Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
While he winces his way into it I turn, shaking, to the table and pull out the things I bought in town. At his limping footsteps towards me, I hold a book up over my shoulder. “This is for you. Study it. Practice.”
Quin reads the title. “How to play the flutette for beginners.” He laughs and bats the book out of my hand.
I pick it up again and this time settle it into his hands. “You can’t excel at everything, even if you are a king.”
My veil gets caught between the book and his fingers; I hurriedly pry it free and take a good step back.
Quin notices my flinch, the way my hand pulls back too quickly, the way my breath snags. He pauses, his gaze lingering, searching. “All the other healers I’ve encountered here lift the veil upon seeing their patient,” he murmurs.
I stammer, “I was poisoned as a child. It . . . left scars.” My voice wavers, and I grip the edge of the table, hoping he won’t press further. The silence stretches before he nods, his expression unreadable, as if he understands more than most the suffering from poison.
He lowers himself into a chair, spotting the other thing I brought him. “Chess?”
I nudge it towards him. “At the very least, it’ll stave off some boredom.”
“Did you spend money on this for me?”
“Of course not. I . . . had it lying around.”
He opens the flawless chequered box and pulls out one of the vitalian figures nestled in a velvet pocket. Not a scratch or dent mars the carved wood. His gaze flickers over it to me. “You take exceptional care of your things.”
I grimace. “Someone gave it to me. I barely know how to play, so I never used it.”
He pulls out a few more pieces. “Sit.”
“I’m not sure—”
He throws me a dirty look. “Consider this how to play chess for beginners.”
I plant myself across from him. Better to placate him than incur his wrath. “There’s time for a short game.”
I fool him by asking what each piece is allowed to do, and deliberately make mistakes.
“You really are playing like you’ve never touched a board,” he mutters, adjusting his pieces with precise fingers. “This is painful to watch.”
“Patience,” I retort. “I’ll have you know I’m a quick learner.”
He arches a brow.
He gestures, and I make my move, watching him in turn. Without any reflective surface in here, has he noticed his hair is an inch longer than yesterday?
Before I take my next turn, I pull out the vial holding the hair-growth pills and pinch him out another one.
He raises a brow but swallows it, then tells me the strengths of the move I just made, but also how it might have been better to shift my queen. I’m hit again with my mother’s letter. The carnage at the island.
Does he know? Was news of this the reason he forged down the mountain despite knowing there’d be traps? Had he been trying to get to his mother?
“You can sacrifice your vitalian here, but not your prince.”
Prince. That was family, and family always comes first.
Sullenly, I trade a few more moves with him.
After a while, he murmurs, “What’s your relationship with Prins Lief? You’re close. How close?”
I shove a sentinian across a square. “I got myself into some trouble and he’s helping me out.”
“Not for nothing.”
“He wants me to be his.”
He continues to play—too smoothly, too patiently. “You shouldn’t have admitted that. What if I use you to threaten him?”
“I’m very much disposable.” I pause. “Besides, you wouldn’t do that.”
“How can you be sure?”
Because along these years, you’ve been quietly setting roots inside of me. I know. “I suppose it depends on the type of king you are. Whether you want peace with your neighbours.”
“What if I don’t care?”
“You do, or the sharp end of that sentinian would already be at my throat.”
Quin moves his pawn, lips tipped into a grimacing smile. He checkmates me on his next turn. “Do you know many healers?”
My gaze lifts sharply to his face. He’s concentrating too hard on resetting the board.
He continues with nonchalance that feels stiff. “Have you come across any hailing from Lumin?”
My heart thumps wildly.
Don’t come between me and my brother.
I should stop this conversation. I promised I wouldn’t involve myself with him again. I’m only breaking my word to save him. I can’t indulge in anything more.
I won’t.
My limbs tremble as I rise from my chair.
Step away. Leave.
His chair creaks. I feel the heat of his gaze through my veil.
“Someone called Caelus passed through here.” I slam my eyes shut.
My stomach clenches, waiting . . .
I slowly open my eyes. Quin’s expression is smooth and unreadable. He remains quiet for a few long breaths, then rises and stands to look out the shuttered gaps to the garden. Pensive. Once more bathed in sunlight and shade. What are you thinking?