|Courtesy of Flickr User Ben Gun|
Ash gasped as pain radiated through his body, originating from the gaping wound in his gut. He’d been in plenty of battles before but had never felt such pain. When the towering woman knocked his head, he just about passed out. It was the beauty in her otherwise ordinary looks that kept him conscious as she snapped the shaft of the arrow protruding from his body.
As the rightful heir to his country’s throne, he shouldn’t have even been in this fight. He knew Bronsen, his valet, would not approve, but Ash was not his father, King Leonhart. Ash wanted to fight for his people. The comradery of the soldiers, the feeling of being just another man, was worth any chiding he might receive when he got back to the palace. Defending his people, however, was the main reason he fought. It was worth any risk to his life. And now, by fighting in this war, he’d found his queen, this strong woman trying to save his life.
His hair fell across his eyes, matted with blood, dirt and sweat. Ash’s strong muscles burned and his usually keen eyesight dimmed from pain. He was in trouble.
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