A Marriage of Swords
She looked from his pale, blood-streaked face to the dead saboteur outside, to the distant, smoking scar of the chasm.
Gryffen’s arrow had found its mark. The mountain had taken its price. Not in stone, but in blood. And as she held the unconscious prince, Leigh knew with a certainty that froze her more than the tunnel’s chill: the border war was over. A new, more personal war had just begun. And Makil, in his stubborn, princely way, had just made himself the heart of it.
And she, against every instinct of self-preservation, had already chosen her side.