Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Inside, the inn is alive with laughter and talk, the clink of mugs and the scrape of chairs. The innkeeper’s face is flushed, her cough crackling. “Looking to stay the night? One room or two?”
“One will do,” Quin says.
I whip my head around to him, eyes widening. He ignores me and we’re led to a small room with a wide bed, a table, two chairs, and a window overlooking a jasmine-shrouded inner courtyard. Quin collapses onto the bed, the cloud of pain around him dissipating.
“Breakfast from six to nine—” the innkeeper begins, but she coughs again. I subtly gauge her condition with a hint of magic. This could get worse if not addressed.
She stops coughing and apologises, backing out.
“Wait.” I stride to her. “Chicken broth with pixie mushrooms and rostwetty. After that, I can—”
Quin coughs, fixing me with a pointed gaze.
Right. I clear my throat. “Chicken broth please.”
“I’ll have the kitchen bring some up right away,” the innkeeper says.
Quin thanks her and shuts the door. His brows lift in a semi-chastising manner.
I flash him a toothy smile, then drop it. “One room?”
He arches a brow and remains nonchalant as he drops onto the bed. “You stripped me of my fastenings. Better be consistent all the way through, hmm?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he’s lifting his bad leg carefully onto the mattress with a faint grimace. “Will we have to scrimp the entire journey?”
He side-eyes me. “You’re welcome to leave and do it your own way.”
I huff and point to a case poking out of his bundle of belongings. “Did you seriously pack your chess set?”
“We all have our priorities.”
“How much longer did I have to wait in the coffin for you to pack that?”
The barest of flushes creeps over his cheeks, but his gaze remains solid on mine. “Will you join me for a game?”
I squint at him. “I don’t play.”
He opens the set and gestures to the pieces. “Pawns, sentinians, vitalians, crown prince, princess, king and queen. The aim of the game is to protect your king.”
I fling myself onto the bed opposite him.
“Don’t see it as a game. The pieces mirror the dangerous and delicate balance of power in our kingdoms. We move them with careful thought. One false move, and—”
“Countless lives will be ruined,” I finish.
Quin nods.
I stare at the stone kings on the board. “Do you always play to win?”
He shakes his head. “Sometimes sacrifice is necessary.”
“Have you ever sacrificed something you didn’t want to?”
His hand hovers over a pawn, his expression shuttering. “You get used to it. Even if it hurts.”
A shiver runs through me and I lean in, whispering, “Is it unstable at the border?”
“The Iskaldir king is waiting for an excuse to go to war; only his son keeps him in check. It wouldn’t take much for the king to act regardless.”
“Why?”
“On the surface, they want to reclaim sacred land between our kingdoms. It’s where our oldest violet oak grows—a gift from the Arcane Sovereign himself.”
“Why can’t it be shared?”
“Wouldn’t that be a peaceful solution?”
“Why the sigh?”
“That was the original agreement. It was broken by my father.”
“Your father?”
“He stole the then Kronprins’s intended.”
“You don’t mean—”
“My mother, yes. Kronprins Yngvarr fell in love with her during a royal exchange meant to promote peace. My father, more cunning, caused the destruction of that peace, as well as emotional devastation.”
How dangerous love can be. “The devastation of your mother?”
Quin gestures for me to make the first move. I do, still staring at him.
“You’ll learn more by paying attention to the board.”
I hum in response, uncertain.
His gaze locks with mine, stirring a flutter of unease in my stomach. He leans forward, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “You want me to talk about love?”
I focus very quickly on the board, trying to steady my nerves.
“Let’s continue with the game.”
There’s no beginner’s luck. As the moon climbs high, I lose the fifth game in a row. “Again.”
Quin, rising to grab his cane, shakes his head. “Enough for tonight. I’ll return shortly.”
I follow him through the shadows, hiding under the wooden staircase as he meets a mysterious someone and exchanges something with him in hushed tones that I can’t quite hear. The conversation from three men at a nearby table disrupts my spying.
The youngest, with a striking freckle under one eye, notices me and signals his companions. They vacate, and when I regain my focus, Quin’s mysterious someone has already left.
“Can I help you?” the innkeeper’s voice startles me.
I pat the timber framework. “This carpentry. Exquisite.”
She coughs, and while she’s distracted, I race back up the stairs, barely avoiding Quin’s notice.
He and his cane snick, snick, snick into the room a few minutes later. The door shuts with a whoosh, blowing out the candle on the table.
He sits on the bed and unravels a note. With a satisfied hum, he folds the paper and tucks it into his belt. Then he tosses the blankets to the floor. “You take those; I’ll take the mattress.” He stretches out, his head resting on a pillow, utterly at ease.