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I didn’t hate Luther. Against my better judgment, I had begun to genuinely trust him. I was even—Everflame forgive me—enjoying his company.
Your judgement is quite bad, and it’s not because you’re enjoying Luther’s company.
“Or maybe you prefer me in muddy pants and a borrowed tunic.” “Only when it’s mine.”
The only thing that caught my attention. But even this felt forced and unnatural for them.
“I barely know him,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush. “I don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Yeah, sure. You don’t. That’s why it’s annoying.
“Luther,” I whispered. “My Queen,” he breathed.
Eye roll.🙄
There was an answer written in his features, but it wasn’t one I understood. It was an answer loaded with secrets and hard truths and pain he had yet to share. A door he had locked up tight, welded closed, and covered in chains. A door he was daring me to open.
In Diem’s head, and the whole book is like it.
