Sofia stood frozen as she looked at Damien, her fated mate—the boy she had played with as a child, the man she had dreamed of standing beside at the altar. She could still feel the invisible thread of the bond pulling at her chest, but then she remembered the coldness of the basement. She remembered the weight of the chains he had placed on her wrists and the way his eyes—once full of kindness—had turned to ice every time he looked at her. Could she ever look at him and not see the man who had let her starve… who tortured her?
Then, she looked at Alaric. He was a stranger in many ways—a powerful king she barely knew. Yet, in just a few days, he had seen what no one else bothered to look for. He hadn't just given her food and a warm bed; he had given her back her dignity.
"Sofia, please," Damien whispered, his voice trembling with fear. Obviously, he knew Sofia wasn't going to choose him. "Look at me. I'm your mate. You can't just throw away what the Goddess gave us."
