He’s so good at giving warnings and threats wrapped in pretty, loving words.
So am I.
“Peace is a prelude to war.” I make sure each word I speak cuts like shattered glass.
“War is a prologue to a crown,” Galen replies. His glare is meant to cut me like a blade, but I've been numb since my brother died.
“And the epilogue of a crown worn by an unworthy king,” I slide off his lap and press a hand to his shoulder, “is an uprising.”
I bow, acknowledging that he and I are officially at war.
As I saunter away, I bite my inner cheek, hiding my smile.
Chapter
Five
Titus
Queen Selene is a sunrise after a battle that almost killed you. Awe-inspiring, breath-stealing.
You’re so thankful to witness something this magnificent, but at the same time, reality hits you: you need to survive another day in order to be lucky enough to see the sun again.
How in the gods’ holy names do I get close to her without risking my dick? Because he’s perking up.Selene’s as striking as a diamond trapped in a crown I can never afford to own or look at.
But I need her. Desperately. I need to free her so I can use her.
I’m a copy and paste of every male—shit, the women too—in the room. Mouths parted, eyes wide. It’s a slap-me-silly moment to witness beauty at her level.
Galen and her dance like two skilled warriors, neither willing to back down. Her eyes smile darkly as she trades words meantfor an intimate duel. The crowd’s shadows inch in, hoping to eavesdrop, but the music swallows their conversation whole.
“I’d let a woman like that bend me backwards and?—”
My fist hits hard abs. “Shut up!” I glare at Tristen. “Do you want to die?”
“If it were by her hands, after she rode my cock, I’d die happy.”
Red stains my eyes. One blink removes it.
What was that? I never lose focus.
We travel faster than floodwaters ripping through a small ocean town as I drag my brother through the crowd, away from the dance floor, and towards the bar.I need a drink. I need the whole barrel!
Dying in battle is honorable, but maybe I should consider dying of toxicosis.
I grab a glass. Bloodwine spills over the rim, red drips down my fingers.
Is this a prelude to my time at court?
“Don’t mind if I do,” Tristen gingerly sings, reaching for a glass. I intercept, shoving water into his hand.
“Good idea.” He speaks unfazed. “Hydration is key to killing a hangover.”
“No more wine,” I growl, rolling my eyes.
“See, you’re always looking out for me.” He raises his water, smirks, then chugs it down. “Wine hangovers are the worst. I’ll stick to whiskey then.”
“No more, Tristen.”
