Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

lamp in the carriage compartment. “I’m doing too well to stop now.”
    “I know you’re doing well,” Maklavir responded with a chuckle. “Too well, I’d say. You don’t want all your luck to run out in one day.”
    “Oh, Maklavir,” she chided, “you’re so negative. All right, no more for now. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.”
    “Your Highness is too kind,” Maklavir said with a smile. “I beginning to think I never should have taught you this game. It’s hardly fitting for a lady.”
    “Please, Maklavir,” she responded with a short laugh, “I can’t believe how much fun I was missing. I never—”
    Something outside caught her attention. She reached over, opened the door and jumped outside.
    Maklavir looked over quickly to see a rider dismounting from his horse.
    “Lord Whitmore!” Serentha cried as she stepped onto the ground.
    The man removed his foot from the stirrup and whipped off his hat. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing low and taking her hand. He kissed it, sweeping his hat to the side. “I am relieved to see you are safe.”
    Serentha smiled gratefully, turning back towards the carriage. “Allow me to introduce you to my good friend, Maklavir.”
    Maklavir stepped down from the coach and gave a courteous bow. “Lately of the service of King Luxium of Valmingaard. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
    “I am Lord Whitmore,” the young man said. He gave Serentha a side-glance. “I was hoping to talk to Her Highness alone for a moment.”
    Maklavir straightened. “But of course. I think I will go and see if I can find something to eat. I’m positively famished. Good evening, Your Highness.” He lifted his cap in farewell, then set off down the line of rising tents, whistling softly to himself.
    Whitmore watched him go with a curious glance. “You met him recently?”
    Serentha watched after the man as well, a smile on her face. “Just a week ago or so. He has risked his life for me countless times since then.”
    “I see. The measure of a man is always in his actions, I say.” His face changed suddenly. “Are you hurt?”
    Serentha stared at him in confusion a moment, then lightly touched her head, laughing. “I had almost forgotten. No, I’m fine. It’s practically healed now.”
    “That’s good,” Whitmore replied. He glanced out over the bustling camp. “Would you care to go for a walk? I have something I wish to discuss with you.”
    “Certainly,” said Serentha. “My legs could use a stretch after riding all day in the carriage.”
    They walked together through the pale white tents. Around them soldiers were beginning to settle in for the night, cooking their meals, drinking some rum, and playing dice around the fire. Laughter and raised voices spilled throughout the maze of tents. High above them the stars were strung in a dazzling display across the heavens.
    As they walked a little ways away from the tents into the open field, Whitmore cleared his throat.
    “As I said, Your Highness, there is something of importance I wish to speak to you about.”
    Serentha took her eyes off the stars above. “Yes, Lord Whitmore?”
    “Your know your father is very ill. I wish it were not so, but it is.”
    Her face paled slightly. “Yes, I know.”
    Whitmore looked up at her. “I will be blunt, Your Highness. I intend to formally ask your father for your hand in marriage. I do it not for myself, you understand,” he added quickly. “I believe it is best for Llewyllan. I have spoken to the king already, and he is of a similar mind.”
    She stared at him, shocked into silence. Over the clear night air came the sound of some soldiers singing a drinking song. It was badly out of tune.
    Whitmore turned, his eyes searching back towards the ghostly white shapes of the tents. “I am sorry to burden you with this, especially now after everything you’ve been through. But your father grows more ill day by day.” He looked back over at her, his eyes