Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
My mouth drops open.
“I told you, torment, as well.” He shrugs elegantly. “Now, you’ve had a very difficult day, I presume, with your mother’s funeral and your stepfather’s lechery and your stunning performance a moment ago. You should sleep. Fortify yourself for the task ahead, honey flower.”
“I—” I begin to protest, still wanting to plead for relief from the agonizing need burning at my core. But I stop. “Why do you keep calling me that? Honey flower?”
His smile is almost tender. He touches my cheek, takes my chin in his hand to tip my face up. “After the blossom of the honey flower bush, of course.”
“That flower is poisonous.”
“Indeed, it is. But so beautiful, no butterfly, nor sprite, nor dragonfly, nor daisywing can resist its allure. They drink of its sweet nectar, but if they drink too deeply, the poison does its work.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “That’s you, Cenere. They’ll taste you, and you’ll be sweet, but beneath that sweetness runs the poison of your desire for revenge. And that… that makes you irresistible.”
His words are a spell over me. He’s been cruel and cold, but gentle at turns. And I think perhaps what makes me irresistible to him, what makes me his honey flower, is that he and I are the same. Cruelty lies in wait beneath my gentle exterior, and I long to loose it upon my enemies.
I think he might kiss me; his lips are so close to mine. “From now on, you are my ward. You’ll call me Guardian or be punished. You’ll be grateful for all I provide to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He bites my bottom lip hard, and I cry out. “Try again.”
“Yes, Guardian.” I taste blood on my lip.
He whispers, “Sleep,” and passes a hand over my face.
Suddenly, it’s morning. I can tell from the weak white light peeking around the edges of the drapes. I am rested, in the softest bed I’ve ever touched, warm and safe in the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.
I am alone, and I have no idea where I am.
Chapter Four
“Wake up!”
I startle at the sight of a small, hunched figure waddling to the drapes in the muted gray dimness. When it throws the curtains open, the figure itself remains muted and gray, in a plain, slate dress buttoned all the way up to her chin and dull silver hair scraped back severely beneath a stiff-looking snood. “I said wake up!”
“You’re a human,” I breathe in wonder, not caring at all about her scowl or the way she keeps barking at me.
“And you’ve got a busy day,” she snaps, bustling from the room and returning in a flash with a breakfast tray.
“Busy?” I hold my head and squint against the light. It seems only seconds since I stood in that strange parlor with Luthian. I’m disoriented, and I only vaguely remember the night before. “Busy with what?”
I made a deal.
I debased myself in front of strangers.
Luthian…
The human servant twists her face up even more if that’s possible. “I’m sure that’s none of my business. Now, eat!”
My face flames. Of course, the servant knows what I’m here for. Servants always know.
At least, the old woman removes her shadowy presence so that I can enjoy my breakfast in peace. There’s a perfectly boiled egg perched atop a silver cup, the lavender shell already cracked for me, revealing the firm, golden glaire and runny purple yolk. Two pieces of fluffy orange toast, a slice of fellboar, and a flute of pomegranate juice complete the feast. My grief has suppressed my appetite since mother died, and I’m thankful that the servant isn’t here to judge how desperately I scarf down every morsel on my tray.
Licking my fingers, I throw my legs over the edge of the tall bed. My feet don’t touch the ground. I slide down carefully and pad over to one of the enormous windows to kneel on the cushioned seat.
The view is spectacular. A long, sculptured garden flows toward the horizon in a series of tiers, each with its own fountain throwing rainbows up in their spray. Trees and hedges stand as pruned sentries, some simple cones or spheres, some intricate, verdant statues.
And walking on the white stone path, heading toward wherever I now find myself, is Luthian. It startles me to see him in the daylight; he seems a creature of the night to me, even as he strolls in the sun. His long hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, and he’s wearing plain black leather breeches and a white shirt with blousy sleeves. He’s far too plain, too…normal looking.
At his side is another faery, this one dressed similarly, with gleaming black hair that reminds me of onyx and skin the color of a doe’s fur. His wings are unfurled, painted in shades of turning leaves. He hops in playful circles around Luthian, who responds by swiping an arm out around his companion’s shoulders and bringing him in for an embrace that is obscured by those green-and-gold-and-orange-flecked wings.