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She rode Midnight and was given a sword, and her daggers and throwing star back. The ground shuddered with the steady march of a battalion of five hundred and sixty.
Fear is the enemy of hope.
“I’ll beat you someday.” “I don’t doubt that.” Her chest warmed at his response. “And thank you.” “For?” “For treating me like an equal.” She didn’t want to be treated like a delicate flower or she would never improve.
“Would you prefer, Temptress? Goddess? My muse...”
Love was a powerful force. It could not be bought. It could not be taken or stolen. Although sometimes it must be fought for, it must be given freely.
