Children of Fallen Gods (The War of Lost Hearts Book 2) by Carissa Broadbent (good english books to read .TXT) 📕

Ascended above. That woman did know how to make an entrance.

Tisaanah wore a gown unlike anything that I’d ever seen before. It was deep red — of course — and accented with gold embroidery, which lined the double-breasted bodice that resembled the cut of a military jacket. The shoulders were sharp, and the sleeves open, exposing burgundy silk gloves that reached her elbows. A thick gold belt cinched her waist, and below it the dress fell to a layered skirt that gradually darkened to black. It was open in the front, revealing heeled, polished boots that laced to her knees.

I cocked an eyebrow. Tisaanah gave me a sweet smile.

What a show-off.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she purred. “But we are late for a very important meeting.”

My eyebrows arched in exaggerated surprise. “Ascended, you’re right, it does seem like the right time to be late for a very important meeting.” I gave Quinlan a tight smile. “It was a pleasure, sir.”

We didn’t give him time to say anything more. Tisaanah and I strode across the ballroom, her arm casually resting over mine.

“You were about to say something very rude to that man,” she said.

“You couldn’t even hear me.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“He deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did.”

She smiled at me — a real smile, not the delicate act she had given Quinlan. I wondered if she realized how much the intensity of it outshone her performances. Combined with the rest of her appearance tonight, that smile made her look as if she could conquer worlds.

I caught a glimpse of the two of us in one of the long mirrors on the other side of the room, and realized that we complimented each other perfectly. I wore a double-breasted military jacket, rendered in dark violet, with red and gold in the trim and at the cuffs. Her outfit looked as if it could be the brighter, more feminine mate to mine.

Damn. She really thought of everything.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“You are staring. Do you like my dress?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bit conventional.” I glanced at a nobleman who wasn’t even bothering to hide his rubbernecking. “Surprised you didn’t go for something a little more attention-grabbing.”

“You know me. So shy.”

She batted her eyelashes, and I rolled my eyes.

The truth was, every set of eyes slid towards her, some in subtle glances, some in outright stares. Tisaanah soaked up their attention, but those looks made my jaw clench.

This was different from the Orders’ ball. That night, she had dressed to show off her scars and force members of the Orders to acknowledge the brutality of what had happened to her. Tonight? Tonight she dressed to appear powerful, playing off the whispers of what people had said about her — about us — in the wake of the battle. And yes, there was some admiration in these looks. But there was also fear and petty judgement.

This, after all, was high society. And while even the most snobbish members of the Orders could begrudgingly admire skill no matter where it came from, high society feared what was different and judged what they deemed to be inferior. And there was nothing they hated more than someone who “didn’t know their place.”

I hear she was a slave, they’d whisper. A whore, even. Can you imagine? A whore girl serving our beggar king? How funny. How fitting…

We passed one such whisper in the crowd, just loud enough to hear, and despite myself I stopped short, giving the couple a glare so sharp it almost brought flames to my fingertips.

“Excuse us,” I said, “we didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat yourself?”

The couple stared at us, wide eyed. I wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to let it go until I felt Tisaanah give my arm a gentle tug.

“Max,” she murmured, a gentle warning in her voice. I gave the couple a withering stare and turned away.

“You’re the reason they get to be at this ridiculous party,” I muttered. “They should be thanking you.”

“There have always been people who saw me as less. And there always will be.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“When does right matter?”

“You deserve better.”

That was always the thing, those three words. You deserve better. Tisaanah had always deserved better, because she was better than all of them. Better than the people at this party, better than Zeryth Aldris, better than the bastard who had nearly killed her. Better than every last one of them.

Something flickered in Tisaanah’s face, a wince that she hid so well that most wouldn’t have noticed it. But over the last six months I had learned to read the invisible movements in Tisaanah’s expressions, no matter how good her performances were.

She leaned back against the wall, and I stepped closer. Again. And then her scent of citrus surrounded me, and my face was inches from hers, my arms against the wall behind her.

“You deserve everything,” I murmured. I bowed my head, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, and swept my lips over her cheek, right where tan skin met white.

She gave a weak laugh. “Everything?”

“Everything.” My lips traveled to her jaw, and I felt her let out a little breath.

“Such big promises,” she murmured.

My mouth moved to her throat… her earlobe…

Her exhale became a little less silent, and with one barely-audible sound, the rest of the world fell away.

“Well, aren’t you two just so… cute.”

Not all the world, apparently.

Tisaanah and I abruptly pulled away from each other. Nura stood at the corner of the hall, arms crossed, looking unamused. She wore a body-hugging white gown with long sleeves and a high neck, sleek and unadorned.

“Zeryth wants to see us,” she said. “Though no time to wait for you to take a cold bath, I’m afraid.”

None needed, after that sentence. Nothing killed a mood like Zeryth’s beckoning hand.

Tisaanah’s brow furrowed.

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He’s in his personal wing, apparently.”

I paused. “He’s in his rooms and not swanning around his own victory party?”

Nura’s lips thinned in a way that told me