Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
The other people don’t look any better. The guests waiting their turn to be interrogated by Kian are slumped over the tables, some asleep on their arms and others conversing in tired, strained voices.
The only person in the palace who has gotten any sleep is Elsie, thanks to the sleeping potion Gaia gave her. I haven’t even taken the time to change. I’m still wearing the ceremonial pants and shirt of yesterday. Between interrogating the kitchen staff and guards, I frequently checked in on Elsie and my mother. The queen, who was tormented by painful cramps for the duration of the night, appears wilted and weak. Her usually glowing skin has turned gray and damp with perspiration. My father keeps watch at her side. Gaia escaped to her room. Knowing how much she loved that pet, I let her have some space.
Kian lifts his head when I approach. The echo of my heavy steps on the flagstone floor would’ve been enough warning of my presence, but the gentle, almost unnoticeable prodding of my mind tells me he was aware of me the minute I crossed the threshold.
I make sure my barriers are in place, effectively blocking him from gaining access to my thoughts.
He watches me quietly as I stop next to him, not a sliver of emotion playing in his silver irises that are so eerily pale they’re almost as translucent as water. They always adopt that shade when he taps into his power for an extended period of time.
“How much longer?” I ask.
The color of his eyes returns more or less to normal as he focuses on me. “Not much.”
The woman scrambles away the moment Kian releases the hold of his power over her. Having one’s mind read is nothing short of a harrowing experience, or so I’m told. Kian has a way of worming invisible tentacles into every cranny of his subject’s mind, hooking into a person’s deepest and darkest thoughts. The unlucky interrogees always walks away with the feeling that their soul has been flayed open for all their sins and weaknesses to pour out. They may not say it, but they think it. Kian may read their unspoken thoughts, but I hear the whispers the walls can’t contain.
I curl and flex my fingers at my sides. “Anything?”
Kian doesn’t show the slightest sign of tiredness, which demonstrates just how strong he is. It takes a powerful mind to be immersed in the most sinful desires of Alitkind without drowning in the ravenous envy and ugly deceit. On the contrary, the blackest corners of a psyche are Kian’s playground. I wonder if that’s why he displays emotions so sparingly. Maybe he’s seen too much of it, or what he’s seen has made him lose his appetite or aptitude for sentimentality.
“Nothing,” he says in an even voice that carries neither dejection nor hope.
Tarix enters from the kitchen with a goblet in his hand that he carries to Kian. “I thought you might be thirsty. I made you an infusion that will keep both your mind and body alert.”
When Kian doesn’t thank him or take the goblet, Tarix leaves it on the table and shuffles his feet.
The silence stretches.
Adopting a wounded expression, Tarix mumbles something about fetching food and hurries away.
“Why don’t you like him?” I ask, following Tarix’s rushed exit with my gaze.
“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Kian says thoughtfully. “It’s that I can’t get an accurate read on him, and I don’t trust people I can’t read.”
My lips peel back into a humorless grin. “You can’t read me.”
“That’s different. You block me. Tarix is simply vague. It’s almost as if there’s nothing to read, as if his mind is empty.”
“Tarix isn’t an idiot. He’s adept at taking care of the queen’s affairs. His diplomatic skills are commendable.”
“Maybe I’m just weary,” Kian says, fixing a bland gaze on me. “It’s been a strange night.”
And a long one.
A stirring awakens in my chest, soft like a downy cloud at first, then sharp with panic.
Elsie is awake and unhappy.
I was on my way to prepare a tray with breakfast, but I turn on my heel and go back to my quarters.
The thuds of her fists on the sealed archway reach my ears from beyond the thick walls.
“Let me out!”
I let the entrance dissolve and step into the room, almost bumping into Elsie, who scoots a few steps back. I stop, not to avoid crashing into her but to trail my gaze over the tantalizing shape of her body that’s still clad in my jacket.
“I need to get out of here,” she says, trying to slip past me.
I cut her off with a sidestep. “It’s not safe.”
“You can’t lock me up in here like a prisoner,” she hisses. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The sensation of being trapped constricts my ribcage, and suffocation settles like a thick, wet blanket around me. The need to breathe is like claws scratching at my throat, but I’m lucid enough to realize the feeling isn’t my own. Whatever Elsie experiences mirrors inside me.