Cassie_Berry_9014

Living as the fifth daughter of a noble family, Amira found herself adrift in the fog of her home, neglected and overlooked by those she once called her own. Her days were spent in the solitude of the attic, a hidden oasis away from the bustling world outside.

 However, when the tumult of war erupts and she is thrust into the role of a truce offering between two formidable nations, she grapples with the uncertainty of surviving in a new kingdom known for its icy demeanor and ruthless nature. 

Will she navigate this foreign terrain and carve out a new existence she never fathomed?

(Excerpt)


  "Clean it," Zyran commanded.

"Yes, your Highness," the servant acknowledged with a respectful bow, ready to fetch the cleaning supplies.

"Not you," Zyran interjected, causing the servant to freeze in confusion.

"Her," he added, nodding in the direction of Anastasia, whose eyes widened in disbelief.

Anastasia blinked rapidly, trying to process the situation. "Pardon?" she asked.

"Clean the mess on the floor," Zyran instructed. The crowd started murmuring and Anastasia shifted uncomfortably on her knees.

"That's the servant's job, not mine. Why should I? I don't think I understand what you are trying to say Prince Zyran. My father will never approve of this," Anastasia began only to be abruptly cut off by Zyran.

"Don't make me repeat myself. I'm sure you wouldn't like it if I interfered with your task," Zyran warned.

Anastasia's lips trembled as she fought to hold back her words. She knew Zyran's reputation for being ruthless, and she didn't want to make her situation any worse than it already was.

"Get me the cleaning supplies," she instructed the servant, who was prepared to follow her command until Zyran interjected.

"No one will help you," he declared.

Anastasia's chest heaved with anger as she locked eyes with Amira, who was standing behind Zyran.

She rose to her knees, intending to fetch the cleaning supplies herself, but Zyran stopped her once again.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"To bring the bucket," she replied with a hint of annoyance, but she quickly reminded herself to remain composed.

"I never asked you to stand up," Zyran stated.

"Then how am I supposed to clean the floor?" she inquired.

"Use your dress," Zyran replied.

The onlookers in the crowd were visibly shocked, exchanging bewildered glances and murmurs as they witnessed the unfolding scene. Anastasia's cheeks turned crimson with embarrassment.

SCULPTURED DESIRE

Zyran stepped into the dimly lit chamber, where the king lay on his ornate bed, a figure of frailty surrounded by lavish silks. Shadows danced across the walls, enhancing the aura of illness that clung to the room.

As Zyran entered, the king slowly lifted his heavy eyelids, a glimmer of recognition sparking in his weary gaze. Despite his weakened state.

With deep reverence, Zyran lowered himself into a graceful bow, his forehead nearly touching the cool marble floor as he honored the king

"Your Majesty," he intoned, his voice steady and respectful, echoing softly in the hushed atmosphere."

"At last, my son returns," he exclaimed, propping himself up with the steadying hand of his loyal yeoman.

"Stand before me," the king commanded, his voice resonating with authority, and Zyran, feeling the weight of his father's gaze, rose to his feet.

A visit to the Black market