A Court of Thorns

Jaxon

It was the cold that woke me, not the frigid air, but the type that crawled into your bones and reminded you you were still alive, despite wishing otherwise.

The chamber was a wreck.

I sat up slowly, the coarse sheet tangled around my legs, damp from days of sweat and spilled liquor. Empty glasses lined the edge of the fireplace, dust clinging to their rims. My beard had overgrown, curling wildly across my jaw, and my ...