didn’t happen all at once. Some women lived to fifty. Some eighty. Others one hundred. But eventually one by one, losing their connection to magic made them slowly waste away—vomiting, insomnia, fevers, dementia. Illness after illness struck them down until they all died before their time.
“It didn’t take long for physicians to realize these deaths were all connected to their bound magic, but was the law repealed? Did they lift our death sentences?”