Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
They parted but peered at each other for several heartbeats before Cyrus nodded and stalked to me, clearly fuming. “Felix,” he acknowledged in lieu of a goodbye.
“Cy-rus,” his brother replied, overarticulating the syllables of his name.
We linked fingers as a masked servant led us to our room. Still no guards or dogs present. Once we were sealed inside the chamber, Cyrus stalked to the couch, sat, and bowed his head with his elbows resting on his knees, a picture of frustration, concern, and dwindling hope.
He didn’t ask me what happened with Domino, as I expected, but said, “My grandfather offered me his blessing for our relationship. And the title of king.”
My heart soared. It was everything we’d hoped for, served on a silver platter. “Then why are you—”
“I must first accept Astan. If I refuse, he vows to award the title—and you—to Felix.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. “He can’t just award me to another man,” I sputtered.
“I assure you, he can do anything he desires.”
“Not to this Soalian. And honestly, sugar, that isn’t even the most pressing issue.” I replayed the conversation between Ember and Domino. The rogue Soalians plotting the execution of the man I loved.
Blink. I did. I loved him. I’d loved him from the beginning, but fear had cloaked the vibrancy of my feelings. Now, the knowledge sang within every cell.
“Whatever you learned from Domino,” he intoned, “just tell me.”
I strolled over and lifted his chin with two fingers, bringing his gaze to mine. The resolve in his heartbreaking eyes nearly broke me.
“I learned Mykal is well, and Victors might be in Theirland. Rogue Soalians suspect you are Astan’s chosen, and they hope to kill you, but Domino guards you with his life.” I opted not to mention the field trip. Not right now. It could wait as the other info sank in. My next confession couldn’t.
He flinched ever so slightly.
“Most importantly, I realized I love you. I love you, Cyrus,” I confessed, my voice a low, husky promise. Our entire relationship had been a whirlwind of training, battles, interrealm trips, tragedies, and triumphs. But this eclipsed everything. I traced the handprint brand, my favorite privilege. “Every part of me loves every part of you.”
He bolted to his feet, a mere whisper away, towering over me. At first, neither of us did more than study the other. In the heels, I was taller than usual. Still not at eye level, but my lips were closer to his. Each of his heated breaths acted as a caress, igniting new flutters in my belly.
When I’d first met him, I’d grown nervous any time he’d neared. Now, he inspired so much more. Warmth and aches and desires and need. So much need.
“You said it,” he croaked.
“And I meant it.”
His eyelids sank low, and his mouth softened. He settled his hands on my hips and spread his fingers to cover more ground. “Marry me. With or without the emperor’s approval, with or without the title of king, I’ll have you and no other.”
I smiled and ran my palms up his powerful body. “You choose me over Astan?”
He fortified his grip, holding me tight. “I will always choose you.”
A slow, burning warmth spread through my veins as I melted against him. “What about the prophecies in our books?”
“Either we’re misunderstanding what we’ve read, haven’t read far enough to see our happy ending, or we’ll find a way to overcome.”
His confidence fueled mine, and I nodded. “Yes, Cyrus Dolion. I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
There is a time to plant, a time to water, and a time to harvest.
—The Book of Soal 1.21.3.2
Awe broke over Cyrus as if he glowed from the inside out. “You said yes.”
“I did,” I confirmed, my grin widening.
Motions fluid, he gripped my nape and yanked me higher, closer, while swooping down and claiming my lips with his own. There was no easing me into a gentle seduction. No soft exploration. He ravaged my mouth, and I ravaged his right back.
His fingers fisted a handful of my hair, creating a pressure and pull I relished. Pins dislodged.
He spun us both around, cupped my backside, and picked me up, then tossed me onto the couch. Lips puffed, expression fierce, he tore at his jacket and dropped the garment on the floor. But soon after he began ripping at the buttons on his shirt, he paused, huffed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I might hate myself for saying this, but I think we should stop.”
Wait. What? I sat up, panting my breaths. “Is this about Domino?”
“I don’t care about your connection to the librarian anymore. We’ll deal with that.” He collected the jacket and stabbed his arms into the proper sleeves. Bending down, he braced one hand against the top of the couch and cupped my cheek with the other, stroking the pad of his thumb over the rise. “The party. There isn’t time to love you properly. And . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “There was a pre–Fall of Nations custom. From what I’ve read, it serves as a way to honor the one you love.”