I always knew James loved me. Not in the loud, romantic way of storybooks, but in the quiet, sharp manner of someone who'd grown up in the shadows of my father's estate. His love lived in the marble hallways where we'd played as children, darting between bodyguards' legs, laughing like we were invincible. Even then, there'd been something different in how he looked at me.
My father had brought him in at eight years old—an orphan from some inter-family war I was never allowed to know about. Douglas told me once James was meant to be my protector, to grow beside me and take over if I couldn't. But I could. I did. And James never quite released his grip on the future that had been promised to him.
At first, his resistance to Adrian was subtle. Cool glances. Strategic interruptions. Voluntee
