TRISTAN

Princess Fiona’s laugh was soft, breathy, curling warm against my ear. My arm was draped around her shoulders, my fingers idly toying with the silk edge of her gown. For once, everything was exactly as it should be. Easy, pleasant, predictable.

No irritating boy trying to convince me that women belonged anyway else besides here. Seriously, Zion needed a taste of reality. Women would prefer to stay within the comfort of their home to the brutality of the battlefield. The ...