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No one, not a reaper, not the King of Harenth, not the biggest fucking monster in the midrealms, was going to stop her.
‘Then the world will know that if they hurt him, I’ll burn them all to the ground.’
‘You’re dead anyway,’ she promised. ‘But touch him again, I dare you.’
Thea has spoken, touch her man, I dare you. I’d probably say the same if Wilder was my man.
Wilder Hawthorne was a god, and she would gladly worship at his altar.
There may have been no glory awaiting them on the battlefield, but Wilder charged headlong into the heart of the monstrous horde, with the love of his life riding at his side and uncontainable pride swelling in his chest. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, regardless of the odds. Together, they were unstoppable.
But it is in these moments of dire peril that legends are born.
