Awakening The Warlord: My Genius Wife

nne

an

ock, and the Browning Clan's head steward, Vane, marched straight

holding a wooden comb, running it slowly through my l

e mirror . Resting upon the cloth was an Oath Ring forged of crude cold iron-t

e attuned by blood . A Noble House flaunted gleaming Electrum and Silver . This ring was a fourth-tier Dull Ring of pitt

ed betrothal to Warlord Holden has been transferred to the Second Miss. In three days, you will be se

ripping with condescension, cl

voice loud enough to carry into the corridor. "The Clan Lord said that if you try to

b down, turned aroun

eartbreak. No hysterical despair. O

shed barking?"

rence in my voice, but his arrogance quickly flared back u

with red as she threw her small frame between me and the stewar

way, litt

across the face, channeling a sharp gust of spiritual

ch a single strand of Tes

ac

d of bone splintering ech

steel, thumb digging mercilessly into the nerve cluster along

face turning pale green from the blindi

of an inch, forcing his forehead against the icy floorboards. Le

if he sends another dog to bark in my room, I will sn

my wrist, I hurl

limp, bruised wrist. Terror dilated his pupils as he

mbling to his feet and stumbling out the door

fell de

ling from head to toe, he

back to the dressing mirror, and picked up th

really shouldn't have agreed to it! The Clan Lord is heartless! Warlord Holden was meant to be yours! Everyone knows you loved him more than y

nose with her sleeve, ove

you'll be a widow before the season ends! Why didn't you cry? Why didn't y

to the bronze mirror at

expression in the reflection, the corners of

ed within the sacred canopy, the more your veins were bathed in the celestial radiance of the Crown and the sacred Silverdew that kept elven souls from

own b

borderland where outcast clans scraped by on moldering bark, acting

an Oath Ring worn upon the finger was legal proof of life and lineage, attuned only by the bearer's true blood. Forcing a

e a demon's cold-iron blade through the chest and limbs a year ago. Cold iron was the ultimate poison to elven vitality, devouring the Tree Spirit until the flesh rotte

hing my fingers trace the tarnished bronze surface.

but

, tilting my head toward th

ea

t, the outer gate of my dila

screen. "Who could be coming here at this hour? The

structed, laying the comb flat on the polished

is

G

left no room for argument. Tessa bit her lip

nse drifted through the hallway, carried by the arrogant rustle o

rway stood Jacaly

r the bride of a Warlord. Her almond eyes were wide and misted with feigned innocenc

shed mirror, Jacalyn arched a delicate b

gold-threaded slippers tapping softly against the floorboards. "Such an import