The-Sinful-King-By-Claire-Contreras-PDF

“Oh, my God. I knew I shouldn’t have asked you to do
this.”
“I hope you’re joking.”
“I’m not sure that I am.” I laughed. He shook his head,
grinning.
When the iron gates opened and the horses began riding
out, I held my breath. But then people cheered. It was an
uproar of whistles and clapping. I let go of my father’s hand
and started to wave. By the time we reached Notre Dame, my
shoulder hurt from all the waving I’d done.
“Maybe this is why they don’t hold their arms all the way
up when they wave,” I said to my father. “It’s exhausting.”
“Who doesn’t hold their arms up?”
“The princesses and queens. You know, when they’re in
public, they kind of hold their elbow to their side as they
wave.” I frowned. “I think.”
“I take it you’re nervous.”
“What? No. Why would you say that?”
“You’ve been talking nonstop for the last twenty-five
minutes, which is fine, but waving? Really, Adeline?” He
laughed. “You have no reason to be nervous. They love you.”
“What if I’m not cut out for this job?”
“You’ve been making appearances for the last year.
You’re more than cut out for it. You’re the reason people
stopped protesting. You’re the reason I stopped protesting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And that’s a tough thing for a
lifelong complainer to give up.”
I laughed and nodded. He was right. Even if I wasn’t cut
out for it, I’d make it work. For Elias. With Elias. I held my
father’s hand as I got out of the carriage and waved at the
people standing behind the makeshift fences they’d put up
around the cathedral. Butterflies swarmed my stomach as I
walked to the door, and even more so as they opened them
for us. I heard Michel-Richard Delalande Sinfonies, Hugo Reyne