Read Online The King Of Hel by Grace Draven - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Grace Draven
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men of great height and slim stature, with long black hair and dark eyes. Castil thought them a handsome people with their refined features and graceful movements. While regal in their bearing, none bore the stamp of sovereignty on either their somber clothing or their faces.
Her assumption that Doranis had not yet entered the room was confirmed when his name was announced and all bowed in respectful greeting. Wedged between her father and the slightly sour smelling Dame Nibs, she was unable to move closer for a better look. What she did see caused the breath to die in her lungs, and her eyes widened at the sight of the magus king.
Astonishingly pale, with hair so white it gleamed in the torchlight, he surveyed the gaping crowd in a measured silence, his nearly colorless eyes narrowed with a faint, resigned amusement. He was tall, like his kinsmen, with the long, muscled thighs of an experienced horseman. Latent power radiated from him, an aura of stately grace that overshadowed his paleness, lending his sharp, elegant features a haughty cast.
Castil managed to drag her gaze away long enough to search out Kareena. Much closer to the king than she, there was no mistaking the ashen pallor of horror on her delicate features. No fantasy of the handsome Farnoush could possibly blot out the reality of the nuptial bed that awaited her with the Helenese king.
The silence in the hall was pregnant with shock, broken only by the sudden notes of music whipped up by the musicians who took their cue from a frantic minister. The crowd of boyars breathed a collective sigh, their surprise quickly transforming into a morbid curiosity as they jostled each other to present themselves to the visiting monarch.
Castil knew there was no way she could reach Kareena in the milling crowd. She did manage to catch her eye briefly, offering what encouragement she could with a smile. Kareena nodded, her features set in grim lines of acceptance before she turned away.
The evening passed in an endless line of presentations. As lesser boyars, Castil and her father were nearly the last of the families to be presented. She tried to still the butterflies that fluttered madly in her belly. Like everyone else, she had been unable to take her eyes away from the king. Unlike them, she didn't find him ugly or terrifying. He was, in all ways, a striking individual, the air of leadership resting heavily on his wide shoulders.
There was no mistaking the polite, bored expression in his eyes when she and her father were presented. “Devilos Veras and his daughter, Castil il Veras."
Doranis made to offer the customary greeting but paused when he noticed Castil staring at an embroidered insignia on his tunic. “Blood of fey kings,” she translated and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at speaking out of turn.
Devilos's fingers dug into her arm as light blue eyes settled on her with piercing interest. Castil's knees nearly buckled when the king spoke, his deep voice flowing over her skin like a caress. “You read doa Enrai ?"
She made to answer, but was halted by the increasing tightness of her father's grip on her arm. He spoke for her. “Yes, your Majesty. My daughter and I are scribes."
Castil's lips thinned with anger as she heard scornful mutters behind them. Aristocracy engaged in trade was a thing viewed with contempt. Judging by Doranis's intrigued gaze, he did not hold the same opinion. He straightened in his seat, leaning forward to encompass them both in his regard. Castil found herself admiring the flawless alabaster face with its long thin nose and prominent cheekbones.
"Fascinating. I have in my possession a set of scrolls written in doa Enrai. They are accounts of the last days of the Elder cities before the advent of the Waste. I have translated some of the writing. Perhaps I will send copies to you.” His gaze slid to Castil, curious and watchful. “Not only a woman who can read, but one who is well-read. My compliments,
Her assumption that Doranis had not yet entered the room was confirmed when his name was announced and all bowed in respectful greeting. Wedged between her father and the slightly sour smelling Dame Nibs, she was unable to move closer for a better look. What she did see caused the breath to die in her lungs, and her eyes widened at the sight of the magus king.
Astonishingly pale, with hair so white it gleamed in the torchlight, he surveyed the gaping crowd in a measured silence, his nearly colorless eyes narrowed with a faint, resigned amusement. He was tall, like his kinsmen, with the long, muscled thighs of an experienced horseman. Latent power radiated from him, an aura of stately grace that overshadowed his paleness, lending his sharp, elegant features a haughty cast.
Castil managed to drag her gaze away long enough to search out Kareena. Much closer to the king than she, there was no mistaking the ashen pallor of horror on her delicate features. No fantasy of the handsome Farnoush could possibly blot out the reality of the nuptial bed that awaited her with the Helenese king.
The silence in the hall was pregnant with shock, broken only by the sudden notes of music whipped up by the musicians who took their cue from a frantic minister. The crowd of boyars breathed a collective sigh, their surprise quickly transforming into a morbid curiosity as they jostled each other to present themselves to the visiting monarch.
Castil knew there was no way she could reach Kareena in the milling crowd. She did manage to catch her eye briefly, offering what encouragement she could with a smile. Kareena nodded, her features set in grim lines of acceptance before she turned away.
The evening passed in an endless line of presentations. As lesser boyars, Castil and her father were nearly the last of the families to be presented. She tried to still the butterflies that fluttered madly in her belly. Like everyone else, she had been unable to take her eyes away from the king. Unlike them, she didn't find him ugly or terrifying. He was, in all ways, a striking individual, the air of leadership resting heavily on his wide shoulders.
There was no mistaking the polite, bored expression in his eyes when she and her father were presented. “Devilos Veras and his daughter, Castil il Veras."
Doranis made to offer the customary greeting but paused when he noticed Castil staring at an embroidered insignia on his tunic. “Blood of fey kings,” she translated and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at speaking out of turn.
Devilos's fingers dug into her arm as light blue eyes settled on her with piercing interest. Castil's knees nearly buckled when the king spoke, his deep voice flowing over her skin like a caress. “You read doa Enrai ?"
She made to answer, but was halted by the increasing tightness of her father's grip on her arm. He spoke for her. “Yes, your Majesty. My daughter and I are scribes."
Castil's lips thinned with anger as she heard scornful mutters behind them. Aristocracy engaged in trade was a thing viewed with contempt. Judging by Doranis's intrigued gaze, he did not hold the same opinion. He straightened in his seat, leaning forward to encompass them both in his regard. Castil found herself admiring the flawless alabaster face with its long thin nose and prominent cheekbones.
"Fascinating. I have in my possession a set of scrolls written in doa Enrai. They are accounts of the last days of the Elder cities before the advent of the Waste. I have translated some of the writing. Perhaps I will send copies to you.” His gaze slid to Castil, curious and watchful. “Not only a woman who can read, but one who is well-read. My compliments,
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