Page 33 of End of the Sword


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“And who would the lucky man be?”

“Probably some rich shmuck who doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.”

Ephram was still. His hands were folded against his stomach, his face pointed upward as if he was trying to figure out what Ambrose was staring at with such intensity.

“That is certainly true,” he said quietly, waiting for Ambrose to continue with whatever it was she was holding back.

“I’m supposed to forget about my sisters.”

The whole sentence hung in the air between them. Ophelia’s command, the words that would break Ambrose’s heart. She chewed her cheek, trying to disguise the hurt. Nevertheless, there was a hole in her chest that she didn’t think could be filled by anything else. It hurt to lose Sienna. If she let herself think too much about Farah it might kill her.

There wasn’t time for a queen to mourn.

So she tried to mend the open wound in her heart as best she could by blatantly ignoring reality as much as possible. Every so often she would find herself thinking of her sister as if she could send a letter and get the reply tomorrow. It didn’t feel real that she was gone.

“Really?” Ephram propped himself up on his elbows. “That’s interesting.”

“How so?”

“I thought Ophelia led this war in the name of family. Wasn’t throwing the Fae out part of an elaborate plan to seek revenge for your parents’ deaths? Now all of a sudden, she doesn’t care that her sisters are gone… Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“It does.” Turning to look up at him she could feel her hair getting frizzier by the moment as it rubbed against the blankets.

Still, something else at the back of her mind nagged at her. A truth she wasn’t sure how she knew but the knowledge was there anyway.

One of her younger sisters still lived.

Not Sienna.

Not Farah.

No matter how she wished it to be true for them.

Somehow she knew her youngest sister still lived. It shouldn’t be possible and she hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about it. Not to Ephram. Or even aloud to herself.

“I have this strange feeling.” She started, holding Ephram’s attention. “I can’t get rid of the notion that my youngest sister is alive. I’ve dreamt of her after her death. Every dream is current day and she’s a littledifferentbut I know it’s her.”

“How is she different?”

“Orange eyes. White scar.” Ambrose touched a hand to her throat. That’s how Aylee had died. She couldn’t even imagine. It had pained her to watch and she’d protested the idea from the very start, but Ophelia was so adamant that she finally decided this must be the only way. “She’s not dead. I feel it in my bones.”

“Did the voices tell you that?”

“Only if the voices are messing with my dreams now.”

Blankets bunched between them as he scooted closer to her. Their arms brushed and she relished the heat of his body.

“I think I know something that might help ease your stress.”

Ambrose lifted a brow.

“A kiss.” Ephram teased lowering his mouth over hers.

“And I’m the naughty one.” She laughed but finally let him seal his lips to hers.

Ephram was soft against her, each teasing and taunting caress helped to ease away the stress of her stay. His tongue slid over her bottom lip dancing with hers in a rhythm they’d come to settle in. The weight of his body rolled over hers, pressing her down against the bed as she swallowed kiss after kiss.

She needed his weight there to keep her from floating off too far into her thoughts; he kept her grounded while she swelled with that feeling that fanned the flames of her desire. Her gown caught against the buttoned pockets of his pants, still she let her legs spread to allow him to settle against her. His hips shifted against hers, the growing press of his cock against his zipper could be felt even through the thick layers of her dress.

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