Taylor had never meant for any of this to happen.
He had never wanted Agatha. Not her touch, not her gaze, not the silken words that dripped from her lips like poisoned honey. The night she bore his child was not born of desire but of duty—a political chain wrapped tightly around his throat, forged by the council, polished with talk of prophecy and legacy.
If not for his family’s sake, for the fragile balance of power that had hung like a blade over all their heads, he would never have touched her.
His heart had always belonged to Esme.
Esme, with her dark hair that tumbled like midnight rivers, her eyes deep as polished garnet—eyes that seemed to see through every layer of armor he wore. She was beautiful in a way that unsettled kings and gods alike. There was a fire in her, but it wa
