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The gods will tear the world asunder if their treaty isn't honored. To do so, there must be a marriage of dryad and gargoyle bloodlines.
I hate the thought that my future is decided for me, but this is what I was raised to do. To be. A broodmare for a block of rocks. I suppose it isn't much better for him, either. The treaty between my forest homeland and the gargoyle clan needs to be renewed or we will no longer be protected. It's not about what we want, and it doesn't matter if the husband they've picked for me wants to devour me with his kisses.
I’ve never wanted any of this. Not being the presumptive heir to my father. Not being tied in marriage to a fragile dryad. She looks as though she would crumple at a light touch. When her hand is tied to mine, I can barely feel it.
The curse of the gargoyle - stone skin, never feeling. It matters not when you mate with another gargoyle, your rough touch is welcomed, almost required for satisfaction. But now I was about to be bound to a dryad as delicate as a spring flower.
Can a real passion bloom from the arranged marriage between a gentle flower and a heart of stone or are they destined to disappoint the gods?