Carolina Stickley

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“Would you like one?” I side-eyed him. “A royal companion?” He leaned in, leaving no space between our bodies. “A tiara.” Chills erupted on my skin, thoughts skittering to unholy places. “It would seem rather gaudy for a farmer.” “But you are not that anymore, annwyl. You are mine.”
The Prince of Prohibition (Fae of the Roaring Age, #1)
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