Take Me, Enid

Enid had wanted this for years.

But not like this.

Not when her heart belonged to someone else.

To Alaric.

His cousin who always seemed to stand in the center of every storm, even the ones Enid hadn't realized were brewing.

"Genevieve," he said again, but it was a strangled whisper this time — part warning, part plea.

She stepped closer, the dress sliding down her arms, threatening to pool at her feet.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice breaking. "But if only the council had even a sliver of sense, they wouldn't have engaged me to that barbarian."

Her bare shoulder caught the candlelight, glowing like polished ivory. Enid's fingers twitched.

"I'm sorry too," Enid whispered.

Because he wanted her. Gods, he wanted her.

But not like this.