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I was never supposed to end up here — chained, filthy, paraded through a foreign city as a spoil of war.
But the orcs didn’t kill me. They gifted me.
To him.
Remanos Ironhide. Champion of Milthar. A minotaur built like a mountain and twice as silent.
He didn’t ask for me. I didn’t choose him.
But now the Senate says I belong to him — some twisted tradition, an offering for peace.
He says I’m under his protection.
But this isn’t protection. It’s a prettier cage.
And the worst part? I keep watching him. The way his muscles move beneath bronze. The way he growls when the Senate calls me a prize.
He says he won’t touch me unless I ask.
I won’t ask. I won’t.
I can’t fall for the monster who holds my leash….
Even if part of me already has.
Read on for: war spoils, forced proximity, sacred oaths, slow-burn monster tension, and a champion who kneels to no one — except her. HEA guaranteed.
