Vow of the Shadow King (Bride of the Shadow King, #2)

by Sylvia Mercedes

Gods above, who knew I possessed such wellsprings of defiance? I’ve always been the demure, shrinking, people-pleasing, disappointing princess.

Even now, he holds himself back, fighting the urges pulsing in his veins. Determined to honor me. No matter what. Because that is the truth of his character. The real man. The man of honor.

If I force myself, I can objectively see and list her flaws. Her mouth is too wide, her jaw too square, her nose too prominent. And of course, those bi-colored eyes of hers are undeniably unsettling. Yet how can these features be anything less than perfect? Every small detail is a vital part of the whole that is her.

I know what I want. But that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid.

Faraine is so relatable. So good, and demure, and kind, and...timid. Scared. Yet brave.

With a little gulping cry, I lunge after him, take hold of his arm. “No, please! Stay.” Do I sound desperate? I can’t help it. I am desperate. Desperate that this will be the last time I see him, that once he walks back out onto that balcony, I will never again share his atmosphere.

Possibilities that could only be made reality in a space of absolute trust.

I’ve always had to be so guarded. It’s the only way I’ve survived against the storms that assail my senses every hour of every day. I’d never known it was possible to let my defenses down so completely, to give myself over to someone else like this. Who knew surrender could be so exquisite?

“Live, Faraine.” His face must be close to mine. I feel the warmth of his breath against my icy cheek. His voice is thick and urgent. “Live. For you are my very life. Gods damn me for not speaking sooner! But I won’t lose whatever time we have now. I won’t go another moment without you knowing the truth: You are my heart. My soul. My wife. From this day until my last, I am yours and no other’s. Whether you come back to me now or not, it makes no difference. I give you everything, everything.”

Too sweet. I teared up.

Her strength is not that of a warrior; it is far stronger than mere brute force. Hers is the strength of compassion, of understanding and sympathy.

But she came back. For me.

Then and there, with her kiss burning my lips I make a solemn vow: to be worthy of that choice. To be worthy of her love.