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Biceps bulging, Shelby interlaced his fingers behind his head and sighed. Ace forced herself not to stare at his toned arms or the way his shirt rose up to review a sliver of his stomach in the sharp angle of muscles that pointed down. “Shit. I guess we’re taking a trip to Glatton.”
“Ah, yes, that we are. I’ll find my way to the kitchen and pack us some food for the rest of our travels. Meet at the castle gates in ten minutes?”
Shelby stared off down the hall but Ace smiled, in answer to Rehan and nodded her agreement. “Ten minutes.”
Rehan walked around Shelby to cup Ace’s cheeks. He stared at her almost expectantly, looking for something. Ace stared at him back trying to keep herself still when she wanted to shuffle or even step out of his touch. “I’ll see you soon.” With that, he brushed a kiss against her cheek and turned to disappear into the next room.
Heat swarmed her body. Shelby scoffed and started forward. Ace felt pinned to the spot. The ghost of Rehan’s kiss was still apparent on her cheek while she watched Shelby’s back as he created distance between them.
This felt like a choice. She stared in the two directions she could move. Ace could follow after her future husband using this as precious alone time with him. She could venture off on her own for a moment of peace. Or she could catch up to Shelby. She couldn’t help but feel that each second that dragged by was a granular within the sands of time starting to slip away, rushing her to a decision. Hadn’t the decision already been made? Hadn’t she shaken the hands of Fae king? There wasn’t a choice.
Still, her heart beat with a longing, A seed had been planted and then sprouted. She blamed it on the piece of her soul Shelby carried because otherwise, she might have to confess to some sort of real attraction.
Yes, Ace could play this game of make-believe where her actions could all be excused by the bond that tied her to a warlock. At least that’s what she told herself as she turned her back in the direction Rehan had gone and hurried to catch up with Shelby.
Queen Ambrose
Something bigger.
Something more.
It’s coming. It’s coming. Coming for you. It’s coming.
Fabric tightened into tangles around Ambrose’s limbs as she shifted in bed. Sleep had been within distant reach for hours, never quite within her grasp. Warnings haunted her mind, wave after wave of nonsense and frightening cautions that left her body trembling and sweaty under her sister’s roof.
Save yourself. Save. Save you.
Save yourself or die with them.
Her fingers curled into the damp sheet. She squeezed her eyes so tightly closed that stars danced within the darkness. But nothing was as dark as her mind and she couldn’t escape the reality of insanity.
Pick sides. Pick sides. Pick sides.
No matter who you choose they all die.
Pick sides.
Listening to the voices had gotten her this far. For a minute she questioned if that was a good thing since, at the current moment, she was locked in her eldest sister’s castle while the three sisters younger than her were all dead. Her parents were gone, her crown was being threatened, and the love of her life was a creature that most of Pasia—especially Ophelia—found to be disgusting and vile.
Admittedly, most were. But not Ephram. He was different. He was special.
Be wise, young queen.Another voice echoed.
At twenty-four, nearly twenty-five, Ambrose struggled to feel young. Seeing so much death had aged her. Though her skin had not yet started to wrinkle much, except for the smallest bit around her eyes that crinkled when she smiled, she felt as though she’d lived a thousand lives. A thousand very different lives.
The poor girl promised to the boy next door.
The mourning girl who’d sought revenge for her parents’ deaths and the rights of an entire country.
The vengeful girl who’d become a woman, stolen a throne, and become a queen.
Now a powerful woman with no need that could not be met.
However, being let out of this room might be her most current unanswered prayer. Not even magic was able to turn the lock that kept her in. How Ophelia had found a way to outdo her was both surprising and somehow not a shock at all. Ophelia was always a step ahead. She was always planning, plotting, and devising ways to best her current opponent.
Ambrose had made the mistake of assuming she was no longer the adversary.
Her jaw clenched so hard she had to loosen it for fear she might crack her teeth. The long silk gown that graced her body clung to every curve as she rolled within the trap of fluffy blankets. Even the sun was mocking her as it shone through the windows and cast the shadows of the long iron bars that sealed the room shut.
