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Branded
Branded
Branded
Ebook38 pages29 minutes

Branded

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When a would-be assassin sneaks into the citadel disguised as a servant, the king requires that all servants who work in the castle be branded with the royal crest for easy identification. Prince Coren is powerless to fight the edict, but he refuses to allow his personal advisor and secret lover Brannir to suffer alone. Coren shows his devotion by wielding the brand to mark Brannir himself, even though he fears it will change their relationship. He's prepared for resentment, hurt, and anger--every outcome but the one he receives: unconditional love.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 1, 2014
ISBN9781632160751
Branded
Author

Bru Baker

Bru Baker a eu un avant-goût de la vie comme écrivain à l’âge de quatre ans, quand elle a commencé à publier un journal hebdomadaire pour sa famille. Ce qu’ils appelaient de la curiosité, elle l’appelait avoir du nez pour les informations, et personne n’a été surpris quand elle s’est retrouvée avec des diplômes en journalisme et en science politique, et a commencé une carrière dans le journalisme. Bru a passé plus d’une décennie à écrire pour les journaux avant de sauter le pas vers la fiction. Elle travaille désormais comme référence et conseillère des lecteurs dans une bibliothèque du Midwest, bien qu’elle trouve toujours ça difficile de croire que quelqu’un soit prêt à la payer pour parler de livres toute la journée. Souvent, le soir, on peut la trouver pelotonnée avec un livre ou son ordinateur portable. Que ce soit pour créer ses propres personnages ou immergée avec ceux de quelqu’un d’autre, on ne peut nier que Bru est plus heureuse quand elle est captivée par une histoire. Son mari et elle ont deux enfants, ce qui signifie que nombre de ses livres sont écrits sur la touche de différents entraînements sportifs.

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    Book preview

    Branded - Bru Baker

    Branded

    COREN KNELT before the fire, his eyes glued to the branding iron that rested against the grate. The fire had heated it to a cherry red, and his hand trembled as he reached out for it.

    He couldn’t bring himself to take it. Coren snapped his hand back, his fist clenched at his side. Bran’s warm hand on his shoulder was comforting, but Coren pulled away from it. He wasn’t the one who deserved comfort in this situation, no matter how much he relished the feel of Bran’s body against his own. Bran had been absent from his side most of the day. Not that Coren blamed him, knowing what he’d be doing to Bran this evening.

    Bran reached out again and squeezed Coren’s shoulder, then took a hesitant step back, and Coren felt a flash of shame that his inner turmoil must be so easily read on his face. He and Bran had been inseparable since Bran’s father had come to the castle to act as Coren’s tutor nearly twenty years ago. Coren should know better than to let any emotion show through at all; Bran could read him like a book.

    My apologies, Coren said gruffly, but as he expected, Bran waved the sentiment off.

    Let’s get on with it. The anticipation is probably worse than the pain of the burn. Bran’s forced smile was worse than the frown he’d been wearing a moment before. That he would try to make light of what was about to happen to him, for the sake of Coren’s feelings, was like a physical blow. Coren felt sick.

    I highly doubt that, Coren said dully.

    Well, you could always get one too. We’d have a matched set, Bran joked, some of the color he’d lost when he’d first seen the branding iron set into the fire coming back.

    I would, you know—

    Bran’s smile turned to fury. "You will not, he bit out, stepping forward and pushing Coren to the side. You will not even joke about it. That is not to be borne. If your father knew you’d even considered it, foolhardy and ill-conceived as it is, he’d throw you in the dungeons."

    Bran took a breath and nudged the branding iron deeper into the coals. Coren had stoked the fire himself, piling it high with kindling and the best logs he could find to ensure the hottest burn. He’d probably used up twice his weekly allotment of firewood, but he didn’t care. The smithy who had been put in charge of the brandings had told him it was best to strike while the iron was hot—a

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