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531 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 11, 2025
It was a sight so novel, so shocking, that even the Knights of the Brede weren’t sure how to handle it. Except for Sir Miche of Harnost, who could not stop laughing.
Remin was smiling.
He was as aware as anyone else of this uncomfortable state of affairs. He had been called Grimjaw since he was sixteen. But all it took was a look from Ophele to make him feel like the world was made of blue skies and birdsong.
Remin was trying to be many things too, Ophele realized as she watched and listened. She had heard Sir Edemir and Sir Justenin scolding him for not behaving like a nobleman. His soldiers expected him to be their general. The world expected a hero. Sousten Didion expected a legend.
Remin was all those things. But more than any of those other grand titles and accomplishments, he was a good man.
“That’s what you meant, about making the house my size, and this…the warmth of the wood? So it’s ours?” At last, the duke understood.I love the imagery used here. Didion is happy that Remin understands his vision for Remin and Ophele’s home and often considers Remin wooden – which is true because, especially since before knowing Opele, he was rigid and insensitive. The metaphor of the wood and word choice is perfect because the warmth of wood could be equated to the warmth of Remin. He is now softening thanks to his new wife. It’s not just the physical comfort of their home, but the softened emotional connection between them both now. This is just so beautiful!
“Yes,” Sousten breathed, with the euphoria of an artist who had at last communicated his vision to the world. And to this man, of all people, who Sousten had believed had not one ounce of poetry in his wooden soul.
It reminded him of what Ophele had said, about how they had made an oath to share all of their joys and sorrows. Well, he owed her the full measure of this joy. All his life, by nature and necessity, Remin had been a wolf. For her, he would try to become a little more like a lamb.
“That flower which has held an exceptional charm for His Grace, as of late…”
“…though I would hesitate to name the precise nature of its charm, Sir Tounot…”
“Keep hesitating,” Remin advised, and made them both burst into laughter. Even Juste was smirking at the sunset.
But she could not think of her own feelings. She was Remin’s duchess and must protect his dignity.
She must not blush.
She must not stammer.
He would do this again and again, as many times as it took to teach his body that he was hers, his heart, his breath, his voice, his body, he would deny her nothing, not even the smallest measure of his pleasure and love. It was a miracle to know his heart was safe when it rested in her.