The sheer range of slain was mind-boggling. When his next strike felled yet every other line of them, no greater superior around the corner. They sounded as if they lay in wait outdoor the tunnel. Thronos grew to become to her, extensive chest heaving, his grave face blanketed in grit and sweat. His collar-length hair was once damp, whipping over his cheeks. She grudgingly admitted that he appeared . . . magnificent. For so long, she’d targeted on his scars, his weaknesses. She’d underestimated this male. He grated one word: “Come. ” One of Lanthe’s favourite mottos was once the simplest—when in trouble, leave. Seeing no different choice, she crossed to him. He lifted her into his arms, one looping round her waist, the different coiling round her neck. Unbidden, recollections of her childh
