Danielle Jensen

“Maybe she was expecting a better-looking husband. Some people handle disappointment poorly.”

Aren lifted one eyebrow. “That’s probably the only thing that hasn’t been disappointing for her.”

Jor shook his head. “Maybe she dislikes cocky little bastards.”

“I’ve heard there are kingdoms where the people show a little respect for their monarchs.”

“I can respect you and still think your shit stinks just as bad as the next man’s.”

The canoe had swung around so she was facing away from the cliffs guarding the cove from the sea, but the rattle of the chain caught her attention and she turned to watch a series of vessels enter, her eyes immediately finding Aren in one of them.

And his finding her.

The room was humid with breath and heavy with the smell of sweat and steel. Taryn was snoring as though her life depended on it, Gorrick was jabbering in his sleep, and someone—probably Jor—was farting at regular intervals. It was very likely the least desirable situation to share a bed with his wife for the first time.

“Alive isn’t living.

“Forgive her. She loves you.”

“She doesn’t know what love is.”

“Water is the most important.”

“It’s also heavy.” She heard him drinking, then there was a splash, and he muttered, “God, that feels good. What I wouldn’t give for a swim.”

“Get out!” she shrieked, forcing her eyelids open, her horror at what he was doing worse than the pain.

Proof that at one point, she’d been loved.

“Swim, Lara! Swim!”

There was no chance that she’d make it. No chance that one of the sharks wouldn’t take her down or that she wouldn’t bleed to death.

But Lara started kicking.