Luna Queen Melissa.
The sight of Queen Sicily leaves a bitter taste in my mouth but to see her hands on the waist of my husband makes me want to vomit. My steps are light as I walk. The ballroom is filled with noble guests at all sceptre but my eyes are drawn to the disconcerting sight. Why are her hands casually resting on his waist? It makes my heart skip. Queen Sicily is overly familiar, her body is angled, so close to him as they spoke. And like a plot, her eyes causaly rests on me as if she wanted me to see this.
Of course, Dimitrio removes her hand but why did it have to take seconds?
“Queen Melissa,” She says, inclining her head towards me…her tone is courteous but with an undercurrent of something less benign.
“The last time I saw you, you were a healer.”
“The last I saw yo
