Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“If you’re going to be at risk, then I’ll be at your back.” He took a step into her space. “Every time.”
Interlude
Estelle should have realized the girl had her pin. Damn her. She’d had that handmade in the early 1900s from a local jeweler. That the thief had pocketed it without Estelle realizing irked her. She had even known of her prowess as well as her powers. The fact that she’d won the game at all still surprised Estelle. That she’d stolen from her as well was beyond the pale.
“Mistress, your guest has pulled up to the curb,” Celine said with a demure bob of her head.
Ah, Celine, her most dedicated attendant. There were a full dozen at present, all over the city, but only Celine was allowed in her home. She wasn’t the most spectacular with any kind of magic, but she was certainly…dedicated.
“Thank you, Celine.” Estelle walked to the front windows to peer down at the black limousine in the rain. The streetlamps barely illuminated the row of cars. She remembered when they were gas lamps, lit at dusk and extinguished at dawn. Oh, how much had changed.
What hadn’t changed was Graves. Estelle clenched her jaw. That man. Insufferable.
She remembered the first time that she’d met him. She’d been born and raised in the country on a vineyard in Bourdeaux. Her father had brought her into the city to take up art lessons on a visit with her aunt, a much-accomplished fashion designer. The boutique under her home had been in the family that long. Though the name had changed once or twice. Her aunt was dressing all the most eligible ladies for the big galas happening during the Fair. While Estelle herself, a nobody from the countryside, wouldn’t have been afforded an invitation on her own, her aunt had sent Estelle in her stead all summer.
She danced with dozens, hundreds of men, finding them all lacking. None wanted to have a serious conversation with a woman. They commented on her beauty and then spoke of their business, as if she had no thoughts or dreams of her own. It was only with the women that she found real conversation, and the women were much more attractive, anyway. Oh, the afternoons she’d spent…working on her art with many a grand heiress. What a delightful time that had been.
Until Graves had shown up and realized that all the social weaving she had been doing naturally, playing games with the wealthy socialites, had been actual magic.
Then he’d wanted to train her. Undo all her hard work. And generally annoy her.
So she’d started to play games with him. Games he won more often than not. Her magic was strong enough that she started to stake claim over areas of the city. She learned warlocks were territorial, and there were too many of them in Paris at that time. She thrust Montrell into Graves’s path and watched his world implode around him. Estelle won that game, but Graves got his revenge after all.
She still remembered the moment the telegram had come in, informing her that her longtime lover had just accepted a proposal. No one had known she was courting the queen of the nymphs—that Aveline was her heart, body, mind, and soul. That she was the one Estelle had always wanted. Now Aveline would have a consort, engineered by Graves, and that consort was not Estelle.
A power play that she never forgot.
A knock came at the door. Celine opened it and bowed low. “Your Majesty.”
Aveline strode into Estelle’s home as if it were her own, even though it hadn’t been in nearly a hundred years.
“Hello, Avie,” Estelle said with her chin held high.
“My star,” Aveline said, kissing both of her cheeks. “Did you get my bracelet back?”
“She left with it.”
“I see.” Aveline’s expression didn’t change, but Estelle could read her displeasure.
“She was a formidable opponent.”
“And did you give her the invitation?” Aveline asked.
Estelle nodded. “I assume they’ll both be there.”
She liked her games. She liked to hold her cards close to her chest and only dole them out when she was most at an advantage.
She hadn’t anticipated the convoluted mess of emotions that had stepped into her flat this evening. Graves was usually a closed-off book, his desires only known to her when he wanted them to be known. She had been skeptical at the ferocity of his affections for his apprentice. She’d thought the “wife” bit was just that—a falsehood.
But what swirled between them made her question it. There was desire—oh yes, that much was obvious. However, lust, love, hate, desire were all so connected. And if she didn’t know Graves better, she would have thought he was being sincere that he wouldn’t risk Kierse in his games. Yet he had sent her ahead as his sacrificial lamb anyway.
A conundrum. One she wasn’t certain how to parse. Had the villain of the age finally met his match?