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February 1 - February 2, 2025
Killing has a taint, and I reek of it. Doubt I’ll ever be able to wash off the stench. But this world is not merciful, and neither am I. Not anymore.
Light will bloom from sky and soil, Skin tarnished by the brand of death …
“You’re hurt.” His words are nails hammered into the too still air. “Just a graze.” I wave my injured hand at him. “Nothing major.” “And the one on your leg? Is that also nothing major?” Crap.
Because lies are pretty little masks we place on our words to tint the truth into something palatable.
“Because you’re an enigma. The girl who survived a Vruk raid at the tender age of two.”
The reason I love this spring so much—the reason I bathe here rather than relying on the convenience of the tub in my tower—is because sometimes ... Sometimes the water smells like him.
Tonight, I have no energy left in me to fight, and ... I don’t even think I want to. He’s hugging me.
“Mates, Orlaith, are a fairy tale. A tragedy painted with the pretty face of a happily ever after, but at its core, it’s still a fucking tragedy. If you believe everything you read, you’ll be disappointed when you finally step into the real world.”
Do I feel safe in this tower? To a certain extent, yes. Do I want to leave my safety circle? Never.
“That’s how you kiss someone you love, Orlaith. Anything less and they aren’t worthy of your heart or the power to break it. Understood?”
I hate you. Oh, precious. You don’t even know the meaning of the word.
I’m in love with a man who’ll never be mine—who’s unavailable in every way, shape, and form—and I’m certain it’s going to ruin me.
Red-hot, burning shame, because this dress has made something abundantly clear ... I’ve sold my body.
“Simple, Milaje. I refuse to live in a world where you don’t exist.” My eyes pop open. “Wha—” His lips bruise mine in an assault that steals my ability to speak. Breathe. Exist.
I square my shoulders and pretend Rhordyn’s arctic scrutiny isn’t flaying me from afar as the wind pushes me toward the arms of another man.
