Kingdom of Tomorrow (Book of Arden #1) Read Online Gena Showalter

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Book of Arden Series by Gena Showalter
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Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
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“Lady Roosa is working on a special project,” Cyrus announced. “You are not to ask her about it or mention it to others. Details are classified.” He motioned for me to join the others. “Hustle.”

“Yes, Sir Sugar Bear,” I muttered and jogged over.

“Today is reckoning day,” Cyrus called. “Archduke Heta’s trainees did a better job than mine, and my disappointment cannot be measured. You will practice until you improve.”

That is exactly what we did. Practice. There wasn’t time for personal matters. Cyrus pushed us to the brink, me most of all. No joke, he ordered me to do extra everything. Yes, I loved exercise, but I didn’t enjoy the buckets of sweat pouring from me. My muscles quivered and burned.

“Lark, you disabled five holograms that round. Not bad. Roosa, you also disabled five. Do better,” he snapped. “And run six laps. One for every hologram you should have felled.”

“Yes, sir,” I snapped back.

When the clock timed out a short while later, I dropped to the floor, wheezing. Lark winced with sympathy as she passed me.

“Everyone but Roosa out,” he commanded. “You didn’t do terrible, so you may enjoy yourselves while you can. There are free sandwiches in a private commons. Follow Baron Thomas.”

Cheering, the class poured from the gym. Several other soldiers cast me looks of commiseration along the way. A frowning Roman held my gaze until he disappeared beyond the door, and I couldn’t decipher the emotion he projected. I couldn’t force my legs to work either.

Cyrus strode over and crouched beside me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You are an awful person,” I grumbled.

He arched a brow, not the least bit apologetic. “Maybe now you’ll sleep when you’re told.”

“Maybe now you’ll sleep when you’re told,” I mocked, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to clean up and recover.” His other brow lifted. “Unless you’d rather skip the interview with Mr. Victors.”

I snapped to attention. “I’ll be ready.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Wisdom cries out to you; are you listening?

—The Book of Soal 1.20.1.20

Elevator doors closed, confining me inside a small space with two armed guards and Cyrus. I was mere minutes away from facing a glower. The glower. A Soalian I’d considered a terrorist my entire life, who now had answers I sought. The true purpose of Theirland. Why the Rock bloomed with flowers. The origin of pritis stones. Why Soal hated Cured. What else I might find in my book.

I rallied every defense, resisting the onset of fear, but the continued strenuous effort left me on edge.

Cyrus noticed and told me, “You’ll be safe. Victors will be restrained on one side of a table, and I’ll be with you on the other side, with guards posted outside the door.”

“I’ve never interrogated someone,” I muttered.

Ding. The doors opened, revealing a hall brimming with soldiers, who lined both walls and stood at the ready. Cyrus led me forward, no one daring to look in our direction. A perk I cherished.

We paused at a thick metal door, and he faced me, intent. “Don’t react to anything Victors says or venture down any verbal mazes. We have only five minutes in there. Stick to your main topics of interest. I guarantee he’ll stick to his.”

No reaction or mazes. “Five minutes isn’t long enough.”

“The king wishes to limit your exposure to such a powerful glower. They can be—” He thought for a moment. “Persuasive.”

In other words, dangerous. I squeaked, “I’m brave. I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Now shed your weapons. Anything you prefer not to be used against you.” As he spoke, he handed a guard his personal arsenal.

My instincts screamed a negation, but I did the same, leaving myself with nothing but my wits. Not exactly 100 percent reliable anymore. “I’m sure you guys want me to ask him something.”

Cyrus flashed a humorless smile. “Cured is more interested in what he asks you.”

Well, they might change their mind if I got sloppy and posed the questions I didn’t dare mention. “I’m ready.”

Cyrus pressed his palm on the ID pad. The scanner read his chip, and the doors slid open. I followed him into a boxy, sterile room. Laser lights extended from small holes in the gray walls, each aimed at the prisoner shackled to a table.

I inwardly flinched. Here he was, John Victors. The villain of many nightmares. A metal collar circled his neck. He looked to be a few years older than my mother, with a sallow complexion and hollow cheeks. Bruises ringed his eyes. His lips were chapped and cracked.

His fragility shocked me. This wasn’t the healthy, smiling foe I’d seen gardening. Either he’d failed to recover from his battle wounds, or Cured had attempted to persuade him to talk.

He wore a bright-white uniform, pressed and clean. Metal cuffs bound his wrists to the table and his ankles to the floor. He didn’t glow, and I saw no symbols embossed in his skin, yet despite it all, he radiated the same peace he’d displayed while picking berries. The same peace Shiloh had displayed.


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