Daaron said, savoring the words. How many times had he imagined taking her? The fantasy was nothing compared to the satisfaction he felt now. Confusion filled her face and he almost felt pity. This was supposed to be a special moment in Tessa’s life, he thought. A woman from the Warrens should have her braids shorn during a marriage ceremony, the knife wielded by a man who loved her. “You can’t possibly understand what you just did,” she replied, eyes searching his, panicky. “I can’t lose my braids, Daaron. They’ll think I’m a whore without my braids. My mother…” “She’ll think you’re a married woman,” he said, voice harsh. “She’ll think you’re my woman. You belong to me body and soul. I own you. The custom seems primitive to me, but it serves a ‘valuable purpose’ for your people, remember?” “This isn’t a game,” she replied, her voice tight with anger. “You get to go back to your life and laugh with your rich friends over the stupid little Warrens girl you ‘married’, but nobody else will have me now.”
