Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“I was being chased.”
His eyes narrow. “Who? What did they want?”
The protective flex of his jaw has me gulping more wine.
“Tell me.”
“He must know it was me who took it.”
“What did you take?”
“Something that doesn’t belong to him.”
“Does it belong to you?”
I pause and take another long sip.
His lips flatten. “Nothing’s worth you getting harmed. Return the thing.”
“Never.”
“Do you intend to live here with me?”
I hold my breath and it drizzles out with the taste of cherry. “They’ll get bored of waiting in an hour or two.”
Quin watches me for a while.
“You know what’s better than bruise salves? Not getting hit in the first place.”
“Why did you run here?”
“There’s a child at home. I don’t want to implicate others.”
“Why did you run—”
“There are three dozen stormblades between you and the temple gates.”
He looks at me for a long time, and lets it go with a murmur. “You’re safe here.”
I tip more wine into a strangled laugh.
“Will they come after you again tomorrow?”
“He couldn’t afford to send all those men again for no gain. I told them I burned . . .”
Quin’s brow lifts. “Burned?”
“I didn’t. But they think that.”
“Are you being obtuse on purpose?”
“Do you have to wring me of everything?”
Quin takes a deep drink, and watches me.
“What?”
“You’ve come here many times now, yet I know little about you.”
Alcohol buzzes through my veins and I sink my head back against the wall, curacowl tipping downwards. “There’s not much to know.”
He smiles. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
There’s something in the fragile lines of his smile and the flicker in his eyes. For a heartbeat, I want to tell him everything. But then I glimpse a flash of someone deeply conflicted, and I crush the fabric of my cloak at my side.
I laugh. “If you weren’t a king, what would your life look like?”
“I’m supposed to ask the questions.”
“What would it look like?”
“Before my brother met him, I would have . . .”
I juice my cloak of dye.
He continues with savage frustration, “That night would have been real.”
Night? What night?
Quin takes a swig of his wine and rips his gaze across the room. His throat juts heavily. He says, with more control, “But I have responsibilities. To family, and above all, to my people.”
My throat is sore as I drink again. “Everyone’s wishes before your own.”
“The people work hard for our kingdom, they allowed me to grow up without ever going hungry. In return I owe them safety.”
“The crown is heavy.”
“I will bear it.”
His most difficult act.
I sigh and my veil flutters forward. “You must be so lonely.”
Quin shuts his eyes briefly and looks at me. “What about you?”
“I . . . have healing. I bury myself in that.”
“Are you lonely?”
“I never used to be.”
There’s a sharpening to his breath and my chest swells.
My lips loosen. “Do you ever have that feeling where you don’t know if you should rush forward or hurry back?” I look at him and nod. “Of course you do. Your kingdom is a chessboard, how can you not hesitate over each move?”
“To advance or to retreat. Sometimes you must even retreat to advance.”
“Life is a very messy middle game.”
He smiles softly. “Describe yours.”
I take another drink of cherry wine. I should stop talking, but the buzz is too thick, my attempt to rein myself back too feeble.
“I say and do things without thinking, like something deep inside is urging me to . . . and even when I’ve said and done them, I can never let myself acknowledge . . .”
Stop talking! I stuff my fist into my mouth.
“Acknowledge what?”
“. . . ah, how frustrating life can be.” I abandon the wine bottle and scramble for my bag.
“What are you doing?”
I rummage in it for the right vial, this one. I can’t trust myself anymore. The only thing for it is to knock myself out.
His eyes are on me and narrowing.
My hand shakes as I pull out the cork, and I have just enough presence of mind to lean against the side of the bed before I swallow—
The heavy drumming of rain on the roof stirs me.
My head is a gentle throb as I open my eyes to the vague outline of ceiling beams. I feel around me. I’m on the bed, a blanket covering me up to my chin. How did I end up here? Quin is in no state to lift me . . . I must have staggered up here somehow myself.
If I climbed up on my own . . . did I do other things I can’t recall?
My hands fly to my face. Phew. Still covered. I’d rested my hat on the pillow so the veil draped over my face.
I knock my palm against it and my forehead. This is the second time I’ve lost a chunk of memory with Quin in very similar scenarios. I have to quit drinking around him!