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)
The taller one shakes his head. “What comes next? I wasn’t sneaking into the king’s chambers to kill him, I was just—”
The smaller finishes, “—going to bow down before him, because he’s my lifelong hero, and I will do anything he commands of me.”
Well . . . “Yes. That. I was even going to fix his pillow.”
They stare at me blankly. Then, “Smart-ass, this one.”
“I’m not an assassin. He’s my . . . friend!”
“Right. Your friend and closest confidant.”
I growl. “I am his closest confidant.”
A snort. “And I’m his long-lost cousin.”
The smaller guard bats the taller excitedly. “And I’m his childhood best friend.”
I drop my head onto the bars with a groan. Quin! With all the patience I can muster, I smile politely. There’s no getting through to these men. “You’re right. There’s a grand plot, and the only way you can save your king is to bring him to me, Caelus Amuletos.”
“We can torture the plot out of you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Not in time.”
The guards startle, look wide-eyed at one another, and scurry off.
Quin snaps into the dungeon a few long, very long, minutes later. One of his brows shoots up, and he slows his step. “Why are you here?” Like it was a choice. Like it’s some special sexy ‘act’ I’m about to perform.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just felt like tonight was a good night to be arrested.”
He looks at me again, expression shifting from curiosity to the dawning realisation that, yes, that does sound like something I’d do. “For what?”
I shrug. “The usual. Attempted regicide.”
Quin approaches, cane poking at me through the gaps between bars, his lips twitching. “You are good at slaying me.”
I glare at him and then jerk my chin to the idiot guards standing very importantly behind him.
Quin inclines his head and raises his voice sharply. “You’re dismissed,” he tells them. “I’ll handle his punishment personally.”
It’s exhausting.
I crumple, flailing, begging for it to stop.
Quin nudges me with his foot. “It’s just scrubbing the floor.”
I hear the turn of pages as he continues working.
“Could you at least give me a hand?” I mutter and scrub between the legs of his chair, glancing at his lap. “Or something?”
“No.” Quin reaches down and strokes the top of my head, with a flicker in his gaze that is clearly enjoying my suffering. “But you could give me a hand.”
He fumbles with his belt and suddenly I’m on my knees in front of his chair.
And it’s the only time I enjoy bowing before him.
THE THING THAT NEVER HAPPENED
“Tomorrow’s the peace talks,” Quin says, punctuating it with a wet cough that he claims he got from visiting me in the dungeons. He braces against the doorframe. “I’d rather not have the Wyrd envoy see me like this.”
I tug him into my chambers before he can argue, guiding him to a stool amid the chaos of half-finished potions.
“Don’t bother Florentius with it,” I murmur, setting his cane aside. “I have something. We’ve been dabbling in some vitalian-alchemy combinations.” I pluck a glass bottle off my desk. “This is supposed to clear the mind and rejuvenate the body. It’s quite possibly the best cure we have.”
“Have you tested it?” Quin asks, his brow rising. “You’ve been . . . exceptionally experimental of late.”
I flush. “How many times do I have to say it? I was trying to improve the stamina of your leg.”
“Which one?”
I grip the bottle tightly on a nervous laugh and thrust it to him. “Trust me, this will have you feeling like your old self again.”
Well. Quin is definitely feeling like his old self again. His very old-old self. As in, the five-year-old version of himself.
I make a grab for him, but he’s alarmingly fast for a child-sized monarch. He jukes left, cackles, and scrambles under my workbench, the bottle clutched in both tiny hands like it’s his birthright.
“Quin, give me that before you reverse-age yourself out of existence!”
“It tastes delicious.”
I grab it off him just before he tips more into his miniature mouth. Along with his size, his mind has been affected too. Of course, even little princes spout big words . . .
And bigger tantrums!
Quin stomps his feet and glares up at me, fists balled at his sides. “Do you not understand ‘off with his head’?” He pauses, then gasps. “Wait, where’s my crown? You’ve stolen it, haven’t you? Vile vitalian!”
I should be panicking. I am panicking. My heart is thudding like a war drum, my mind already racing for a way to fix this . . . but bless the Arcane Sovereign, he’s so ridiculously cute.
I can’t help but grin down at the adorable boy. I pat his head. “You seem to be stomping without pain. Is your leg feeling better?”
“Good enough to kick you out of the palace. Where’s my mother?”
So Quin has forgotten who I am. This is . . . good. Very good. Once he’s back to his old self, his normal old self, he probably won’t recall any of this.