Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Every royal’s eyes were closed, including the emperor’s. He sat atop the only gold throne. It occupied the space in the center of the back wall, at the feet of Astan’s likeness. There were no noticeable cracks in the statue. But his horns . . . I pressed my hands to my protesting stomach. They’d risen another notch.
A pregnant woman in a white gown stood at his side, with ten guards stretched out behind her. Even their eyes were closed. The woman’s only piece of jewelry was a thick silver chain with a fancy wrought-iron key hanging between her ample cleavage.
A key. My breath caught. The key?
Only the wealth of shadows kept their eyes open. Those that cloaked the emperor, especially. They coiled around him as if they were pieces of jewelry.
Altogether, it was the creepiest thing I’d ever witnessed. Were the royals entranced? Meditating? Pondering the answer to a riddle? What?
I stood immobile, unsure what to do but knowing I needed my boyfriend as the horrors of the day came crashing into my awareness. “Cyrus?” I rasped.
The shadows fell away from him, as if shoved by an invisible force. Suddenly his lids popped open, and his attention swung to me. He frowned, appearing perplexed, and unfolded to his feet, every movement labored as if he was wading through an ocean of water. The struggle lessened the farther he got from the throne until finally he strode with ease. Concern replaced his bewilderment.
He cupped my cheeks in his warm, calloused hands and looked me over. “What’s wrong?”
I bucked up, jutting my chin and pretending I wasn’t ripped apart at the seams by everything that had happened. “I’ll be okay.” I whispered the assurance, yet my voice echoed from the walls. But would he? “Get me out of here.”
“Come.” Cyrus snaked an arm around my waist and ushered me from the room. He walked so swiftly, I almost couldn’t keep up.
I cast a glance over my shoulder, to the pregnant woman and her key.
Cyrus and I didn’t speak again until we were sealed inside our private bathroom.
“What was that place?” I demanded. “Why were you frozen like that?”
“I don’t know.” His guttural timbre boiled with frustration, anger, and even a hint of fear. “Let’s get the blood off you.”
The blood of my teammates. Whatever remained of my shock dissolved, ensuring I experienced in unison reactions I’d previously staved off. Tremors started in the center of my torso and worked their way to the tips of my fingers and toes. New tears welled. A cry lodged in my throat.
“I think we should focus on what happened to you in that temple,” I croaked.
“We will. Just not now.” Cyrus turned on the water. Soon, hot steam thickened the air.
My tears spilled over as he removed my bloodstained clothes and boots. I let him do it, even raising my arms to help. He shed his own as I brushed my teeth, then entered the waterfall first and drew me in behind him.
“Roman killed Miller, who was Soalian,” I said, my tone going flat again. Head bowed, I stared at the black-and-white tiled floor inside the stall. The liquid spray rained over me. “Winslet might be dying. She was shot twice. Five others are already dead. We were pitted against each other in a free-for-all.”
He pressed the tenderest of kisses into my brow. “It’s awful. It hurts. I can’t make it better. But I can clean you up and hold you, and I want to—I need to do that. Let me?”
“Please.” The cry escaped me, and there was no stopping the heaves that shook my entire body.
Cyrus held me through it all, cooing and petting me, and when I at last quieted, he soaped me up from head to toe. His touch wasn’t sexual but reverent and comforting. Loving and tender.
We’d been naked together before, but we’d been in front of others then. Here, now, we were alone, and I was fragile, as naked on the inside as I was on the outside. Never had I felt so exposed and vulnerable. The dueling sensations left me uncomfortable with my comfortability.
“Tell me a happy story about young Cyrus,” I begged, desperate to hear something sweet.
He hesitated only a moment. “One of my earliest memories is of my father taking my mother, me, and Felix on a picnic. The king wasn’t some big, strong commander of the world’s most powerful army to us but a man who played catch and made us laugh. I still smile when I think of that day.”
As he washed and conditioned my hair, I imagined him that way. Young and carefree, releasing peals of laughter, and I almost smiled myself.
Every so often, he paused to collect my tears with the pads of his thumbs and kiss the burning tracks left behind. “You will grow through this, I swear it.”