Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Micah kept his head high and his gaze fixed straight ahead. More bowing ensued. Lots of pursing lips. He wasn’t the most highly esteemed sovereign nowadays.
Families had beseeched him repeatedly. Kill the usurper king and his queen and scatter their pieces around the camp’s perimeter. He had declined. Eleven months ago, he’d agreed to a one-year truce with the couple, and he wouldn’t break his word. He’d needed time to recover. To plan. To wait...
Cookie possessed the rare glamara to grow plants, trees and vegetation in the Dusklands. Flowers. Herbs. Fruits. Nuts. Medicines. Things he’d longed—and failed—to produce on his own. Amid the wait, she had transformed certain parts of the kingdom into a veritable paradise. True oases.
When he took everything back, he and his people could enjoy the bounty.
Few acknowledged the method to his supposed madness, too impatient for vengeance to endure. Many had already cut ties with him. Their mistake, their consequences.
Two guards flanked the door of his tent. They kept their attention off him, yet he sensed their astonishment at his approach. Never had Micah escorted a female inside his private quarters. Not when he’d lived in the palace, and certainly not in the campground. If ever he desired companionship, he visited his mistress, Diane.
“You are so fortunate I have a curious nature,” Red muttered as he led her through the entrance. The flap settled behind her, sealing them inside.
Alone.
Convinced herself curiosity glued her to his side rather than his iron grip, had she? Would she run as soon as he released her?
Micah freed her and prepared to give chase, even as he continued forward. To his surprise, she stayed put, examining her new surroundings, and exuding increasingly sharp disappointment. His cheeks scalded.
He scanned the dwelling with a critical eye. The spacious enclosure provided a pallet of the softest furs, an antique desk, an empty copper tub, an armory, multiple trunks and two tables. The shortest displayed a basin of fresh, cool water. Maps littered the longer one. Poverty compared to his palace; luxury compared to his childhood.
At the basin, he splashed his face and wiped away the grime. Then, he crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his attention on Red, acutely aware of the sweat and dirt marring his clothing.
She stared right back. Of course, any moment now, she would look away. Everyone always looked away. Even Norok.
Yes, any moment.
Surely within the next five seconds.
The next thirty?
“What’s your name?” he barked.
She huffed with irritation. “You may call me... Vee.”
“Where have you been since our parting?”
“Here and there.”
Did she not know the answer? Had she slept? “Why do you slumber as if dead to the world?”
“Why do you trespass where you don’t belong?” Rocking back on her heels, she pivoted away from him, breaking eye contact at last.
“Were you a prisoner of the belua—or their master?”
She padded through the tent, tracing a fingertip over sundry items, saying, “Do you hope to punish me if I command your attackers?”
Yes! No. “You are safe with me. They are not.”
A hitch in her step—born of concern for the monsters? Or eagerness? What if she’d been a prisoner, and he’d failed to find and help her?
“Do you think to kill the trees?” she asked, and he...sensed nothing. Meaning, what? That she expertly hid her emotions or that she evinced an undercurrent of indifference?
“Think? No. I will do so.” In fact, the hunt was set to begin the day after Kaysar died.
“No, Majesty. You’ll do nothing of the sort.” She offered him a toothy smile over her shoulder. “They’re already gone.”
That smile...wild and calculating, as if she knew a secret he did not. Already he yearned to see it again. “You wish me to believe you killed them?” Why?
“Do you think me incapable of such a feat?” Another toothy smile, only wider.
Muscles jumped in reflex. Scrambling, he drew in a deep breath. Slowly released it. Better. And worse. No one smelled sweeter than Red. The citrus. The florals. The utter rightness.
“Perhaps I’d have an easier time believing you if I knew why they kept you,” he rasped.
“Because I’m keepable?”
Though she continued her inspection of the tent, as if she hadn’t a care, the barest bit of color drained from her cheeks. Suspicions flared. Did she know King Kaysar, as Norok believed? Had the royal freed her and sent her to kill Micah at long last?
“This inquisition grows tiresome. You should feed me and send me on my way.” She dipped a finger in the basin and swirled the water. “You’ll be oh, so glad you did or desperately regret that you didn’t. Your choice.”
A declaration of war. Not that he cared. Prisoners often made such overconfident statements. “The inquisition ends when I decide, not a moment before.”
“Are you sure?” How smug she sounded. “Ask me another question, and let’s find out together.”