Arcamira by Hannah Sandoval

Arcamira by Hannah Sandoval

Author:Hannah Sandoval
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: COSMIC EGG BOOKS
Published: 2019-12-16T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 18

A New Course

“Your escort grows impatient, Your Highness,” said Gelwyn.

“Let them shuffle their feet and grumble under their breath all they like. I won’t be moved,” said Atalanta. “We will wait for King Marcus’ reply. He was told to send his letter here, so here we must remain.”

“I think they fear your father’s wrath. He is no doubt anxious to have you back.”

Atalanta stifled the urge to ask, “Then why didn’t he come himself?” She knew it was a childish thing to think. She knew why he had not come; with her news of Tyrannus’ impending threat, he had begun to gather the lords and their armies. Still, she had swiftly searched the escort of elf soldiers as they had approached three days before, looking for his crown amongst the golden helms. They had brought no letter either. The only word she received had been through the mouth of the leader of the party, who’d told her, in the dutiful but emotionless tone of a soldier, that her father was overjoyed to hear of her safe deliverance.

“They need fear nothing,” she said to Gelwyn now. She sneered at the green and gold clad soldiers gathered outside the stables in the distance. “I will make sure Father knows of their incessant nagging to be gone.”

“Perhaps you should tell them that ... though not in exactly that way,” said Gelwyn with a small smile.

She was growing quite fond of him. Though he was a commoner, he held himself with the grace and dignity of a noble, and he spoke wise council. His suggestions were just that, suggestion, never spoken in a way that implied she would be a foolish little elf child not to follow them, as the lords on the royal council always spoke to her.

“I shall, so long as they leave me in peace for the rest of this day,” said Atalanta, returning his smile.

Gelwyn’s face suddenly soured, and Atalanta followed his gaze to watch Andrew emerge in the main square, leading Bree along by the hand. The young prince was properly bathed, and he had adopted elfin garb to replace his leather armor. He wore soft, dark-green breeches and a tan tunic that revealed the V of his throat and a bit of his collar bone. A thin white scar marred his skin just at the collar of the shirt. His hair, though clean and shiny, was still rather rumpled, sticking out at odd ends in a wild, black halo about his head. His top lip was a bit too thin to match his bottom, and his right eye was just slightly smaller than his left—an almost imperceptible difference, but still blatantly obvious to her keen elvish eye. Bree didn’t seem to mind any of his imperfections. Her cheeks blushed with color and her fingers remained wrapped firmly around his. Atalanta herself was beginning to see the appeal of humans’ imperfect beauty. Each of them was so unique, with their asymmetrical faces, mismatched heights, and drastically different body shapes.



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