Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 153795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“Wow,” I murmur, studying the glass container of hair butter. “Royals have the best hair products.”
The queen mentioned there being clothes we could select in the wardrobes. I didn’t expect them to be filled to the brim with gowns, skirts, corsets, and bodices.
There are too many options to choose from. A person living in this castle is one thing. But deciding what to wear on a daily basis is another entirely and has to be mind-boggling. All the garments are high quality and bursting with color.
Since it’s the night of the fete, I decide not to go with my usual leggings, tunic, and earth tones and instead pluck out an ivory underdress with threaded gold-and-purple flowers embellishing the hem. It pairs well with a rich purple bodice and overskirt that’s laced with delicate gold ribbons.
I slip my arms into the billowy sleeves of the underdress, then put on the underskirt, allowing it to flow in waves to my feet. Next, I toss on the bodice and tie it as tightly and comfortably as possible.
Standing before one of the mirrors, I grab a handful of the skirts and twirl around with a grin. I’ve never worn a gown this lavish—so vibrant and full of life. I could never afford one as gorgeous as this.
I feel royal myself right now.
There are several jeweled clips in one of the drawers of the wardrobe. I select a few that match, do a quick braid design on the right side of my hair, and pin the ends with the clips. As I gaze into the mirror, I can’t help but wonder who this room belongs to. Are all these clothes Queen Jenia’s? Perhaps they’re all outfits she no longer cares to wear…or maybe there’s a princess around somewhere? That can’t be likely, though. I assume she’d have made an appearance downstairs when Kelrean did. Plus, the king said Kelrean was his only heir.
Once I find a pair of boots my size, I leave my room feeling ten times more relaxed. I pause in front of my door and stare at Rynthea’s. Through the gap at the bottom, I spot her shadow.
“I can hear you breathing, Zaira,” she calls.
I stand taller. Right. Beastials have impressive hearing.
“Sorry.” I laugh nervously. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Her door cracks open, and she sticks her head out. Her hair is loose, damp, and curly. She appears so innocent this way. “I’m fine.” She laughs. “Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, after the king has a hundred drinks and is ready to spill his guts. He’s surprisingly more lenient when he’s hungover.”
I smile. “Okay.”
She closes the door, and I drift through the corridor to reach the intersecting hall. As I approach the carpeted area, I spot a familiar person in all black on the opposite side.
Thane.
And, of course, my traitorous heart thumps several beats faster.
He’s wearing a laced-up black leather waistcoat over an ivory tunic with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The tunic has a shallow V-cut at the chest that reveals a slice of his silky brown skin. He looks refreshed.
“What, no buffers tonight?” I ask as I approach.
“They’re being washed.” He taps his waistcoat. “And this has buffers sewn into the lining. It’s the only one I could find in that wretched wardrobe,” he grumbles. “I don’t understand how anyone can wear such colorful clothing every day.”
“Not everyone wants to live out their days in all black like you.” I do my best not to focus on the broadness of his chest. The tunic he’s wearing right now is much more fitted than his other clothes. His pecs are… Well, let’s just say he takes great care of his body.
He’s wearing a necklace I hadn’t noticed before, a round black pendant with a scorpion in the center attached to a silver chain.
I start to ask about it but decide against it. He’ll probably give me a smart remark or ignore my question altogether, and I’m not about to let him ruin my mood or my night. Plus things are still a bit weird between us since the swamp.
“Well…I should get going. Getting kind of hungry.” I pass him and start for the curving staircase.
“I’m waiting on one of the helpers to bring me a pair of boots that fit,” he says, as if noticing my hesitation.
I nod. “See you at the chariot, then.”
“Yes. Unless, of course, you need me to guide you down the stairs, oh sweet one?”
“I’m certain I can handle a flight of stairs,” I call over my shoulder, but I still take each step down carefully, clinging to the handrail. I can hardly see the steps beneath the skirts. If I trip, it’s a long way to the bottom. Breaking my neck falling down a flight of stairs is not how I want to die after everything I’ve already gone through.