Esperance (Esperance Trilogy, #1)

by Heather Frost

If he didn’t discover her secrets and kill her, she just might live long enough to see him die.

Twelve strangers. Six marriages. One year in Esperance. That was the emperor’s decree, and none of them had any choice in it.

Carver’s long fingers curled around hers, his grip strong, yet surprisingly careful. As if he feared his larger hand could crush hers.

The smile was small, but it altered his entire bearing. The remoteness, the cold intensity—it vanished in an instant, replaced with a half-smile so devastatingly handsome there was an unwanted flutter in her stomach.

“She’s very beautiful,” his father commented lowly. “She might be a traitor,” Carver said. It was a good reminder for them both.

“I’m grateful my life can provide such entertainment for the family,” he said drolly.

“This is so much harder than I thought it would be,” her uncle whispered. Amryn closed her eyes, her head buried against his strong chest. Being held by him reminded her of all the times she’d curled up in his arms to escape the horrible nightmares that had plagued her for years.

He pulled her into a last, hard embrace. “You are strong, and so incredibly brave,” he whispered. “I’m in awe of you.”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“I know.” He pulled back, and Amryn’s heart hammered as she felt the waves of his rioting emotions crashing into her own. His focus was absolute as he met her gaze. “I lo...

“Your father has only been to Ferradin once, I think,” she said quietly. “To conquer it.” She stepped around him and entered the breakfast room, leaving him standing alone in the hall.

He was attuned to her to an almost obsessive degree. Whenever she entered a room—even if she was still out of his view—he knew it.

It had never bothered him that people called him the Butcher. It didn’t matter if his friends or family heard it, because he knew they wouldn’t look at him any differently—they knew him.

Amryn didn’t. And it bothered him that she might think of him as the Butcher.

“I see I have your attention.” “You always have my attention.”

“Your father stopped by after the wedding. He told me about your wife. Red hair and all.”

“I won the bet. She’s got flaming red hair.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a winning...

A tear slipped out from the corner of her eye. “Stay,” she croaked. The waver of fear in her voice filled him with anger, but his movements were gentle as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his body turned toward her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

His burning gaze as he’d stalked toward her in the tea room. The strong yet gentle way he’d carried her to their room. The way his eyes had held hers as he’d taken her hand, and stayed with her.

“The price some men pay for power is nearly as terrible as the fact that evil men are often the only ones who gain it.”

Carver’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t cheat death only to be crushed by a bloody book.”

“We expect writers to give us everything, but sometimes it’s up to the reader to look a little deeper. And if you don’t . . . well, you might miss something wonderful.”

It would be a shame if we had more compassion and understanding for a fictional character than we do for those closest to us.”

“To live is to face the unknown. It is the joy and the challenge we all must meet. But I know you’re equal to the task.”

“And what about you?” Argent asked. “Did you give your heart to her?” He snorted, trying to breathe past the sudden pang in his chest. “No.” The red-haired harpy had stolen it.

She had given him comfort when he didn’t deserve it. She had given him beauty in every smile, when all he’d seen for too long was horror. She had trusted him with her darkest memories when he was drowning in his own.

He was right, this wasn’t a goodbye. It was a promise. And when he pulled back and looked at her with bright eyes, she knew it was one she would carry with her for far longer than tonight. Saints help her, she was in love with her husband.