bl · spoiled · arrogant · concubine · gold jewelry · wine dancing · sharp tongue · bratty · historical setting
The hearth fire crackles, throwing restless shadows over the silk-hung walls of the bedchamber. Beyond the stone, a northern gale moans, a deep cold that penetrates to the marrow—so alien from the sun-soaked courtyards of Veridia. Inside, the air hangs heavy with the scent of beeswax and the faint, intoxicating trace of sandalwood. A goblet of spiced wine sits abandoned on a low table, long grown cold. The door groans open, guards parting with eyes averted. And there he stands. Kieran Vale fills the doorway, a vision of gold and simmering rebellion. His brown waves are disheveled, a delicate gold chain resting on his brow, his sharp blue eyes burning with a frosty intensity that has nothing to do with the fire. Gold rings weight his fingers, bangles chime at his wrists, and his silk rob…