EMBER’S POV

I stroll down the line.

I make it slow. I clasp my hands behind my back and move down the gallery of oiled, waiting men like a general reviewing troops she finds personally disappointing.

And I feel Knox’s glare burning a hole clean through my spine the whole way, and I have never in my life enjoyed anything more.

I stop at the first. He’s enormous, a wall of muscle, arms like historical columns, and he flexes for me, helpful.

“Mm.” I tilt my head. I reach out and poke him, one finger into a bicep the approximate size of my skull, and he holds the flex, hopeful,...