A kingdom of angry gods and dark magic.
A smoldering fuse of slow burn enemies-to-lovers romance.
Nicce Ward is supposed to kill Sir Eithan Draig, but she doesn’t.
It’s supposed to be easy. She’ll pose as a helpless sacrifice. He’ll never suspect she’s anything other than virginal and meek. Not until she’s stabbing him with his own sword, that is. The guild of assassins, the ones who raised her, who trained her for this, they said he was a monster.
She doesn’t expect Eithan to be polite, almost apologetic. She doesn’t expect to like the look of his eyes or the mesmerizing way his forearms ripple beneath his skin.
She can’t kill him. She runs.
Sir Eithan Draig has never wanted a girl like he wants this one. Over a hundred years leading the Knights of Midian, over a hundred sacrifices, and not one of the girls has ever fought back.
He knows the sacrifices are necessary. He knows that if the girls don’t bleed, there will be carnage: throats ripped out and children slaughtered, and every single death will be on his conscience. He can’t let this girl get away. Perhaps he wants to. Perhaps he wishes she could escape into the sunlight, but that can never be.
And besides, shamefully, he wants to catch her. He wants his mouth on her, his teeth in her. He wants to taste her blood.
So, he will pursue her to the ends of the earth and beyond, if necessary. He will catch her. He will claim her. She will be his.