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“If he is of the chieftain’s blood, he must be killed as well,” one of them said. His rank was evident in the heavy fur upon his shoulders and the ornamented blade at his side. The square fell suddenly silent.
“Too precious to kill,” the one called Dunk murmured. His voice was not loud enough for the others, nor did he seem to speak to them at all.
He only looked at Aerion. As if there were something in his eyes he meant to take. He kept looking, and looking, until the dull grey in his blue eyes seemed to lift, as though some long-rusted lock within him had been broken open.
“Or we could sell him. He would fetch a fine price.”
“Too precious to sell,” the alpha said again. Even if Aerion did not understand the words, he knew it was a refusal.
“He is mine by right of the axe,” he declared then, his voice rising this time, loud enough for the whole square to hear.
In which Aerion is meant to be a bride, loses everything before the vows can be spoken, and is claimed instead by the man who destroyed his world.
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Bookmark Notes:
ch2