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)
Dead bodies crunched beneath his boots as he approached the icy wall of vine. As he neared, leaves dried to ash and fell, piling on the ground or floating away in a cool, crisp breeze. He strode to the waterfall and dived into the cool liquid without pause, hoping to douse the flames of uncertainty blazing in his chest.
After washing up by rote, he swam in place. Tired muscles revived, but his thoughts roiled on. He concentrated on those involving Norok.
The troll attacks wouldn’t stop until the male was dead. Which meant Viori wouldn’t be safe until Norok was dead—which meant Norok had to die. The best way to accomplish such a goal? Neutralize him the same way Micah once neutralized the troll hordes. Stride into camp, slaughter everyone in his path and force all others to bend to his will.
Elena and Fayette must be neutralized, too. So, they would partake in the same death as their king. On the offensive rather than the defensive, with a clear goal boiling in his heart, the Unwilling could not be stopped.
Once he’d unchained the people from the oracle’s twisted vision of the future, he would hang up his crown, ending his service to the citizens of the Forgotten Court. They could swear fealty to Kaysar and Cookie or not. Crown a new king or not. Micah could start over. Build a home for himself. Or himself and his...family?
Everything circled back to her. The feral female with divided loyalties paired with the magnet for betrayal. A recipe for delights and disasters. And there would be other disasters. How could there not be?
Would he survive the next?
Did it matter? Could he enjoy anything without her?
Could he enjoy anything at all? He thought he might be broken now. Wrong.
No “thought” about it. He was broken, and there was no way to repair himself. And yet...a part of him still longed to be with her. The fool inside him, he supposed. A poor travesty of a man willing to endure the worst for a mere sip of the best.
The best. Two words, packed with countless memories. In the few weeks Micah had spent with Red, he’d experienced his lowest lows, yes, but also his highest highs. More joy than he’d ever thought possible. The way she looked at him. Teased and played with him. Clung to him. Sought him. Run to him. Shared herself with him.
He could have more of those highs. He had only to accept more lows—and his doom. But wasn’t he doomed, anyway?
He slammed a fist into the water and droplets flung in every direction. This back and forth was driving him insane.
To empty his head, he swam laps. A failed endeavor. His mind veered on the most dangerous road yet. Today’s Feast of Remembering, enacted by his queen.
If he removed the obstacles and re-asked each of his questions, his answers would change. And there was no denying it. Her. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. He might not have the ability to trust her or anyone anymore, but they could make something work. If she would accept him.
His blood iced. Would she push him away now? How much had he hurt her, abandoning her after she’d pursued him? Him, not her brother.
Realization stabbed him, bleeding hope. She’d raced to Micah after the battle, yet he’d turned her away. Turned away the girl who’d spent centuries alone.
Desperation struck. He needed to find her. He needed to find her now. Leaving things so open-ended had been his biggest mistake to date.
Flittering to the shore, he discovered a picnic basket. As before, necessities filled it, including an amplio stone and clean clothing. If the strange black pants with yellow stripes that fit his legs as if painted on could be considered clothing. Two stretchy bands attached to the waist, stretching over his torso vertically and hooking around his shoulders.
A note from Cookie accompanied the garment.
Enjoy the wildfires you’re sure to spark in your wife’s loins...
Whatever that meant. He dressed at record speed and flittered to the palace, eager to find Viori.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HE LEFT ME.
Viori barely listened as Kaysar and Cookie led her through a massive stone palace with erotic statues, elaborate chandeliers, gold furnishings and stained-glass windows—everything fit for royals. Objects she’d never imagined seeing up close and personal. But here she was. A queen without her king, mingling with another king and queen.
The happy couple chattered about everything and nothing. Drendall ran here and there, giggling. Meanwhile, Viori wanted Micah. He’d made her count on him. Had gotten her used to spending her days and nights with him. To sleeping in the comfort of his arms. To thrilling over his every touch. Being the recipient of his intensity and the object of his desire. Now he might not want to be with her? He needed to do things?