[Wattpad Picks: Editors' Choice]
Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret she has managed to sheathe from all faery alike.
Until now, that is.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is shredded to bits by the malevolent interfering of fa...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue as nossas directrizes de conteúdo. Para continuares a publicar, por favor, remova-a ou carrega uma imagem diferente.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"AND HERE I THOUGHT KINGS WHILED AWAY THEIR DAY LAZING ON THRONES," Saoirse murmured richly, gown sweeping across the lushly carpeted floors of the Alder King's antechamber.
The Alder King sat elegantly behind a monstrosity of a stone table, reclined, booted feet sat upon the corner of his escritoire. His tunic was a silky garment that looked to have been torn from the very night sky; it shimmered of star-speckled midnight. Its neckline plunged past his heart, revealing an expanse of quilted muscle and golden skin. His arm was outstretched beside him, outrageously adorned crown hanging from graceful, limber fingers at an insouciant angle. Before him, sat upon his desk, lay missives and writings of import, on both luxurious parchment and leaf. In the air, at the command of his finger, an ebony feather scrawled and indelicately etched messages on something invisible to Saoirse's eye.
"To my great antipathy, politics beleaguers even the most apathetic of Kings, mortal or faery." The Alder King spoke after a long, indecipherable moment of silence, his features inscrutable.
"How quaint a thought," Saoirse quipped wryly, making no move to come closer to him. "And if I may, what are these matters concerned with?"
Though she had been the one to suggest their arrangement, the one to incite the events of the night prior, she was uncertain as to where she stood with him. Her tongue had always wagged impertinently with him, but she had to be cautious with her behavior. Or else, everything she strived for would be lost to her.
"Gentry folk," The Alder King surprised her by answering truthfully. "They wish to wheedle their way into my Court. Others wish for passage through the Dark Forest, through my court, and into any of the four territories surrounding mine. Others are merely whispers of intrigues across Elfhame."
Though Saoirse had not considered it before, The Alder King certainly had his fingers dipped in many a pie; his reach and concern vast. He was kept abreast of courtly intrigues, machinations, and matters across Elfhame for he was the very life blood of it. She had only ever thought of him as a pompous ornament of power, whittling away time spent upon his throne. But evidently, that was not the case.
His eyes slid down the length of her, drinking in the elaborate gown. "The gown suits you." Then, with a lopsided, wry grin, "iron and all."
Saoirse smirked, fingers dancing over the edge of her sleeve. "I will not thank you for the dress, gift though it may be. So if you were hoping for a show of gratitude, you may find it elsewhere."
The Alder King laughed, suddenly and sharply. "You don't wish to risk indebting yourself to me?"
Saoirse hummed in agreement, and then softened her voice. "That, and it wasn't necessary. I asked the question therefore I was obligated to listen."
