“Forever,” I repeated.
“Forever,” Ander vowed.
In the short time since the duel, a chair had been brought out to the arena floor. Set in the sand was a chair, a throne. It wasn’t gilded or fancy, but I knew it was the seat of their leader. It had a tall back and arms and a cushioned seat, but was otherwise unadorned. It was a warrior’s chair, not a gilded throne adorned with jewels or gold.
Nial walked to the throne and sat, the leader of his people claiming his rightful place and the crowd roared its approval. He crooked a finger and I responded, walking toward him with my head held high, my shoulders back. I did not try to hide my body. I was not ashamed. I’d never felt more beautiful than I did as the cheering continued, the people urging me on, eager to watch my mates f**k me. My p*
