Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Here, Princess,” Garrick says, reaching into the second wagon and giving me a loaf of fresh bread. It’s still warm from the bakery.
The kids rush over as I walk up to them, breaking off bits of bread. Dirty hands grab and fight as I hand portions out, making sure everyone gets a piece. They devour it in seconds and watch me in awe as I wave and then head back to the carriage.
“Why are the wagons filled with jewels and gold?” I ask Garrick when we’re rolling toward the Blood Alphas’ castle once again.
“Guards are expensive,” he says. “And your father needs the whole northern border secured for three years at least. Three wagons such as these will be rolling into Varkhar once every season.”
I hope some of it trickles down to those kids back there and all of the other villages in the kingdom. I just hope the pair of kings aren’t totally selfish and keep it all for themselves.
But any man who can share his queen with another can’t be inherently selfish.
I’m curious about these Blood Alphas. I think about them the whole way to the castle.
I’d like to see them.
From a distance of course.
Royalty or not, they’re still barbarous creatures and not fit to be around a distinguished, civilized princess like myself.
Chapter Three
King Cassius
What have I done?
In my three years as a king of Varkhar, I have made exactly one tactical mistake, and that was underestimating the number of shifters attending our coronation. Thankfully, I have never made a mistake on the battlefield, and I don’t intend to start now.
Although, this predicament we got ourselves into with the humans may be the start of many, many tactical mistakes. Unless I can figure this out…
I stretch my arms and neck, hearing the little cracks and crunches from being hunched over this giant map for far too long. It’s a massive map of Varkhar, the Blood River, Aurevale, the Wilderwall, and the wild lands to the north. My eyes are locked on it as my mind races for solutions that refuse to come.
It seemed to be a good idea at the time. Three wagons full of jewels in exchange for security along King Corwin’s northern border. The humans, with their flying arrows and pointy sticks, are no match for the Hollowborn, and they were being slaughtered in droves as they attempted to repair their ancient, crumbling wall.
The choice was simple, really. Either let the wall collapse and watch as the Hollowborn devour the human kingdom, in which case, we would have had to increase patrols along our western flank for the rest of eternity. Or, get paid in an abundance of riches by the absurdly prosperous citizens of Aurevale to increase patrols along their northern border for a limited time.
The gems and gold could be used to better the kingdom. First, Tovik and I would order the purchase of grain from Keldmoor Island, which would fill our sorely lacking harvest vaults to the brim. Our people are exceptional warriors and hunters, but enthusiastic farmers, they are not.
That alone would have been worth it, but King Corwin is throwing enough treasure at us to turn the poorest peasant in Varkhar into a rich Aurevale merchant. How could I say no?
I should have.
Or, at least I should have done my due diligence and patrolled the wall. I was out there a few days ago, running along the border in my wolf form, and I saw all of the damage with my own eyes. It will take a decade at least to repair that cursed, crumbling wall.
We will run our wolves ragged trying to keep up.
Those damn humans and their ceaseless arrogance. Leave it to those soft creatures to roll around in their luxuries while neglecting the one thing standing between them and a horde of venom-clawed monsters. And then to turn to us wolves to clean up their century-long mess… So typically human.
The door bursts open and I don’t need to raise my head to know that it’s Tovik stomping in. I know this man so well, I can recognize the sound of his gait, but if that wasn’t enough, his pungent scent fills the room. After a night of patrolling the borders, there is a lot to smell.
“Eventful night?” I ask as my nose scrunches up. The scent of Hollowborn venom tickles my nostrils with that unpleasant sour tang.
“Althorn got injured,” Tovik grunts in his deep voice.
“Really?” I say, looking up at him curiously. He’s shirtless and barefoot, wearing only those old tattered tunic pants he can’t seem to take off long enough to get them washed. He looks like anything but royalty, covered in mud, sweat, blood, and streaks of green venom across his barrel of a chest.
His giant right hand is wrapped around a cup—his usual glass of bloodberry wine. It’s much too sweet for me, but this beast can’t get enough of it.