Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He laughed when we stopped at a white-and-gold door. “Why am I so certain being married to you will be both grueling and hilarious?”
I shrugged. “Because you like to fight with me.”
“It is you who likes to fight with me,” he said, opening the door for me. When I stepped inside I froze, utterly stunned. For some silly reason, I had assumed it would be one room. However, it was an entrance into a wing of the palace that went on farther than my eyes could see. On every wall there was a painting that stood four men high and at least ten men across. I stepped in humbly, walking past a statue of a veiled maiden, who kneeled, holding out before herself…a heart.
“In ancient Rome, young virgins were chosen to be consecrated to the Roman goddess Vesta as a priestess. Their duty was to tend the sacred fire perpetually kept burning on an altar,” he explained from behind me. “They were depicted with veils over themselves as a sign of their purity. Artists from all over Europe created these in honor of the girls. This one is about Pomona, the girl who cut out her own heart.”
“What?” I gasped, reaching up to put my hand over my chest to feel my heart beating inside. “Why would she do that?”
“She fell in love: the greatest of all sins for a priestess. She never wished to serve Vesta, and tried to escape with her lover. They were caught, and he was charged with kidnapping a priestess and she was returned to her watch at the altar. In anger and sorrow, she cut out her heart and threw it into the flames, but it was so full of blood and life that it extinguished the fire. And no Vesta priestess could ever bring it back.”
I frowned, not at all enjoying that story. “When I was younger, I used to love myths and legends, until I realized they always ended so bitterly. As if it were a crime for anyone to live and love happily for the rest of their life.”
“In the defense of the storytellers, most people’s lives are bitter,” he replied.
“Isn’t that more of a reason to give people hope?” I turned to him, not realizing he’d been standing directly behind me, so I came to face his chest.
“Sometimes hoping is equally bitter, and it is much more comforting to be cynical,” he said, reaching up and cupping my cheek. “If you don’t hope, you won’t be disappointed.”
“If you do not hope, you cannot dream, and if you cannot dream, you cannot live.” The words came out of me with little thought, as I was very aware of every time his thumb brushed my cheek.
He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to mine. “Are you a philosopher, Lady Hathor?”
“No, I just have moments of wisdom, Prince Wilhelm,” I whispered in the small space between our lips. I so badly wished to kiss him once more. “Though I must say, the moment must have come and gone, because it is not wise for us to talk this closely.”
“Wisdom is nothing without foolishness. And I would love nothing more than to be a fool with you, but I promised your father—”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I pressed my lips against his. He was still for a moment, and just when I thought of pulling back, his arms wrapped around me and he pulled me to him. His tongue entered my mouth just like before, but this was different. I could feel his hands upon my body squeezing my waist and thighs. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer standing but lifted for a moment, and a second later my back was against the wall. He pinned me, and without realizing it, my legs were open and on either side of him. He kissed from my lips down to my neck, and my voice caught in my throat—I could not even describe the sound.
“Hathor,” he whispered in my ear. I shivered, not just because of that, but because his hand somehow found its way underneath my dress, allowing him to caress my thigh. “I am trying so very hard to be a gentleman for you, not to revert back to my instinct—which is this. When I pull back or stop, you must stop, too, or I will have you up against the wall, or on a table, or the floor. Anywhere, to do the most despicable of things.”
All of me was burning. “Define despicable?”
“Hathor!” He squeezed my thigh.
“If you wish to warn me, you must make it clear for me. What is despicable about this?”
“It leads to this,” he replied. My mouth dropped open and my eyes widened as his fingers stroked the most intimate part of me, the very core of my womanhood. And to my surprise, it felt amazing. My breath caught in my throat. He stared me in the eye, rubbing and pressing between the folds of me.