I was never supposed to end up here—chained, filthy, paraded through a foreign city as a spoil of war. But the orcs didn’t kill me. They gifted me. To him. Remanos Ironhide. Champion of Milthar. A minotaur built like a mountain and twice as silent. He didn’t ask for me. I didn’t choose him. But now the Senate says I belong to him—some twisted tradition, an offering for peace. He says I’m under his protection. But this isn’t protection. It’s a prettier cage. And the worst part? I keep watching him. The way his muscles move beneath bronze. The way he growls when the Senate calls me a prize. He says he won’t touch me unless I ask. I won’t ask. I won’t. I can’t fall for the monster who holds my leash…. Even if part of me already has. Read on war spoils, forced proximity, sacred oaths, slow-burn monster tension, and a champion who kneels to no one—except her. HEA guaranteed.