The Rogue's Heart

Wane

After my first love was killed, I fiercely swore I would never love anyone again. That painful vow sat in my chest like a cold stone, hard and unmoving, and I wrapped myself in it the way other men wrap themselves in strong armor.

For a very long time that armor truly worked well—it kept me utterly safe from feeling, from hope, from the soft betrayals that break men more slowly than sharp blades.

I dressed myself in pure rage and wicked plans and the carefully ...