King Valerius sat in the oppressive silence of his private chambers, the air thick with the scent of lilies and incense, scents Seraphina used to mask the metallic tang of his simmering resentment. He was a prisoner of his own skin. He closed his eyes, but the memory was etched into his retinas: twenty years ago, as he walked into their royal chambers, he saw his Queen, his soul, his true mate, moaning under the touch of a man with his own face. The black magic had been perfect, a flawless mimicry that had violated his wife and shattered his mind. In his grief-filled, confused, and angry state, he hadn't seen the confusion in her eyes or the violation in her touch. He had only seen betrayal. He had committed an unforgivable sin. Instead of holding her, instead of protecting her from the tr
