Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
But she hadn’t lost hope then. Flora knew how such negotiations worked. Brom must want something more from her uncle…and her uncle, who was convinced that an alliance with Stoneheart’s warriors was the kingdom’s only chance of defending against a rumored attack by the ogres from the north, was willing to give more. Yet gold, horses, and steel were all refused, and each rejection shredded a little of Flora’s hope.
Then her uncle had cried out in frustration, “What can I give that you would take my niece to wed?”
Each word of Brom’s reply had been ruthless and sharp, like blades piercing her chest. “Never could you make an offer for her hand that I would accept.”
Heart utterly destroyed, Flora had fled.
Only sheer willpower had gotten her through the following days. Willpower, along with a determined effort to avoid him. It had taken all of Flora’s strength to keep from bursting into tears whenever she was near him. So she’d stayed away when she could—and when she could not, she’d survived by clinging to the tattered remnants of her pride. No more did she reveal any of herself in conversations; instead she spoke as little as possible before escaping his presence…and never did she glance at him. Not when she might see the same look in his eyes that she’d mistaken so badly before, that had made Flora believe he wanted her and cherished her.
Such a fool she’d been.
Yet now, now—Brom was here. And he’d broken her heart…but then he’d saved her. With hot tears clogging her throat, Flora watched as he stepped over the ogre’s body and strode across the clearing, his broad chest glistening with sweat and blood—every inch a barbarian warrior, fierce and strong and utterly magnificent.
While she lay tied and naked and helpless, with the remains of her pride scattered in the dirt.
Humiliation and relief collided violently within her chest, ripping free a harsh sob. Brom’s stride faltered, then he crouched at her side. His massive fists clenched, knuckles whitening under smears of blood, and even without looking up Flora knew that he was cataloguing each bruise on her flesh, each scrape of her skin. Each injury must make him furious, because even though he didn’t want to marry her, even though he didn’t care for her as she’d dreamed, Brom the Stonehearted was still a good man—and rage was a good man’s response to seeing anyone treated as she’d been.
But at least she couldn’t mistake anger for a softer emotion and fool herself again. Shaking, Flora lifted her gaze to his face. The fury she expected to see burned in the shadows of his eyes and the taut line of his mouth—yet as his gaze touched hers, as his big hand opened as if to cradle her cheek, she saw the same tenderness that she’d been so wrong about before.
Renewed misery ravaged her heart. “Don’t touch me!” she cried out, cringing away from his reach.
Brom froze. And it must have been only a trick of the flickering flames and the blur of her tears that made her imagine the anguish that swept across his expression, because a blink later, his face seemed carved from stone.
His throat worked before he said, “Are you badly hurt?”
His voice had a thick and ragged edge that she’d never heard before, yet she couldn’t pause to consider the meaning of it when the question itself tore from her a sound that was not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Was she badly hurt? No, not truly. Her body was merely bruised, so what did it matter that her heart was broken and her pride was shattered and her guards were—
Flora sucked in a pained breath as the grief that she’d forced herself to suppress swept over her again. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of the slaughter that morning, afraid that if she gave in to the horror of the memory, it would overwhelm her.
“My guards?” she whispered. “Did any live?”
She had no true hope. Not after what she’d seen done to them. Still, the shake of Brom’s head laid even false hope to rest and knotted her throat with tears again. “Were any other people killed? By other ogres—or along the way?”
“They only came for you.”
That was a relief…for now. “They intend to start a war.”
Grimly he nodded, as if the news held no surprise. Yet he said nothing more of it. A man of few words, Brom preferred to speak through his actions…which was just one of many aspects of his character that Flora had always admired. Apparently even while heartbroken, she admired it. He looked to her bindings and showed her his blade—silently seeking permission to cut the ropes. This time she didn’t cringe away. Instead she savored the gentleness of his fingers at her ankles, and the breath that hissed between his teeth when he saw her raw and bleeding wrists. It was foolish of her to cherish such moments, but Flora simply could not bear any more pain this night—and the gods knew, she would likely never know his touch again.