I've been returned by two alien husbands — a genuine achievement on a planet where the men outnumber the women a thousand to one. One more failed match and the Agency ships me back to Earth for good. I crossed the galaxy for a fairy tale, not Lorkin. A scarred gladiator turned blacksmith. Seven feet of soot and muscle, with a scowl that could curdle cider. He's decided humans are fragile trouble and the whole bride program is a mistake — the last male in the settlement who'd ever want a wife. Wanting him would be no issue… if another minotaur hadn’t claimed me. Now I'm matched to the wrong male, aching for the one who keeps telling me to leave for my own good. If I can’t make it work with someone, the only place I’ll be is back on Earth.