Virve knew all too well what the Lothian butchers had done to her father, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of him when she opened the cedar box that held his remains.
Ashlynn refused to see a proud warrior rolled up like a rug, no matter what the Lothians had done to him. On her orders, Liam had laid Virve's father to rest in one of the emerald green and midnight blue gambesons worn by the soldiers of the vale.
Had his body been intact, the human-sized armor never would have fit around the broad, muscular frame of Virve's father. Now, however, he looked like he'd been hollowed out, shrunken down until there was nothing left but his hide and fur.
Most horrifying of all, however, was the grotesque mockery they'd made of her father's face, twisting and contorting his kind, gentle features into an eternal snarl while his eyes had been plucked out and replaced with dull, glass beads that held no trace of his proud, confident gaze.
