I meet her gaze. "You should be."
Bound by a secret oath spanning generations, I am loyal to no one but the queen.
Defender of the Crown.
To all of England, I'm Saxon Priest. Traitor. Murderer. Owner of London’s most infamous anti-loyalist pub.
And then she appears.
Isla Quinn may claim that she’s only looking to bus tables, but I’m no fool. Bitterness bleeds from her hard-blue eyes, and her hatred for the queen is so palpable, I can practically taste it off every sharp-tongued word slipping from her full mouth.
“Hire me,” she begs.
We’re on opposite sides of this war. Enemies from the start.
Isla thought she found an ally, but she’s found me instead.
A man with no heart, no matter how the dead space inside my chest lurches whenever she’s near.
And so I lean over, dragging her deep into this twisted game of crowns and thrones, and offer a single vow: “I could use you.”