Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Whoa. Hold up. “I’m supposed to calm you? But what if I fail?” Breathe. Just breathe.
He frowned. “You have nothing to fear, Elle.”
Confidence infused his reassurance, and I almost relaxed. But he didn’t know the truth. Wasn’t prepared for my failure. Breathe!
I swung my gaze to the window, searching for a measure of calm for myself. Sheep and rolling hills whizzed past as we bumped along unfamiliar roads. Nope, no peace to be found.
“Are you sure I have to attend?” I croaked.
“Yes.” He studied me, pensive. When his head tilted to the side in that curious way of his, I nearly screeched. Not the deeper look! “What is it you fear?”
“You,” I admitted. “Your temper. You’ll hurt me.”
“I won’t,” he vowed. He attempted to change the subject. “When will you drop the American accent?”
“Never,” I responded with a laugh bordering on hysterical. Here was proof I wasn’t his fated and couldn’t do anything but scream for help when he raged. “You don’t like anything about it? Even a little bit?”
“I prefer honesty.”
So did I, hence the accent. I detested living this lie in every way, shape and form. If he weren’t so entrenched in tradition, he could be my hero and end it.
“Is the other king here to provoke you?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my middle.
“He is. If I can be soothed in his presence, I can be soothed with anyone, anytime.”
The sense of hysteria intensified. “How did you know I was yours?” My history book had barely touched on the subject. “I seem to mostly upset you, never to soothe you.”
“I just knew. And you will never be in danger,” he assured me, his features fierce with determination. “I won’t allow it.”
More confidence. But again, it was based on a lie, making it meaningless. Why didn’t he “just know” I wasn’t Isobel?
I was close to hyperventilating when the car eased to a stop. He didn’t wait for the driver, but opened the door and emerged into muted morning light. My stomach churned with sickness. Though I only wished to hide, I eventually accepted his offered hand and glided out of the vehicle, entering the outdoors.
Gray clouds obscured the sun, darkening the sky. A chilly breeze scented with heather and earth drove me closer to my companion’s furnace of a body. Heat enveloped me as soon as he wound an arm around my waist, and I refused to read too much into a sudden influx of peace.
I scanned the area. Multiple SUVs parked behind us, many of the guards I’d seen at the castle exiting. Prince Jamie stood in the distance. But there was no one and nothing else around us. No American king and his own entourage. No animals or landmarks. Only a thick layer of mist twirling over lush emerald pasture.
Callen released me, and I whimpered. To my surprise, he cupped the side of my face and traced the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “Trust me.”
I breathed deep—and nodded. What else could I do?
Pride stamped his face. He took my hand as he marched forward. The men strode our way, gathering behind us. No one spoke or stole a glance at me, but everyone held daggers and radiated aggression.
Nerves buzzed as we cut through the mist. My tremors returned and redoubled when we came to a stop, the vapor thinning to reveal a group of twenty ancient warriors. I spied three women among the cluster, the rest males. All clutched weapons and wore an assortment of leather and metal paired with skinned fur and severed bones and claws. Like Callen, they possessed those black slash tattoos on their arms.
The one standing at the head of the horde, with his harsh features splattered in red paint—or blood—possessed as many marks as my husband.
I inched even closer to Callen’s side. He squeezed my hand, offering comfort. Around us towered a circle of huge black stones that reminded me of Stonehenge, set in groups of two, each with a flat top. The traveling stones, no doubt.
Had the other warriors teleported into the circle or something?
“Elle,” Callen said, “meet His Majesty King Malachi of the House of Griffins. Mr. Cromwell to most. Malachi to us. Malachi, meet Elle.”
He wasn’t whipping into a frenzy of rage around the other royal. Maybe I could calm him. Wait. “I know you,” I said to Malachi. He had shoulder-length brown hair with a slight wave, a dark complexion, chiseled cheekbones, and thick eyebrows that paired nicely with his trim beard. “You played a sport. Something with a ball. And you have a line of shoes or something. You’ve dated several famous actresses and models.” I’d seen his photo on magazine covers.
Amber eyes stared at me with expectation. He said nothing. Uh. Um. Had the ceremony already begun? Was I supposed to do something besides babble about his hobbies and past girlfriends? Had I insulted him by doing so? What was expected of me right now? A curtsey? Should I offer a special greeting or remain silent?