Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
At the moment, the thing was made of evergreen sprigs and red and green ribbons.
As the lock sprung the second his shitkickers hit the welcome mat, he wasn’t surprised they knew he was here, and the same thing happened at each of the two inner portals, the bolts clearing for him without him having to make any calls or even speak a word for the mics to pick up.
No doubt they had known where he’d spent the day, too—
The kitchen was bustling, doggen in chef’s whites making pastries for the audiences that were going to start up in the next hour or so—
“Your Highness—”
“Oh! Your—”
“—Highness.”
All three females stopped what they were doing—one even dropped the egg she’d been about to crack over a bowl—and with a fluster, they whipped off their caps and bowed to him.
The deference was another thing he hated.
It was a mirror that showed him too much for the fraud he was.
“ ’Scuse me,” he muttered.
Getting the hell out of there, he pushed through a flap door and walked down one of the common corridors. He probably would have been given access to the central, secured core of the building, where the Brothers gathered before things started for the night or took breaks between audiences, but he wasn’t in a big hurry to run into any of those males. After fucking everybody off last night and going rogue, he could just imagine they’d stab him, but for his—
“—Highness!”
Saxton, the King’s solicitor, bent down low. “Are you expected? Your father isn’t here quite yet—”
“Not expected, no. Just need to see him.”
The dapper male was all tweeded out, his ascot in place, his brown, navy blue, and cream checked suit jacket tailored so perfectly it was as if he’d been born with it on and the thing had grown along with him. As usual, his thick blond hair was swooped to the side, and with his perfect skin and nails, the guy looked like he was ready to ride off on a fox hunt.
Or at least a magazine shoot of one.
“Allow me to show you into the Audience Room, then.”
“I’ll wait. In the waiting room.”
There was a pause. “I think it would be best if you—”
“Wait in the waiting area like everybody else who’s here to see him.”
Another long moment. And then the solicitor bowed once again. As Saxton straightened, he was pushing at his red ascot, his gold pinkie ring flashing. But he wasn’t going to say what he was thinking.
“As you wish, sire.”
When L.W. nodded briskly toward the front of the house, Saxton flushed. Still, the guy started off and led the way. Protocol was that members of the First Family always went first, and L.W. hated that deference, too.
There were all kinds of offices on the left-hand side of the corridor, and as he passed the open doorways, people looked up—and did double takes. Which was just ridiculous. His sire was the King, not him.
Rounding the final corner, he passed the front entrance and went into a cozy room that had comfortable sofas and chairs already accommodating the first rounds of civilians. Additionally, the receptionist was at her desk, bowed over a printer behind her chair that appeared not to be working.
The collective gasp brought her head up. And then she gasped, too.
Motherfucker.
Even though he wanted to scream, L.W. lifted a lame-ass hand because he didn’t care to reveal how much of a total, unrelenting asshole he was—
On a oner, all of the civilians and the receptionist with the busted HP Laser-whatever-it was burst up to their feet and bent down like they were checking out their legs for signs of amputation. Then their faces lifted to him in their still-jacked stances, the adoration shining like half a dozen heat lamps pointed at him.
Now he knew what the fry station at McD’s felt like.
“Perhaps the Audience Room would be best,” Saxton said quietly.
“Yeah.”
L.W. backed out and turned away as fast as he could. Still, he heard the hushed whispers in his wake, the excited voices and buzzy cadence to the conversation making his skin crawl. It wasn’t until he was shown into his father’s sanctuary of sucking up that he realized why he was so particularly bitched.
In spite of it making no goddamn sense, he’d assumed with the actual Wrath back, all that shit would stop happening. But that was dumbass and a half. As far as they knew, their King had never left, and they’d treated L.W. with deference all along.
“Would you like anything to eat?” Saxton asked from over by the doors. “The doggen would be most happy to serve you.”
He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d eaten, or the last proper meal he’d had. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Shouldn’t he be hungry? he thought as the male bowed and backed out.
As things were shut quietly, L.W. closed his eyes. He didn’t want to waste sight on the purposely welcoming room with its fireplace already crackling and the pair of armchairs all ready for the ass kissing. He had quite enough memories of the place, from when Rahvyn had been parking it in the position of power—