else went to sleep.
And that wasn’t even the half of it.
It seemed like every interested soul in Dark Moon Vale, including a swarm of Master
Warriors who had somehow figured it out, had felt the need to weigh in on the princess’s
predicament, until half of those gathered in Napolean’s front room were practically
strangers, many of whom were speaking at the same time.
Enough already!
Vanya had needed a break.
It wasn’t like she was a child. After all, she was 2,830 years old. Granted, she had
spent 2,810 of those years sleeping in the ground, but the point was: She was hardly
wet behind the ears. Surely, she could apply some measure of reason and analysis on
her own.
So, Saber Alexiares was a dark soul.
A completely rotten, unredeemable fiend who had tortured, slain, and violated innocence
his entire long existence—and who knew what those words really meant in terms of the
details concerning his abhorrent life. She didn’t want to contemplate his history,
not right now. But she was able to contemplate the fact that he was born to the house
of Jadon, not the house of Jaegar. She was able to consider the fact that Napolean
had spared him from immediate execution for some reason—perhaps the king felt he was
not entirely beyond redemption. And, she was certainly able to understand that, like
the dragon from her dream, he was cornered in a dark cave, having never known the
light, and there were too many unknown variables to draw final conclusions just yet.
The celestial gods were not idiots by any stretch of the imagination.
Vanya padded across the room and took a leisurely position on the bed, reclining atop
the goose-down comforter. She immediately fluffed a small, rectangular pillow and
snuggled into the embroidered fabric. Staring up at the coffered ceiling, she took
a deep breath and tried to still her racing heart.
Dear gods, she had a mate; she was another male’s destiny . In her wildest imagination, and especially after the hurtful fiasco that had been
her brief relationship with Napolean, the revelation was wholly unexpected.
And yes, she understood full well that this was a dangerous and depraved being. For
all that was holy, she had known her brother Jaegar in the flesh…and at his worst.
She had witnessed the murder of her half-celestial sisters. She had lived during a
time when war was blood sport used to avert boredom, and women were taken and used
like chattel. She had known the best and the worst that the soul was capable of, but
she could not dismiss the fact that she had also always belonged to someone else.
Her family. Her father, the king. Her people and their kingdom. Her duty and her honor…
But never to a man.
Never to a living, breathing, sentient male with flesh and blood and struggles of
his own.
She remembered the fire and the passion that had come from Napolean’s hands; the gentleness
and brutality that dwelled in the same set of fingers; the need and the desperation
that had shone in his eyes. The animal beneath the man. The vulnerability beneath
the strength.
And she trembled.
What if—just what if—there was something universally male or untouched in Saber Alexiares?
What if—just what if—there was some place in the entire vast universe that might belong
solely, and without obligation, to her?
Someone?
Vanya had never had a man, a friend, a child…anything…to call her own. She had been
born to responsibility and duty. She had been raised to be poised, mature, and regal.
She had been reared to serve, to give, and to persevere. Hers was a life that had
always belonged to everything and everyone but her. There were no breaks or reprieves,
no true sabbaticals from the seriousness of theology and study. There were only her
people and her royal blood. Her never-ending sense of purpose. And while that was
fine—it was woven into the very fabric of who she was, and she embraced it—was she
And that wasn’t even the half of it.
It seemed like every interested soul in Dark Moon Vale, including a swarm of Master
Warriors who had somehow figured it out, had felt the need to weigh in on the princess’s
predicament, until half of those gathered in Napolean’s front room were practically
strangers, many of whom were speaking at the same time.
Enough already!
Vanya had needed a break.
It wasn’t like she was a child. After all, she was 2,830 years old. Granted, she had
spent 2,810 of those years sleeping in the ground, but the point was: She was hardly
wet behind the ears. Surely, she could apply some measure of reason and analysis on
her own.
So, Saber Alexiares was a dark soul.
A completely rotten, unredeemable fiend who had tortured, slain, and violated innocence
his entire long existence—and who knew what those words really meant in terms of the
details concerning his abhorrent life. She didn’t want to contemplate his history,
not right now. But she was able to contemplate the fact that he was born to the house
of Jadon, not the house of Jaegar. She was able to consider the fact that Napolean
had spared him from immediate execution for some reason—perhaps the king felt he was
not entirely beyond redemption. And, she was certainly able to understand that, like
the dragon from her dream, he was cornered in a dark cave, having never known the
light, and there were too many unknown variables to draw final conclusions just yet.
The celestial gods were not idiots by any stretch of the imagination.
Vanya padded across the room and took a leisurely position on the bed, reclining atop
the goose-down comforter. She immediately fluffed a small, rectangular pillow and
snuggled into the embroidered fabric. Staring up at the coffered ceiling, she took
a deep breath and tried to still her racing heart.
Dear gods, she had a mate; she was another male’s destiny . In her wildest imagination, and especially after the hurtful fiasco that had been
her brief relationship with Napolean, the revelation was wholly unexpected.
And yes, she understood full well that this was a dangerous and depraved being. For
all that was holy, she had known her brother Jaegar in the flesh…and at his worst.
She had witnessed the murder of her half-celestial sisters. She had lived during a
time when war was blood sport used to avert boredom, and women were taken and used
like chattel. She had known the best and the worst that the soul was capable of, but
she could not dismiss the fact that she had also always belonged to someone else.
Her family. Her father, the king. Her people and their kingdom. Her duty and her honor…
But never to a man.
Never to a living, breathing, sentient male with flesh and blood and struggles of
his own.
She remembered the fire and the passion that had come from Napolean’s hands; the gentleness
and brutality that dwelled in the same set of fingers; the need and the desperation
that had shone in his eyes. The animal beneath the man. The vulnerability beneath
the strength.
And she trembled.
What if—just what if—there was something universally male or untouched in Saber Alexiares?
What if—just what if—there was some place in the entire vast universe that might belong
solely, and without obligation, to her?
Someone?
Vanya had never had a man, a friend, a child…anything…to call her own. She had been
born to responsibility and duty. She had been raised to be poised, mature, and regal.
She had been reared to serve, to give, and to persevere. Hers was a life that had
always belonged to everything and everyone but her. There were no breaks or reprieves,
no true sabbaticals from the seriousness of theology and study. There were only her
people and her royal blood. Her never-ending sense of purpose. And while that was
fine—it was woven into the very fabric of who she was, and she embraced it—was she
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