Page 37 of Heir of the Beast

Chapter 9

I opened a can of worms and didn’t even know it.

What Apollo did for me has never happened before—in other words, this is big news. A slave is nothing, especially not to the Crown Prince of Garthorn.

I feel eyes on me, hear whispers as I pass servants, and see prolonged stares.

I’m washed and cleaned, smelling of fresh soap and not the horrors of the dungeon. But I am not naive enough to think that I could not end up back there.

I dress in my essential slave attire once again, and am led to a smaller library off the west wing. They will not tell me much. All I know is that someone of importance wishes to speak to me.

My hands are clammy, and a feeling of dread consumes me.

Mort is not permitted to come with me, so she’s fluttering around me in butterfly form.

I fight a smile despite my situation because I see her fly straight into the glass of a massive Grandfather Clock. Not sure how she didn’t see that, but practice makes perfect, I suppose.

I’ll be sure to tell her that—then have to escape her fist immediately.

This library is very masculine, not like the Grand Garthorn Library, which is adorned in silver and sapphire splendor.

This one is decorated with rich woods and dark marble that catches the glowing light and illuminates the two-story library. I wonder if this is Apollo’s study.

I am seated on a somewhat oversized leather couch and left by myself. I take a steadying breath and tell myself everything will be okay.

Five minutes pass as I watch Mort flutter over the large desk in the corner. Maybe she sees something?

She manifests as herself and peers over a letter on his desk.

“Mort!” I hiss. “You’re going to get caught!”

She glances up. “I will only be here a second. Chill.”

“Chill?!”

“I see a letter from the House of Galleon.” She continues with narrowed eyes, “It’s a thank you letter and mentions prospects of joining the Garthorn house with Galleon.”

I stand up.

“They’re offering Laura as his potential betrothed, in so many words,” Mort says, confirming my fears.

“Do you think he is entertaining it?”

“It’s the only thing on his desk.”

“Maybe this is not his desk.”

“It is.”

I take a breath. “You don’t know.”

Mort frowns at me. “You know another Apollo Augustus Garthorn?”

The sound of footsteps approaches the door, and Mort instantly morphs into her signature white butterfly. I sit down and swallow the lump in my throat, willing my hands to stop shaking.

A woman walks in, followed by guards wearing scarlet red. These are not Garthorn uniforms, so I’m making a wild guess that this is Galleon.

The lady is older but still quite beautiful. Her golden hair is piled high with a red and silver crown. Her elaborate gown flows around her like she is an Egyptian queen wearing gold and crimson.

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