Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
So much has changed since I pressed each little cutting into the earth with careful fingers, praying they’d take root.
And now?
They have. They’ve grown.
And I—I am a Cael who has felt profound dilemmas. A Cael who heals without magic. A Cael who . . .
I sneak a look at Quin, only to find his gaze already on me. Steady. Knowing.
He raises a brow. My fingers tighten at his waist. “Bathe. I’ll decoct some pearl heart for us. Maybe some thorn tea . . .”
He laughs, pressing his forehead against mine. “Only if you tell me stories again. Your first childhood love in the violet oak. And your second love—meeting Maskios. And the third—”
“You’re far too smug right now, Majesty.”
“It’s always been you for me, too.”
A flicker of movement—a streak of fur. Generalus, the young prince’s cat, scampers past, chasing a drifting petal, utterly indifferent to the weight of history between a king and his healer.
I let out a slow breath. “Bathe. And I’ll tell you how I fell in love with you.”
Six books. One epic love. A thousand thanks.
From the first spark to the final vow, Cael and Quin’s journey has been one of healing, defiance, and love in all its forms.
If their story stayed with you, your review would mean so much.
It helps others find their way to The King’s Man.
Thank you for being part of this adventure.
Oh, and if you’d like more of a glimpse at Cael and Quin’s Happily Ever After, read on for some bonus Palace Chronicles . . .
PALACE CHRONICLES
The kingdom is safe. The plague is over. But Caelus Amuletos is far from finished getting into trouble.
Welcome to Chaos after the happy ending . . .
He saved the king.
Now he just has to survive him.
SUSPECT ASSASSIN
Iwake with a start, ink staining my cheek, my desk littered with half-penned scriptions.
The candle beside me flickers its last breath, fizzling out in a puddle of melted wax.
I push myself up, rolling the ache from my shoulders. I was meant to check on Quin tonight, but it must be past midnight now. Again—
Wait.
There’s still light coming from his rooms. That makes three nights in a row.
I should just let him collapse on his own damned floor, but . . . I stumble to the door, barefoot and groggy. Quin with a cold isn’t as sexy as he thinks he is.
Pausing in the middle of the hall, I scowl, and double back. Fine. Fine.
If he refuses to sleep, I’ll make him sleep.
I shuffle back to my quarters and prepare a sleeping tonic, swipe up the vial and head towards his chambers, grumbling. “Honestly, Quin, stubborn royal nightmare that you are. Working yourself to the death!”
Guards swing around the corner, brandishing spells and swords.
What—
I whip around, expecting to see a sinister hooded figure fleeing through the shadows, but there’s nothing.
No one but . . . me.
Me. Holding a small glass vial. Me. Standing in the middle of the king’s hallway at an ungodly hour. Me. Who had been muttering darkly.
I leap away, scrambling back, trying to throw up my arms in innocence. I don’t recognise either of these men; just my luck—
One of the guards throws a spell at me.
My body is strung tight, I can’t move. I can only blink. They pry the vial out of my grip. “Wait—”
My protest is cut off by the other guard. “I heard him. Poison. He said this works. To the death.”
I did not survive fake death, war, and the plague to be executed on the spot due to a misunderstanding!
I let out a furious yell, trying to explain, but before I can properly defend myself, my lips are spelled shut.
I let out an offended grunt.
“I don’t think we can spill blood in the king’s residence.”
“Better interrogate him. There might be other assassins.”
More assassins? Interrogation? Quin! If you’re so awake, open the damn door!
I thrash against the magic, but it’s no use. I’m dragged to a cell.
A damp dungeon cell that smells like sweat and reminds me too much of the past. I grab the bars and shake them. The guards confiscate all my things: healing pouch, money, dagger. They exchange knowing looks, as if they’ve just uncovered undeniable proof of my guilt. But that dagger . . . it’s basically a glorified letter opener!
I grunt and squeal in an effort to break the muting curse while the two guards debate who gets to interrogate me first.
I smack my head against the bars with a long-suffering groan.
The taller guard crosses his arms, smirking. “How’d you infiltrate the palace? Who’s working with you?”
I point to my mouth and they remember, finally, to lift the spell.
“I’m not part of an elaborate murder plot.”
The guards exchange smug glances, rolling their eyes. The smaller one cracks his knuckles. “They always deny it first. But by the end of the night, they’re begging for a swift death.”