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)
Debris smashes down around us and dust sprays into a gust, and Quin takes the second to curl his lip. “I won’t let you go.”
He pushes his frame against the force of the storm, to where the door glows like a throb, a heartbeat.
Hopefully one not about to go out—
With a roar against the wind, Quin surges forward. He slams against the door, forcing it open, and we narrowly slip through to the glade on the other side.
For a heartbeat, silence surrounds us. We sag against the stone arch as we steady our breaths and our racing hearts.
Tendrils of fear still twine around my chest.
My gaze drops to our hands, gripped tightly together. I swallow and try to loosen mine, but Quin narrows his eyes and doubles his grip. His eyes train in on my cheekbone and he lifts his other hand; drops it again, along with my other. “Your cheek,” he says gruffly. “It’s cut.”
I can feel a ticklish line across my cheekbone, and dab at it.
Quin turns away from me. “Avoid a headache in the real world. Heal it here.”
He waits for me to find calming herbs in the glade and once I’ve pasted my cut with their balm, he reluctantly leads me to the fifth rune door. “Does it hurt?”
I shake my head and push against the door, but it barely budges. I frown at it, and try again.
Quin presses his palm to the runes and it opens a fraction. “Ah,” he says, as if this is something he understands. “We’ll need to push together for this one.”
“What is it? Why is it so stiff?”
“Some doors are like this, hard to open. Some secrets need to be locked away.”
Together we push and slip inside—into a lookalike glade, sparkling in the dewy morning light. Prins Yngvarr is sneaking quietly up to the cabin, where he can hear Casimiria’s sobbing. A twig snaps under his foot and a warning arrow flies from the open door over the glade. “Who’s there?”
“Forgive me,” Yngvarr says, and retreats.
Casimiria rushes to the door. With a graceful leap and supporting breezes, she glides to the prins standing in the soulblooms. Her eyes are puffy from tears but she still looks beautiful as she stands before him.
He stares down at her, saying nothing.
“Why did you come?” she finally asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be disgusted by me like everyone else? I tricked the prince into selecting me, after all.”
“They did this to you.” Prins Yngvarr’s hands are shaking at his sides, like he’s holding himself from reaching out to her. “Don’t ever blame yourself.”
She stares at him for a long time. “You’re the only one that believes in me.”
“I saw vitalians leave that room. I know very well.” He curses. “I’m to blame for this. He overheard my conversation with the king. I asked for you. I wanted to marry you. He hated that I might hold more power than him.”
Casimiria is blinking hard.
He looks at her. “Can you ever forgive me?”
She laughs like this is unexpected—touching and tragic. “And now I’m being forced to become his.”
Prins Yngvarr steps closer, shaking his head. “We don’t have to submit to this fate.”
“My lovelight has been taken. I’m ruined.”
“I don’t care for your Lumin traditions. I don’t need your lovelight. I know the truth.”
She catches her breath and her hand trembles as she reaches up and strokes his cheek. She smiles sadly.
He clasps the back of her hand, holding her fingers to him.
She shakes her head softly. “You’re Iskaldir’s eldest prince. You cannot run away.”
He finally slides his fingers off hers and she drops her hand. He knows she’s right. He knows he has responsibilities. He knows the two of them cannot be.
He steps back with a gentle bow and Casimiria snags him boldly by the arm. “We can’t have a future,” she says, and he folds to her pull, “but we can have this moment.”
I stare at them sharing delicate smiles as they disappear into the cabin, and Quin clasps his hands behind his back and slowly follows after them.
“What’s the point?” I mutter aloud, and he pivots to face me. I look at him, frowning, my voice pinching and eventually breaking. “If they can never be, why make it harder to say goodbye?”
Quin holds my gaze with such tender intensity and frustration, I’m afraid he can see me trembling. I jerk a finger to the cabin, to them, but he doesn’t follow my hasty attempt at deflection. He crosses the glade and I can feel the vibrations of a deep roar that he only just holds in check. Yet despite the thrumming tension, his fingers are gentle as he peels back the silver ribbon that’s fluttered over my face, and his voice even gentler. “Perhaps they’re just as torn. Perhaps they know they shouldn’t. Perhaps in their life they want a single stolen moment of joy.”