Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Oh no. The Sleepless Duke had regrouped. I’d frustrated his plans for me by becoming a Demarr, but he had formulated a new strategy. Letting me slip through his fingers wasn’t an option. He still needed the knowledge in my head, and I’d opened this door by planting a vision of me in a sexy nightie in his. Brilliant. Simply brilliant.
“That’s a bit hypocritical, Your Grace. In my place, you would’ve done the same.”
“In your place, I would have chosen the wiser option. I can protect you better than the Demarrs.”
“Yes, but Solentine offers no surprises. I’m familiar with the way he thinks. I don’t even know you.”
It was true. I had been in Solentine’s head, in Hreban’s, in Sauven’s, but never in Everard’s. I knew what he did and how he reacted but never why.
“Then I will have to introduce myself.”
He started down the stairs and since my hand was still on his arm, I stepped down with him.
“My name is Ramond vi Everard. Son of Lorest and Elia Everard. Lord of Selva, Cataren, and Audiar.”
He took a step.
“Wielder of the Fatefire.”
Another step.
“Lord Commander of the Selva Knightage.”
Every time we moved, he delivered a new title.
“Lord Commander of the Everard Knightage.”
Step.
“Commodore of the Falcon Fleet.”
Step.
“Duke of the Realm.”
And that told you exactly how little he valued Rellas’s title. He had put all the Selva-related honors first.
“Lord Protector of the Northern Coast.”
Step.
“Ruin of the Okula.”
He got that title when he stopped the Third Invasion. Sauven had to officially bestow it on him because of the historical precedent, and it had nearly killed him to do it.
“Owner of three castles and one hundred fifty thousand kare of land.”
Although he ruled the whole of Selva, his personal lands were the size of South Carolina. I knew that one from the forums. What was next, his prized Pokémon card collection?
We’d reached the end of the stairs and continued down the hallway toward the stairway to the basement.
“To summarize, I’m powerful, wealthy, and unattached.”
So nice of him to throw that last one in there. Not unmarried. Unattached.
“Interesting choice of words.”
He stopped by the door leading to the basement staircase. “Your turn.”
“Maggie of no name, poor, titleless, and landless. No fleets or castles.”
He flashed a smile, like a hint of a lethal blade in the scabbard. “You have some titles of your own. You forgot Undying.”
“Yes, well, there is that.”
“Keeper of Secrets.”
Funny he should mention that.
“A woman of interesting fashion sense . . .”
“Would you like to know who you will marry?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Omelyana of Gor.”
He blinked. “Ah. It seems I will require the Gorynian Guard in the future. But why would they seek an alliance with Selva?”
“There will be an earthquake along the White Beard Strait. It will drown their main port.”
He rocked his head back and forth, mulling it over. “Makes sense.”
“You will manipulate her until she falls in love with you. She’ll live for the crumbs of your attention. Your presence will become her reward for anticipating Selva’s needs.”
“Mhm.” He bent toward me slightly. “But will she be happy in my presence?”
I opened my mouth. Shoot. “Yes.”
Deliriously happy, in fact. Giddy. Thrilled.
“Well, that’s something to keep in mind, then, isn’t it?”
You arrogant ass.
He swung the door open and offered me his arm. “Let’s see what we can squeeze out of our guest.”
CHAPTER 31
Last week, while recovering from their training sessions, the Magnars had remodeled the basement. They’d trashed the child-sized bunk beds and hung a door for the latrine. Gort had whitewashed the walls, and we’d used some of the lye I’d bought to banish the bloodstains.
The basement looked completely different now, with two plain wooden tables and benches on both sides and hooks and pegs on the walls that supported weapons. When Everard was Reynald, he’d planned to turn it into an armory/ last-stand room. It still made me slightly queasy, but I would get used to it.
Gort sat at the left table on a bench. Lute was next to him. He was looking two shades paler than usual and as he turned to glance at us, he winced a little. Will leaned against the other table. The prisoner sat in a chair in the middle of the room.
His hood was down, revealing short brown hair salted with silver and the face of a man in his early forties who’d lived a rough life. A small scar marked the flesh under his right eye. Another crossed his nose and three more cut his left cheek, all old and healed but still clearly visible. A short beard hugged his jaw, dark and touched with gray. His brown eyes were worried, but his expression said this was a man who knew he was screwed, and he wasn’t surprised because that was the way his life rolled. He’d accepted it but he was bitter.
Everard helped me to a bench. I sat down. He leaned against the table next to me, arms crossed on his chest.