Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“You wound me up on purpose!”
He raises a hand, brushing close to my face—only to cradle the back of my head, firmer than usual, almost grounding. I glance up, searching his face, but he’s already looking away, his words tight. “How else do you handle a defeatist attitude? You put your life on the line for a chance to become a vitalian.” His hold loosens and he whacks me lightly. “If you don’t have inner scales, weigh outside the box. If you’re not good enough, get better.”
I rub my head as if it throbs, even though it only tickles where he touched it. I scowl.
He sips.
“Speaking of friendship,” I say suddenly, smirking when his head jerks up. “Not ours.”
His gaze commands me to continue.
I clear my throat. “It’s actually one of the reasons I want to attend the spring gala. It’s held on Queen’s Island, and she’s . . . a friend.”
Quin schools his face again, but a bit of tea sloshes out of his cup.
“Once, we were thick as thieves.”
A long, slow blink. But he doesn’t sound surprised. “Is that right?”
“We used to spend our summers together in Hinsard.” Hinsard. I shake off the sudden deep sad dive my stomach makes and jostle Quin with an elbow to his side. “I am familiar with that city, you know.”
“Scholar Calix Solin of Hinsard.”
The moment he says the name, I shiver violently.
Quin notices, a lingering look at my arm, a slow analysis as he lifts his eyes to mine.
I hurriedly and shakily duck my head into another sip of sweet tea, and Quin stares at me over the rim of his own cup.
He sips, and lowers it, and looks away. “Tell me about you and the king’s wife.”
I choke on my tea. “It’s nothing like that!”
“You can’t be blamed if you liked each other as children.”
“You know me, Quin . . . that is not possible.”
“Certain truths take time to realise.”
“I never felt that way toward Veronica.” I pause. “Only one person has ever fascinated me.” My stomach twists at this, but I hold my head high. “Definitely only one.”
Quin looks at me, sceptically.
I knock back my drink, veins buzzing. A little laugh slips up my throat. “And that one has fascinated me twice.”
“Twice?”
I stroke my soldad softly. “I was a child the first time.”
Quin takes my cup and pours, right to the brim.
I lounge with it, the tree trunk the perfect support at my back. “Do you want to hear the story?”
“I won’t be begging.”
“Can’t imagine that’s something you’d ever do.”
Quin spares me a contemptuous look as he drinks the tea.
I smirk over my teacup.
His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he pours another round of tea, and his fingers bump mine as he hands me the cup.
Redcloaks, water wyverns, a mysterious boy with magic—I tell Quin the story of the violet oak. Of my first encounter with the young Prince Nicostratus.
“That’s the only memorable someone in your life?” Quin murmurs, his face turned away from mine. There’s an edge to his voice, but it could also be the effects of the thorn tea. “Have there been no others?”
I tilt my head back against the trunk and shut my eyes against the swaying world. “I slept with a prince.”
Quin coughs. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Why not, it’s true? I slept with a prince. Prince Nicostratus, my hero. Absolutely, definitely the only person I’ve fallen for.” My chest swells on a violent laugh. “But . . .”
The air shifts and so does Quin. Close, his breath combing the sensitive skin beneath my jaw.
My chest tightens, and I clench my fists to keep still. “Memorable. There has been another man like that.”
Dappled light over Quin’s face brightens, or maybe it’s the interest in his look. His eyes stay on mine, but he doesn’t speak.
I let out a sighing breath and glance across the grass and trees. My jaw tightens. “He was something else. Always hid his face, never trusted me. Rude, ungrateful; a right pebble in my boot. And he always took off before I was finished with him. Worst, though, I got used to him reappearing.” I laugh as the ache surfaces again. “So when he stopped . . .”
Quin watches me, still as a shadow, but the quiet stretches, pulling at something raw inside.
My voice cracks, words coming out like thorns dragged up my throat. “Anyway, it’s not like I kept going back to all the places we met. It’s not like I spent months searching for him, or think of him all the time. It’s not like I wonder where he is and what he’s doing and whether he ever thinks of me.”
I force out a laugh. “Memorable,” I mutter. “Doesn’t always mean fond.”
Quin finally shifts, his voice heavy. “I see.”
“And you? Before your wife, was there anyone? Or have you only had eyes for one person.”