The Rising Read online Kristen Ashley (The Rising #4)

Categories Genre: Dragons, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Rising Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
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And many, many, now free to do so, laughed.

Then again, the Nadirii had been doing such for centuries.

It was just now, those nitwits got a direct dose of it.

Oh yes, the veil had been ripped from Airen these past five days as unicorns rode and right prevailed.

And nowhere was it more evident than Sky Bay.

For those who had long since kept their mouths shut under the reign of kings who would shut it for them in unpleasant ways through their oppressive laws no longer had to hide behind closed doors and whisper amongst those like-minded about the impossibility of change.

Now, as their Regent and his bride rode through their streets behind unicorns, their royals openly noted surprise and even shock, when not only did many of the citizens rush to the edges of the streets and cry their “Huzzahs” when the heroes returned home…

Since they’d left on the heels of the king being sentenced to prison for decades, those of the New Airen proudly, gratefully and ecstatically finally were able to display their colors.

From sky-blue to heather-purple to Nadirii coral, and some with all colors in one, pennants could be seen everywhere.

Hanging proudly from windows. Draped over doorways. Flying from poles on roofs.

And those who had the time, inclination and coin to do it, painted their doors in New Airen.

These being any color of the sky, from dawn to midnight.

Or Nadirii purple or coral.

This was not all.

Oh no, indeed.

For men wore New Airen ribbons on the lapels of their frock coats, or neckcloths the colors of New Airen, doing this proudly to share openly the bent of their beliefs.

And women made quick work of dying petticoats all manner of blue, purple and orange.

And those women with the means had blouses made of those colors.

Indeed, down at the docks of Twilight Harbor just two days before, when news arrived the Battle of the Veil was won by their Regent and his queen, the innkeepers and pub owners opened taps and the doxies heated vats in the streets.

The whores then stood delightedly in the cold in their skivvies as they tossed their skirts and underthings in the vats. The same vats where men and women’s hands and arms and chests and legs and faces were drunkenly dyed the colors of the skies it was told in ancient times their kings had commanded, and they were dyed thus in celebration.

It would be remiss not to note that the news their future princess had become a queen at her mother’s passing had been observed by the citizenry.

And this was the only thing that stopped the procession on its way to the Citadel.

It had to halt, for across the lane that led up to the castle, a three-foot high pile of flowers, coins, scraps of purple or coral silk, broken arrows and white oak leaves barred their path.

Prince Cassius and his queen had to round their horses and jump the tributes to make the lane of the Citadel.

And at Cassius’ command, the carts at the rear of the procession were unloaded at the base, their contents handed over the barrier and reloaded on empty ones to carry the belongs up the grade in order not to disturb the Bayzian tribute in honor to a lost queen.

The message had been made clear in Airen there was an Allied Gentry who would do its worst to maintain the status quo of the only land on Triton who clung to ideals that were not only outmoded, they were insufferable.

But the statement was also being strongly made, against them stood the New Airen Citizenry, and not only in Sky Bay.

And they had very different ideas.

132

The Introduction

Queen Silence

Sky Citadel, Sky Bay

AIREN

To say the mood was hushed as we all strode into the grand entryway of the Citadel after our ride through Sky Bay was an understatement.

Distractedly, I noted the plethora of coral-colored spiked gladiolus in a large vase atop a grand, gleaming round table sitting on a lovely carpet, all this under a daunting candelabrum in the middle of the space.

But mostly, I was stunned silent.

Everyone was.

Even Farah, who had never been to Sky Bay.

But clearly, she’d heard about it.

And it had profoundly changed.

I looked up to my husband to see he was studying the gladiolus and he did not appear staggered.

He looked in danger of bursting with laughter.

I opened my mouth to ask after what he found amusing but closed it when the humor swept clean from his face, he moved to stand closer to me, and his attention snapped to the stairwell.

I peeked around him and saw a woman appear at the top.

She lifted her long, full skirts that consisted of a swoop of material over the front that led to rosettes at the side of her nipped waist, a cascade of graceful falling ruffles at the sides and in the back, and a tightly fitted bodice. All of this a bright shade of tangerine (save the ruffles, which were a fade of peach to tangerine) with accents of black.


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