PREVIEW

... ght was colder than it should’ve been.

Gareth’s hands gripped the reins so tight his knuckles had gone white an hour ago. His horse—a stubborn gray mare who’d outlived two of his cousins—clip-clopped down the dirt road with all the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own execution.

Which, frankly, wasn’t far from the truth.

"Come on, you mangy bitch," Gareth muttered, giving the reins a sharp tug. The mare snorted, unimpressed. "Just a bit faster. Please. For the love of—" ...

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