(Leander's Chamber)
The king’s chamber was dim as usual.
Leander sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, swirling a goblet of thick, dark blood, his gaze lost in the dancing flames.
His black tunic, open at the throat, revealed the hard lines of his chest, while his long dark hair fell loosely around his face.
When the door opened, he didn’t move. Didn’t even flick his eyes toward it.
Elanora stepped in as though she owned the place with a sway of her hips. Her blue night gown was tight, designed to show off the soft swell of her breasts.
“My king,” she purred, voice soft.
Leander’s eyes didn’t even blink. His voice was cold and almost lazy. “Why are you here, Elanora?”
She smiled. “Should you even ask? I am your betrothed, am I not? I have every right to be here… to comfort
