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“Hmm.” She taps a finger to those full lips. I study her for a moment, taking in the near ethereal glow she exudes. It’s startling. “Yes, I figured you might feel the same. Considering the whispers I’ve heard of what he did to you.”
The king would laugh if he hadn’t forgotten how to. “And what makes you think I want your bastard?” Oliver swallows, his breath shallow. Myla narrows those gray eyes. The king swings open the door with a stipulation sliding from his tongue. “If I am to call another child mine, he can be nothing less than powerful.” “He is,” Myla blurts, ever the protective mother. “No one in Ilya is like him.” This equally intrigues and amuses the king. “We will see about that.”
“Hmm?” His unfocused gaze falls just over my shoulder. “No. No, not yet,” he mutters distantly. “It’s not time… I need the right time….” I glance behind, finding nothing but open air. His mumbled words have me taking a worried step forward. “What? Kitt, is everything okay?”