Queens of Mist and Madness (Fae Isles, #4)

by Lisette Marshall

There was just the tiniest crack in his voice – an almost inaudible catch, yet gods help me, it hit me like a fist to the throat. His signs I was used to. His wounded glances I’d seen before. But that little tremble, the hurt in it that he didn’t fully manage to suppress … As if every shield had fallen from around him and I was speaking directly to the fragile creature inside, that child so starved of love it had believed itself unlovable.