He Made Me a Maid, So I Took Back My Crown at His Coronation
"What are my ten years of devotion worth?" Clara asked as Arthur ruthlessly tore the silver iris brooch, her mother’s relic, from her chest. To secure royal funding through his marriage to Eleanor, the man she secretly loved stripped her of her chief maid duties and banished her to wash the stables. Dragging her whip-scarred body, Clara pried open the old Marquis's secret vault. Taking the Archbishop's decree, which proved Arthur was a fake bastard and she was the legal heir, meant an irreversible escape. She must permanently sever a decade of affection, transforming her lover into an unforgivable enemy to embrace a lonely throne. Now, locked in an iron cage above the coronation hall, Clara watches Arthur reach for the Marquis coronet. As the heavy oak doors violently rattle, the false lord smiles at her, completely unaware of who is standing outside.
For ten years, my world had been the scent of Arthur’s skin and the rhythm of his breathing in the dark. It was the whisper of his secrets against my ear, the weight of his body settling over mine, the silent understanding that I, Clara, was the true mistress of Charleston Manor in everything but name. An hour ago, he’d taken me against the ancient oak of his desk, the fire painting shadows across his bare shoulders. It was a familiar, furious passion, a claiming that had always felt less like lust and more like a sacrament. Our sacrament. Now, curled in the cooling sheets of his bed, I traced the faded scar above his hip, a relic from a hunting accident when he was seventeen. I had been the one to staunch the bleeding. I had been the one to sit with him through the fever. I was always t
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