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There are only two reasons why the elves come to our world: war or wives. In either case, they come for death. They come today.
I’m at war with myself around him.
“You bastard.” I rip myself from his person once more. Damn his Fade. Damn the wedding. Damn men who think they can manipulate me down an aisle.
I strike his cheek and the slap echoes through the room.
“Don’t insult me again,”
“Strike me again, and it will be the last thing you freely do,”
“You can’t control me.”
“You are a moody prince glorified with a thorny-looking, iron crown,”
“Be someone worthy of respecting first!” I slam the door behind me.
“Careful, Eldas, that sounds like approval.”
“Now, sit, you arrogant prince, before your stubbornness has you toppling over or throwing up.”
“Consider my advice like any other counsel: recommendations.”
“I think you’re made for whatever you want to be.”
Harrow and his motley crew.
“Even wretches need care.”
Just like I mourn your departure when it hasn’t even come to pass—I
“Careful, Luella, if you keep talking to me like that I may end up liking you.”
“I do find I prefer the company of people who treat me like shit.”
“Cooking and now cleaning?” I arch my brows. “Are you really the same Eldas as in the castle?”
His knuckles hook my chin.
“Kiss me again,” I demand breathlessly. “Kiss me like you did that night in the castle. Let’s give in to this waking dream, Eldas.”
“My queen, ever the researcher.”
Consume me,
This man? No. My husband.
Husband.