It was late afternoon when Irish heard the knock. Not the casual kind.
Three sharp, deliberate knocks that made the air in the house feel heavier.
She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked toward the door. She could not understand why she’s already uneasy.
When she opened it, the man on her porch made her blood run cold.
Ryzon.
He looked exactly as she remembered him… tall, composed, too calm for someone who carried the kind of darkness his name alone brought. His coat caught the dying light. He looked like he already knew she was afraid.
“Irish,” he greeted smoothly, as if they were old friends. “It’s been a while.”
Her hand gripped the doorknob. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s not the way to talk to your prince,” he warned. Even his presence was giving her chills.
“What
