By Laurell K. Hamilton
“I am Princess Meredith, inheritor to a throne—if i will be able to remain alive lengthy sufficient to say it.”
After eluding relentless assassination makes an attempt via Prince Cel, her cousin and rival for the Faerie crown, Meredith Gentry, la inner most eye, has an entire new set of difficulties. To turn into queen, she needs to endure a baby ahead of Cel can father one among his personal. yet havoc lies at the horizon: everyone is demise in mysterious, scary methods, and by surprise the very lifestyles of where referred to as Faerie is at grave chance. So now, whereas she enjoys the best pleasures of her existence trying to conceive a toddler with the soldiers of her royal protect, she needs to fend off an historical evil which can break the very cloth of truth. And that’s simply her day task. . . .
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Extra info for A Caress of Twilight
I mean, I was a princess; didn’t that mean I didn’t have to work? Nope. But I was a faerie princess; didn’t that mean I could just wish for gold and it would magically appear? I wish. The title, like so many royal titles, came with very little in the way of money, land, or power. If I actually became queen, that would change; until then, I was on my own. Well, not exactly on my own. Doyle sat in a chair by the windows almost directly behind me, as I sat at my desk. He was dressed as he’d been last night, except he’d added a black leather jacket over the T-shirt and a pair of black wraparound sunglasses.
The trouble was, he was so easily puzzled, I couldn’t figure out how to avoid it. “My employer is afraid of the publicity surrounding you, Ms. ” I didn’t have to ask him what he meant. At that very moment a pack of reporters, both print and film, was camped out in front of the office building. We kept the drapes closed at the apartment for fear of telephoto lenses. How could the media resist a royal prodigal daughter coming home after being given up for dead? That alone would have earned some uncomfortable scrutiny, but add a huge dose of romance, and the media couldn’t get enough of me, or should I say, us?
I pushed away from the window to stand as he moved toward me. He had to stop gliding at the foot of the king-size bed, because there was barely room to squeeze between the bed and the closet doors. It was impressive simply to watch Doyle slide along the wall without brushing the bed. He was over a foot taller than I was and probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds, most of it muscle. I’d have bumped into the bed a half-dozen times, at least. He eased through the narrow space as if anybody should have been able to do it.