Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 230170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1151(@200wpm)___ 921(@250wpm)___ 767(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 230170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1151(@200wpm)___ 921(@250wpm)___ 767(@300wpm)
It would be just as ruthless.
But what I felt when I thought about Alastir’s involvement the night my parents died? The rage scorched my skin. He’d been there. He’d come to help my family and had betrayed them instead. And what he’d said about my parents knowing the truth about the Ascended? Obviously, they had learned the truth and escaped. That didn’t mean they knew for years as they stood by and did nothing.
And my mother? A Handmaiden? If that was true, why didn’t she fight back that night?
Or had I just not remembered that she had?
There was so much I couldn’t remember about that night, things I couldn’t decipher as real or only nightmares. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten them. Had I blocked them out because I was scared of them? What else had I forgotten?
Regardless, I had no idea if the Queen’s Handmaidens were guards or not. And I didn’t believe that any darkness—besides Alastir—was involved with that night. His twisted sense of honor and righteousness prevented him from owning up to what he’d done. Somehow, he’d led those Craven to us and then left everyone in that inn to die. All because I carried the blood of the gods within me.
All because I was King Malec’s descendant.
A part of me still couldn’t believe any of it—the old part of me that hadn’t been able to understand what about me, beyond a gift I hadn’t been allowed to use or being born in a caul, had made me special enough to be the Chosen. Blessed. The Maiden. And that part reminded me of when I was a child and used to hide behind Queen Ileana’s throne instead of going to my room at night because the darkness had scared me. It was the same part that had enabled me to spend afternoons with my brother, pretending that my parents were out walking together in the garden instead of being gone forever. It felt incredibly young and naïve.
But I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I wasn’t the young Maiden. The blood in me explained the gifts I’d been born with and why I’d become the Maiden—how my gift had grown, and why my skin glowed. It also explained the disbelief and agony I’d felt from Queen Eloana. She’d known exactly who I descended from, and it must have made her sick to think that her son had married the descendant of a man who’d repeatedly betrayed her and nearly destroyed their kingdom in the process.
How could she ever welcome me, knowing the truth?
Could Casteel ever look upon me the same?
My chest twisted painfully as I stared at the food. Would I even get the chance to see Casteel again? Seconds turned into minutes as I tried to keep my thoughts from straying toward what Alastir planned. I couldn’t let myself dwell too long on it—to think about the worst-case scenario playing out in my mind. If I did, the panic I’d been fighting off would seize control of me.
I wouldn’t let Alastir’s plan succeed. I couldn’t. I needed to either escape or fight back the second I could. Which meant, I needed my strength. I had to eat.
Reaching out carefully, I broke off a piece of the cheese and gingerly tasted it. There was little flavor to it. The section of bread I tried next was most definitely stale, but I quickly ate both and then drank the water, trying not to think about the gritty taste or how dirty it likely was.
Once I finished, I turned my attention to the spear. I wouldn’t be able to hide it, even if I were able to free it from the poor soul beside me. But if I could break off the blade, I might have a better chance. Drawing in a breath that felt…oddly heavy, I inched my hand toward the spear and stopped suddenly. It wasn’t the bindings. They hadn’t tightened.
I swallowed, and my heart skipped a beat. A strange, sweetness coated the back of my throat and my…my lips tingled. I pressed the tips of my fingers to them and didn’t think I felt the pressure. I tried to swallow again, but it felt weird—as if the mechanics of my throat had slowed.
The food. The gritty taste of the water.
Oh, gods.
That sweet taste. The sleeping drafts the Healers made in Masadonia had a sugary-sweet aftertaste. There was a reason I’d refused the drafts, no matter how little sleep I got. They were powerful and rendered you completely unconscious for hours and hours—leaving you entirely helpless.
They’d drugged me.
This was how Alastir planned to move me. How he planned to deliver me to the Ascended. He’d be able to remove the bindings safely when I was unconscious. And when I came to…
There was a good chance I’d be in the Ascended’s hands once again.