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And a court in peril was the envy of no one.
Camilla longed to feel the dirt under her feet, to dance in her nightgown under the stars. To live without the rules of others binding her. She was a wild, untamed thing under all the pomp and circumstance.
How very progressive of her (small sarcasm)
Just once she wanted someone to want her. Not her art. Not her talent. Her.
“You think very highly of yourself.” “I’m exceptionally talented at reading emotions. You desire me physically.” Cocksure. Arrogant. Damnably correct.
This man could drag her down to hell and she’d gladly burn for eternity.
Truth was often lost or rewritten over the centuries.
The Fear Collector. Of course, the next clue had to be some ancient evil. Why not the Wish Granter? The Dream Weaver?
We love sarcastic queen
Non ducor, duco. I am not led, I lead.
Maybe they were both damned, wicked things, broken in all the right places so they lined up, jagged edge to smooth.
Camilla drew herself up, unwilling to become anyone’s pincushion. Being hurt and regretful was one thing, being an ass and lashing out was another.
“Perhaps you ought to speak to a royal physician, Your Highness. I’m sure there are herbs for that problem.”
SAVAGE GIRL GET HIM
Passion and lust were simple, animalistic urges. Completely natural. Uncomplicated. His softness was much more dangerous than those sharp edges.
Sometimes two people weren’t meant to be more than one moment. Wondrous and unforgettable though it might be, not all good things were meant to last.
