Danny loved food. He was no great cook, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter if it came out of a can or a box, or was made by a top-quality chef. As long as it hit the spot, Danny could not care less where it came from.
Food never called him names. It never made him feel like a disgusting human being. It did what it was supposed to do—taste delicious.
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
"I’m small. I know I’m small. But I worry that my body is fighting with the smallness. That it’s trying to develop. To grow. I feel like I’m barely hanging on to my childlike body and the innocence that comes with it. I’m terri ed of being looked at like a sexual being. It’s disgusting. I’m not that. I’m this. I’m a child."
The Excape plan
“Fetch Hood.”
The man’s brows lift in surprise, but he quickly leaves
to do as I bid. I pace around the building while I wait, lip
turning up in a grimace at the state of my shoes from the
disgusting floor. I should have that man whipped for his
severe lack of care at his duty.
Several minutes later, the door opens again and Hood
steps into the room. I don’t need to see his face to know it’s
him—the thick cloak and hood he always wears is telling
enough. He never goes without it, face always shadowed
beneath the cowl of material.
Even so, I can see the two-toned skin, both brown and
pale, showing on his chin and neck. Vitiligo, they call it, a
condition of the skin that leaches color in patches.
Some of the soldiers mock him, call him Cowhide, but
the man never speaks, never snaps. He was wasted as a
soldier for Fulke. It was lucky that I read some of the
soldiers’ reports and realized his potential.
I’m going to put that potential to the test.
“Hood,” I say in greeting as he stops a few feet away,
hand clasped around his wrist in a soldier’s stance.
While his skin abnormalities may have made him a
mocked outsider, his muteness ensured it. It took years for
Fulke to realize that the man had magic.
I look at his cloaked form, eyes running over the
patches on his hands as if I can somehow see why power
chose to run through his veins.
Magic, strong magic, isn’t as common as it once was in
Orea. Without any more fae to mix with, it’s slowly petering
out of our world. It’s held mostly in the royal lines, but
His Tent
He’s just...lying on the second pallet. A pallet, I notice, which is extra
long to accommodate his height.
“Is this a trick?” I find myself asking, my voice shaky with uneven
breath. I’m still clutching the bundle of snow in my hand, my grip so hard
that my fingernails are nearly piercing the cloth. I immediately let go and
drop it to the floor.
He says nothing as he straightens the furs around him to his liking,
and I realize something I should have before.
Why the tent has so many comforts, why it’s set apart from the others,
why there are so many furs, even the whole floor lined with them. No one
would do that for a damn prisoner’s tent. But they would if the prisoner has
to share with the commander.
My breath hitches. “This is your tent.”
He’s lying on his back, telling me that his spikes are still tucked away.
“Of course it’s my tent,” he answers.
“Why? Why did you put me in your tent?” I demand, still sitting up,
knees bent in front of me as I huddle inside my furs.
Black eyes cut over to me across the space. “You’d prefer sleeping in
the snow?”
“Shouldn’t I be with the other prisoners? The other saddles and
guards?”
“I’d rather keep an eye on you.”
Wariness floods me. “Why?”
When he doesn’t answer, I narrow my eyes, glaring at his shadowed
silhouette. “Are you keeping me in here so that your disgusting men won’t
abuse me in the middle of the night without your permission?”
I see him tense. I see it, but I feel it even more. His irritation presses
into the air and threatens to bruise.
He slowly sits up on one bent elbow, staring hard at me with an anger
I want no part of. “I trust my soldiers implicitly,” he bites out. “They
“I think you’re disgusting,” Athena replied. “Father always said you were the most hateful, the most wretched of all his children.”
