Den of Blades and Briars by LJ Andrews EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: LJ Andrews
- Language: English
- Genre: Nordic Myth & Legend Fantasy eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
No one would search for his body when I finished with him. In the rare
chance someone tried, it wouldn’t matter. I’d make certain he was never
found.
My fists clenched at my sides; my gaze locked on the satin pleats of the
audacious gown. Three layers of skirts, with strategically cut slits in the
sides, were sprawled out over the narrow straw mattress. It was hideously
stunning. A thing perfect for the royal revel, and wholly wrong for a woman
like me.
The loft room I called mine was nothing grand. Small, a little musty
from the nearness to the swamps of the Mossgrove wood, and partly used as
storage for grain the cooks used in their morning bread.
There was nothing garish or elegant on my walls but an empty sword
sheath since I was not permitted a seax. The blade I’d used for turns as a
warrior was kept under the watchful eye of the master of the house. There
was mistrust between us, naturally, and he likely kept the blade so on such
nights as this, where violence toward him reigned supreme in my thoughts,
I could not slash up his beautifully handsome face.
Another side of my mind considered that he kept the blade merely to
flaunt his control over me.
The room was made of thick rafters that created the perfect place for
web weavers to spin their silken homes. A matted, bear fur rug covered
most of the floorboards. And the corners were occupied by my neatly
stacked boots and tunics on a few cedarwood shelves.
Simple and obscure. The reason my eyes locked, at once, on the ornate,
tawny gown.
The shimmer of satin and silk was fit for a courtier, and terribly out of
place. The sight of it twisted my insides into a newly acquired temptation to
pluck out a particular pair of amber eyes.
He was horrid. The plunging neckline was mortifying. Purposefully
done. He’d taunted me more than once on my modest tunics and my
aversion to bare skin. I’d be better off walking into the Borough nude than
wearing this gown.
Gaudy, mountain wolf fur puffed up on the sleeves in horrid mats, and
was that . . . I sniffed the crimson thread stitched in a pattern of runes over
the bust. A tickle irritated the back of my throat until I heaved a throaty
sneeze.
Shrill screams of loathing raged in my skull.
I dragged one deep breath in through my nose until my chest could take
no more. When I exhaled, a wave of violent plans to bury him piece by
piece across the grassy knolls brought a touch of solace.
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