Well, better the devil you sort of know…
When his father demanded they march south to claim their tithe of five hundred humans, Dryan believed the old man had finally lost his mind. Why would they need to go to war for mere mortal slaves when they’re easily plucked from unsuspecting villages? But now he has a princess sleeping on his rug with his dogs, and he can admit he sees the appeal.
But claiming a mortal comes with many dangers. To her, and to his sanity.